Capital Crimes

“I’ll speak to the head of the Secret Service about getting you some help. I want the two of you to coordinate personal protection for everyone on this list.”

“Yes, Mr. President. I’ll speak to him this morning.”

“And the next time you have new information about these killings, bring along that fellow you told me about-your deputy- what’s his name?”

Heller had to think for a moment. “Ki

“Yes, Robert Ki

“Well, sir, he’s pretty busy right now.”

The president took off his reading glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’ll try not to take up too much of his time, Jim.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Unless anyone else has something, we’ll adjourn,” the president said.

The group stood as one and walked toward the door.

“Oh, Jim,” the president said, “I think we’d better keep the existence of this website quiet for the moment-at least until we have protection for these people in place.”

Heller winced. “Ah, Mr. President, I’m afraid…” He stopped.

“Jim, have you already released this to the press?”

Heller whipped out his cell phone. “I’ll cancel the press release,” he said, and he kept walking, not waiting for the president’s response.

BOB KINNEY LOOKED at the material his secretary had just handed him.

“I got it from the director’s secretary,” Helen said. “It’s already gone out.”

Ki

“Deputy Director Ki

“Yes?” Ki

“Good morning, Bob,” Heller said. He sounded as if he were on a cell phone.

“Good morning, Director.”

“I’ve got some great news.”

“I’ve just seen it. Did you really release this to the press?”

“I’ve put out word to cancel the release.”

“Good.”

“Now, Bob, I want you to call Ed Levy at the Secret Service and coordinate protection for all the people whose pictures are on that website.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but my function on this case is to supervise the investigation, not to guard bodies. I believe you want to speak to perso

Helen, who had been listening on an extension, hung up, too. “Are you trying to hurry along your retirement?” she asked Ki

“Helen, I don’t much care if he fires me or not, and I’ve already told him that. Until he does, I’m going to run this case as I see fit, and I’m not going to be sidetracked by having to round up two hundred agents to act as bodyguards for”-he ran his finger down the rows of photographs-“conservative columnists and TV preachers.”

“As you wish.”

“He said he’d canceled the press release.”

“He was too late. It had already been emailed to the whole media list.”

“Where the hell did he come up with this website?” Ki

“His fifteen-year-old son,” Helen replied. “He’s apparently a computer whiz.”

Ki

16

TED PARKED THE RV near a commuter bus stop in New Jersey and walked toward the waiting bus, swinging his umbrella. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

He rode into Manhattan and got off at the Port Authority Bus Terminal. From there, he walked to the New York headquarters of CNN, near Pe

He checked out the lobby and noted the security guard; no good, he didn’t want to be inside. He crossed the street and walked into a bar facing the CNN building. “Gimme a beer,” he said, glancing at his watch. There was a te

The bartender set the beer on the bar, and Ted put a twenty beside it. “Start me a tab,” he said. “You mind if we put the TV on CNN? Broadside is on.”

“Yeah, sure,” the bartender said, switching cha

“I love this guy Bre

“Yeah, me, too,” the bartender said.

Tim Brenan, a voluble right-winger, shared the platform each evening with Evan Turner, a bespectacled, bow-tied, tweed-jacketed example of the liberal breed.

“Tell me something, Tim,” Turner was saying.

“I’d love to, Evan,” Bre

“We’ve got the best fighter planes in the world, right?”

“Right, Evan. I’m surprised you knew that.”

“And nobody is even trying to build a better one-not the Russians, not the Chinese, not anybody-right?”

“They couldn’t even come close.”

“Then maybe you can explain to me why we need a brand-new, twenty-first-century fighter plane to replace the terrific planes we already have-and at a cost of more than a hundred billion dollars.”

“Sure, I can, Evan. We need that new plane so that we can keep our edge in the world of military aviation.”

“But we already have that edge, and you’ve just admitted that it’s not even threatened. Why can’t we spend that hundred billion on a national health insurance initiative, on education, on cleaning up our environment.”

“The usual litany of liberal sinkholes for cash, right? You think the Chinese are going to be impressed by national health insurance, or another round of tree hugging? Nothing impresses those people but hardware-military hardware-the sort of hardware that can send nuclear missiles right down their throats at the press of a button. That’s what will keep the peace, and the new fighter is an integral part of that plan.”

“That’s telling him, Tim,” Ted shouted, banging his hand on the bar. “Nuke the bastards!”

“Well, that’s all we have time for tonight, folks,” Bre

The theme music came up, and the two men began freeing themselves from their microphones.

Ted paid his bill, pocketed his change, and, swinging his umbrella, went outside, keeping an eye on the CNN entrance. He watched as Bre

Ted crossed the street and fell in a dozen paces behind Bre

Ted caught up with him on an escalator, and as he walked past the man, he aimed the umbrella at his calf muscle and jabbed quickly.

“Ow!” Bre

“Gosh, I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Bre

“That hurt like hell,” Bre

“I’m really sorry. The tip of the umbrella got caught in the escalator tread, and when I yanked it out, it hit you.”

“It’s okay,” Bre

“Great show tonight!” Ted said.

Bre

“You take care now.”

Bre

TIM BRENNAN let himself into his house and dumped his briefcase on the hall table. “Anybody home?” he yelled.

“Back here,” his wife called.

He went into the kitchen and sat down at the little dining table in the corner. “Man, I’m beat,” he said.

“That’s unusual for you,” his wife replied. “You usually get home full of piss and vinegar, ready to jump me.”

“I think I’m coming down with some sort of bug, or something. I really feel rotten.”

She set a plate of hot food before him. “Eat your di