Page 18 of Edge of Honor

“We do a lot of intelligence sharing with the Norwegians,” Carolan explained. “We’re just here as a courtesy to our contacts back in Oslo.”

It was the cover story he and Fields had developed on the drive over from headquarters. It seemed to satisfy Agent Kennedy.

“If you need anything, we’ve got an admin team on-site. They’ve been logging all the evidence,” the man said.

Looking around, Carolan asked, “What about the bodies?”

“Those have already been transported.”

“Have you ID’d any of them?”

“The victims? Yes. Although the cops in the van were burned beyond recognition. The fire was so hot, it even melted their badges. We’re going to need to do DNA testing on the remains, but in general,” said Kennedy, “we know who they are.”

“What about the attackers?”

“Nothing yet. None of them were carrying ID. We’ll run their prints and photos through all the databases and see if we get any hits. We’ll also be tracing their weapons, and BATF already has samples from the explosives and is running tests.”

As much as Carolan didn’t care for the man personally, professionally he was a solid, by-the-book agent. Based on everything he had said, he was doing everything right.

“Is there anything that doesn’t fit? Anything you’re trying to make sense of?”

Kennedy shook his head. “Beyond the motive—thewhyof something like this? No. We’ve got the guns, the shell casings, all of it. The shooters were White, American-looking males in their thirties. It doesn’t appear to be Islamic terrorism, but we don’t know that for sure yet. Prima facie, it looks like a homegrown scenario.”

“So that’s the working hypothesis? Extremism?”

“I don’t know what else you’d call it,” the agent replied. “Who shoots up a bunch of unarmed people exercising their First Amendment right?”

Carolan didn’t disagree. “What were the victims protesting?”

“They’re unhappy with the new administration.”

“So, opponents of President Mitchell.”

Kennedy shook his head again. “We interviewed all of them. Every single one voted for Mitchell.”

“Then why were they protesting?”

“They’re angry. They think Mitchell has gone soft; that he’s moderated and is backpedaling on a lot of his promises.”

“He’s definitely not the same guy he was on the campaign trail, that’s for sure,” Carolan replied.

“What was that old comedy bit about a president’s first day on the job? They take you out to Area 51, let you give the alien they have locked up there a purple nurple, and then they drag you back to the Oval, sit you down behind the Resolute Desk, and plop this huge binder in front of you with all that world’s problems, which have now becomeyourproblems.”

“I’m guessing that would be enough to change a person.”

“The alien or the binder?”

Carolan chuckled. “Both.”

“You’re probably right,” Kennedy said with a smile before continuing. “Listen, I’ve been here most of the night and am about to head home. There’s a new lead site agent taking over. I’ll let him know you’re here. If you need anything, he’ll take care of you and you can always get me on my cell.”

“Thank you,” Carolan said, extending his hand. It was easily the most civil exchange he’d had with the man in years. Perhaps the asshole in him was petering out.

The pair shook hands and went in different directions.

Carolan had only made it a few yards when Kennedy called out to him and said, “Hey, Joe! I was only kidding about Sweden. I know Norway also has a border with Russia, up top in the north. A little over a hundred miles.”

“No points for looking it up on your phone as I walk away, Matt! Better luck next time.”