The Enemy Within

The entire downtown was in gridlock, generated by the bomb-related street closures and by the tidal surge of the morbidly curious who were flocking to the site. To avoid the worst of it, Helen had walked from her temporary office at the Hoover Building instead of trying to drive the relatively short distance. This was her first visit to evaluate the evidence accumulated in the first few hours of the investigation. She’d stayed away until now to allow the technical experts some room to work. But from the number of vehicles parked outside the press club, she was one of only a handful of people in official Washington who had been able to resist the temptation to play backseat driver.

“You still think this is a good idea?” Peter Thorn said quietly into her right ear, eyeing the crowded street in front of them. “I’ve an idea that your bosses might not welcome another busybody poking his nose into their business just now.”

Helen turned toward him. Like her, he was in civilian clothes instead of uniform. With the media already deep in a feeding frenzy over the press club bombing, neither saw any point in attracting attention to themselves. She shook her head decisively. “You’re a recognised expert on terrorist tactics and weapons, Peter. I’d hardly call somebody with your experience a busybody.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t. But I’d say you’re biased.” He smiled tightly.

“Truth is, this is way off my patch and you know it.”

Helen shrugged. “So? Last time I looked, the Bureau didn’t have a monopoly on brainpower. You might see something our people have missed. And if you don’t, there’s still no harm done.”

Privately, she was less certain about the wisdom of her actions. She’d invited Peter to come along on her own initiative without permission from Special Agent Flynn. Some of her reasoning was soundly professional. But she couldn’t deny that many of her reasons were more personal. And by involving an outsider in an FBI investigation, she risked a reprimand if Flynn officially objected to his presence despite the kudos she’d earned by smashing the Temple Emet attack. She looked inward for a moment, again considering whether or not she was willing to accept a black mark on her near-perfect record for his sake.

The answer was yes.

She still remembered that look of anguished frustration on Peter’s face when they first heard the news about the bombing. Standing idle on the sidelines in the aftermath of the deadliest terrorist attack in U.S. history would have been more than he could bear. Besides, Helen admitted to herself, she treasured every moment spent in his company. Being completely separated from him for the long days and nights her work on the task force would probably require might have been more than she could bear. If involving him meant breaking every single one of her precepts about keeping her work and personal lives separate, so be it.

Certainly, the prospect of even an unofficial role in the search for the press club bombers had worked wonders on Peter. Despite his worries that his presence might get her in hot water, he couldn’t hide his eagerness to join in the hunt an eagerness that mirrored her own. The death toll from the attack was still climbing as crews found more bodies inside the wreckage, but it had already soared to nearly two hundred. She wanted to find the terrorists who were responsible for the blood bath to find them and destroy Hem before they could strike again.

Helen felt something patter down on her hair and looked skyward. The first full drops of cold rain spattered across her upturned face. She grimaced. There probably weren’t any significant clues outside the building for the storm to wash away, but the worsening weather would make their job even harder and more depressing than it already was. At least it might thin some of the crowds surrounding the explosion site.

She tugged at Peter’s elbow. “Come on, Colonel Thorn. Let’s get inside.”

He nodded gravely. “After you, Agent Gray.”

They made their way through the milling crowds to the police line. A young cop stepped forward to meet them. His rain poncho whipped in a sudden gust of cold wind. “Sorry, folks. You’ll have to move back. No one’s allowed any further.”

Helen pushed her Bureau ID under his nose. “I’m on the task force.” She nodded toward Peter, who held his own identity card in plain view.

“Colonel Thorn is a liaison officer from the Pentagon.”

The policeman scanned both cards quickly but thoroughly, carefully comparing the pictures with their faces. He looked up. “Okay, you can come through.” He pointed toward a temporary trailer parked just outside the entrance to the National Press Office building. “Just sign in at the command post, please. You’ll be briefed on site protocol there.”