visible under his gown.
But Nunn’s attention was drawn to the bed, where a heavily bandaged man lay. Only his eyes were visible—save for a nose hole and a slit where his swollen lips were coated with what appeared to be a thick layer of petroleum jelly.
“My god.” The words rolled from Nunn’s mouth without warning. He instantly wondered if the whirring machinery had drowned out his uncensored comment. Without lifting his gaze from Rusch, Nunn said, “Agent, can you give us a few moments?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Look,” Nunn said, trying to keep his voice level, “I’m the vice president-elect, I’m not going to harm my friend and running mate.”
“Yes, sir.” The agent’s demeanor remained impassive. “Sorry, sir.”
Nunn sucked his bottom lip. Apparently, he was again asking the Secret Service to break with procedure, and that wasn’t going to happen. He walked to Rusch’s bedside and placed a light hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Glen.”
Rusch slowly turned his head to face Nunn. “They tell me I’m lucky,” he said with great effort, his voice possessing all the smoothness of cracked cement.
Nunn leaned closer to hear. “Have you been briefed?”
Rusch’s eyes glossed over, and he turned away. “They’re dead.”
“My deepest condolences, Glen. There’s nothing I can possibly say other than I’m— I’m just so very sorry. I can’t believe they’re...” He choked back a sob. “That they’re gone.” He placed a hand atop his friend’s shoulder.
“I want these fuckers caught. I want to do unspeakable things to them.” Rusch turned to the Secret Service agent, who quickly averted his eyes. “But this can’t be a personal vendetta, Vance. We have to show the world that no one can do this without suffering the consequences. We have to do it right. Bring them to justice.”
Nunn glanced briefly at the hovering agent, then said, “I’ve spoken with Director Knox, and he assures me that everything that can be done will be done to find them.”
Rusch closed his eyes. After a long moment, he said, “Whatever the Bureau does, it’ll be so... insufficient. Nothing will bring back my family.”
Nunn felt it was best to let that comment float on the air for a moment before continuing.
“Quentin’s been fully briefed,” he finally said. “I assume he’s been by.”
Rusch didn’t reply.
“He and Jordan are researching our options. I’m sorry—I really don’t mean to talk business, but I just wanted you to know we’ve got things covered. Take whatever time you need. Heck, we’ve got two months to get our house in order.” He glanced again at the agent, then said, “Plenty of time.”
Rusch remained silent. He was staring off at the ceiling, or the wall...Nunn wasn’t sure which. But he knew what was on the president-elect’s mind. And though they had plenty of time, the truth was that there was still a great deal that needed to be done.
Nunn gave Rusch’s shoulder a gentle pat, then left the room.
9:39 AM
Following his brief visit with Dr. Rudnick, Uzi met with the task force members assigned to the chopper crash investigation. They occupied the command post on WFO’s fourth floor, an expansive suite of six rooms constructed after 9/11 to bring all functions of a terror investigation into one centralized area. Its main room was equipped with five rows of ten state-of-the-art computer work stations and six forty-two-inch plasma screens, all overseen by the assistant director’s command office through a floor-to-ceiling window that dominated the rear of the room.
Beyond the sliding glass doors along the left wall, an ever-expanding group of JTTF support personnel had set up shop. In the past few hours, dozens of agents from the Secret Service, ICE, US Marshals Service, Military Intelligence, National Security Agency, and CIA had reported to their new posts.
Uzi ran through introductions and assignments, then split them into groups that reconvened at
But Nunn’s attention was drawn to the bed, where a heavily bandaged man lay. Only his eyes were visible—save for a nose hole and a slit where his swollen lips were coated with what appeared to be a thick layer of petroleum jelly.
“My god.” The words rolled from Nunn’s mouth without warning. He instantly wondered if the whirring machinery had drowned out his uncensored comment. Without lifting his gaze from Rusch, Nunn said, “Agent, can you give us a few moments?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Look,” Nunn said, trying to keep his voice level, “I’m the vice president-elect, I’m not going to harm my friend and running mate.”
“Yes, sir.” The agent’s demeanor remained impassive. “Sorry, sir.”
Nunn sucked his bottom lip. Apparently, he was again asking the Secret Service to break with procedure, and that wasn’t going to happen. He walked to Rusch’s bedside and placed a light hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Glen.”
Rusch slowly turned his head to face Nunn. “They tell me I’m lucky,” he said with great effort, his voice possessing all the smoothness of cracked cement.
Nunn leaned closer to hear. “Have you been briefed?”
Rusch’s eyes glossed over, and he turned away. “They’re dead.”
“My deepest condolences, Glen. There’s nothing I can possibly say other than I’m— I’m just so very sorry. I can’t believe they’re...” He choked back a sob. “That they’re gone.” He placed a hand atop his friend’s shoulder.
“I want these fuckers caught. I want to do unspeakable things to them.” Rusch turned to the Secret Service agent, who quickly averted his eyes. “But this can’t be a personal vendetta, Vance. We have to show the world that no one can do this without suffering the consequences. We have to do it right. Bring them to justice.”
Nunn glanced briefly at the hovering agent, then said, “I’ve spoken with Director Knox, and he assures me that everything that can be done will be done to find them.”
Rusch closed his eyes. After a long moment, he said, “Whatever the Bureau does, it’ll be so... insufficient. Nothing will bring back my family.”
Nunn felt it was best to let that comment float on the air for a moment before continuing.
“Quentin’s been fully briefed,” he finally said. “I assume he’s been by.”
Rusch didn’t reply.
“He and Jordan are researching our options. I’m sorry—I really don’t mean to talk business, but I just wanted you to know we’ve got things covered. Take whatever time you need. Heck, we’ve got two months to get our house in order.” He glanced again at the agent, then said, “Plenty of time.”
Rusch remained silent. He was staring off at the ceiling, or the wall...Nunn wasn’t sure which. But he knew what was on the president-elect’s mind. And though they had plenty of time, the truth was that there was still a great deal that needed to be done.
Nunn gave Rusch’s shoulder a gentle pat, then left the room.
9:39 AM
Following his brief visit with Dr. Rudnick, Uzi met with the task force members assigned to the chopper crash investigation. They occupied the command post on WFO’s fourth floor, an expansive suite of six rooms constructed after 9/11 to bring all functions of a terror investigation into one centralized area. Its main room was equipped with five rows of ten state-of-the-art computer work stations and six forty-two-inch plasma screens, all overseen by the assistant director’s command office through a floor-to-ceiling window that dominated the rear of the room.
Beyond the sliding glass doors along the left wall, an ever-expanding group of JTTF support personnel had set up shop. In the past few hours, dozens of agents from the Secret Service, ICE, US Marshals Service, Military Intelligence, National Security Agency, and CIA had reported to their new posts.
Uzi ran through introductions and assignments, then split them into groups that reconvened at
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