Page 279 of Incisive

The only progress forward are the arrests an hour ago in the Miami area of two men suspected of being part of the attack there. They’ve lawyered up and aren’t talking. The boat they used to escape in was located abandoned at a marina just before sunset. The boat they used had been stolen just the week before. Law enforcement scoured all nearby security cameras to come up with license plates of possible vehicles the suspects could have used to escape from the marina. On one, the plate on the vehicle had been reported stolen three weeks earlier.

The men were arrested in the same vehicle with the stolen license plate, heading northbound on the Florida Turnpike after the license plate pinged the state’s SunPass toll system.

Right now, law enforcement has surrounded both men’s residences and is evacuating the neighbors before they even consider making entry and searching. We’re seeing live feeds from law enforcement helicopters hovering over each scene.

“Please tell me media airships have been grounded so we don’t have the public watching houses blowing up on live TV,” I say.

“Yes, sir,” the FAA director tells me. “Airspace is still closed to everyone except military, law enforcement, and medical flights of fixed wing or helicopters.”

“Drones?”

“Miami-Dade PD ordered officers to shoot down any unauthorized drones that get launched, with the full backing of Homeland Security.”

“That’ll play well on the morning news,” I drawl. “Drone skeet.”

“Hey, the media outlets have all been warned their drone licenses are temporarily suspended,” the FAA director says. “It’ll be their own fault. This is a NatSec incident, not some drug bust.”

As the situation progresses, an hour later one house has been found to be booby-trap free while in the other the MDPD’s bomb squad is working on disarming the last of six traps they’ve located.

Both men are single, one divorced and the other never married. Both have ties to local far right-wing groups with a membership leaning heavily toward white supremacy and sovereign citizen ideologies.

So far, no ties have been made between them and other suspects already in custody, or even the dead suspects from other attacks. The only commonality appears to be that they’re active in far right-wing groups, or hold far-right views. In fact, what’s so disconcerting is that none of the suspects in the discrete attacks have been connected to other attackers outside their particular attack.

We have every available resource trying to trace burner cell and VOIP calls, and forensic computer specialists are combing through electronic devices and computers.

The Secretary of Homeland Security looks as exhausted as I feel and is still wearing the clothes I saw him in yesterday. “So far, we have not made any connections between the attacks.”

“Therehasto be a connection,” I insist.

“We all know there has to be connections. What I’m telling you is that, so far, law enforcement hasn’t found any.”

“Someone financed this operation. Someone coordinated it.”

“And we haven’t located any money trails so far, either. We suspect they’re using crypto currency for payoffs. Or cash.”

My feeling of growing dread that I thought would dissipate once Stella was taken in hand is still there, still blooming. “Is it possible a foreign country financed and sponsored this?” I turn to my Director of National Intelligence.

My DNI shrugs. “Honestly, sir? We don’t know. No, we have not yet discovered any evidence that would point to a foreign power being responsible.”

As the morning wears on, the only things my advisors can tell me for certain are the death toll has climbed yet again to 168, and the injured to 542, with both numbers expected to rise.

Search and recovery efforts are ongoing at the Skyway Bridge. The cruise ship is now partially sunk and grounded in the channel. It’s surrounded by oil-absorbing booms because it’s leaking fuel, too. At least 136 passengers and 82 crew members are still unaccounted for. After reviewing traffic cam footage on the bridge and missing persons reports filed locally, it appears another four vehicles and their occupants may be trapped under debris that landed in the deeper channel area under the center span.

There are now runs on gas stations in Florida from Orlando south as panicked drivers fill up. I’ve already authorized waving DOT regs to get tanker trucks moving into the area from out of state to help alleviate the situation. With the state’s citizens used to gas shortages due to approaching hurricanes, trying to tell them not to panic about the fuel supply doesn’t help them not panic.

Especially when anyone who used the Skyway Bridge on a daily basis now has anywhere from an extra two- to six-hours added to their commute.

That evening, Jordan coaxes me to return to the small suite of rooms reserved for presidential use. I agree to spend a couple of hours there, but I don’t feel right not being in the command center. Leo’s apparently calling a truce because he pats the mattress next to him where he’s sitting up in bed and working on his laptop.

I climb in next to him, clothes and all, and curl up there with my head resting on his thigh and his hand in my hair.

“Have you eaten today?” he asks.

Jordan replies before I can. “Barely. I got him to eat some cheese and grapes this afternoon.”

Leo’s fingers massage my scalp. “Sit up and let Jordan feed you.”

“I’m not hungry.”