Page 37

"How many?"
"Four to start with. New York, Miami, Baltimore, and Charleston."
The list of cities was met with momentary silence and then Reimer said in a sarcastic voice, "As long as you're at it, why don't you just add New Orleans, Houston, and L.A. to the list?"
"I know it's a big job, Paul."
"Big job! You've got to be kidding me."
"Sorry, but right now it's all we've got to go on."
"What about the
airports?"
McMahon grabbed the back of his neck. "We've got agents overseas looking into it."
"What if the damn thing's already in the country?"
"The consensus is that the sensors would have picked it up."
The sensors McMahon was referring to were installed in every U.S. port of entry. They were designed to pick up the radiation signature emitted by a nuclear device. The sensors were good at detecting un-shielded devices, but were less effective against ones that were shielded properly.
Reimer scoffed at the idea that the sensors would have picked up a device entering the country. "I heard some intel on the Pakistani scientists we've been looking for turned up. Sounds like they got recruited."
"Where did you hear that?" asked a genuinely surprised McMahon.
"I just got an intel dump from CTC. They wanted my technical people to go over some information." Reimer stopped for a second and then added, "Skip, you know as well as I do, if they had any scientific help with this thing, they would have shielded it, which means our sensors at the ports have a significantly reduced chance of detecting it. In fact they have almost no chance at all."
McMahon needed to get a better handle on what they were up against. "Let's hope they aren't that savvy."
"Roger that. For now, I'll call in my RAP teams and have them start looking at these ports." Reimer was thinking about the Department of Energy's Radiological Assistance Program. He had twenty-seven teams dispersed at DOE facilities around the country. They weren't as well equipped as his Search Response Teams, but until they got more specific intel they would have to fill the breach.
"The second you hear anything else let me know."
"I will." McMahon hung up the phone and looked up in time to see a disheveled Peggy Stealey come storming through the Emergency Crisis Center. The near-permanent frown on his face deepened.
This particular legal eagle from the Department of Justice was one tough broad. Smart, aggressive, and pretty damn good-looking if you liked the Amazon type. Ten years ago he would have either clobbered her or slept with her, or maybe both. But now after three decades of working for the Bureau, a divorce, a spin dry through a rehab clinic, and retirement on the horizon, he'd mellowed enough to tolerate her, just barely.
He'd seen her type come and go with each passing attorney general. Almost all of them type-A personalities, they often exerted great control and pressure on the FBI with little concern for the overall effectiveness of the Bureau and its charter. Some wanted to make a name for themselves, while others simply wanted to make sure the FBI didn't embarrass their boss, and in the process stall their own meteoric rise. McMahon never lost sight of their ulterior motives, and he always kept a close eye on them. This particular hotshot was no exception.
Stealey never slowed, laying her shoulder into the heavy door of the bridge. She came up the steps and dropped her bag next to McMahon's desk. "What in the hell is going on?"
McMahon had his flat-panel monitor tilted up so he could remain standing and still read the reports that his team was sending him. He was momentarily relieved to see a flash message alerting all of his people to a link between al-Qaeda and the missing Pakistani nuclear scientists.
He didn't even bother to look up from the monitor. "Nice of you to join us, Peggy."
"You didn't answer my question," she said tersely.
They were not the only two people in the command room. McMahon had already warned Stealey about her obnoxious habit of speaking to coworkers as if she had them on the witness stand. He casually looked at his watch and said, "Peggy, you should have been here an hour ago." He then shifted his gaze from his watch to her deceptively gentle blue eyes. "We're in the middle of a crisis, so check your ego at the door and I'll bring you up to speed as time allows."
McMahon reached down and grabbed his secure phone, leaving Stealey fuming.
"Where is the attorney general?" she asked.
"He's in the secure conference room with Director Roach."
Stealey turned to leave and McMahon said, "You can't go in there right now."