Deciding he needed to let the yawn out and not bothering to cover his mouth, Chuck shrugged. ‘Excuse me, I was up late… Sorry, what was I saying? Oh yeah, it’s a real tragedy, sir.’
Woods peered at Chuck from above his rimless glasses. The man was cold. Didn’t even try to hide it. But then, it took a certain sort of someone to work in CTC and, over time, desensitization took over.
‘And as for the question, Mr President, of why Chatham? Who knows? He might have just put a pin in the map. But we’re looking into that.’
John Woods turned to Teddy Adleman, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet. He suspected the reason Teddy had said nothing was that his feelings towards Chuck Harrison were the same as Woods’. The least time having to converse with him the better.
‘What do you think, Teddy?’
Teddy nodded to Woods. Nodded at Lyndon. Didn’t bother looking at Chuck. He spoke in a hushed voice. ‘So if we’re saying Thorpe isn’t a lone wolf, and he’s linked with the other bombers, my question is why didn’t he kill himself too? Like the others. I see the profile and I get it. But Lyndon’s right, something just doesn’t fit…’
Woods was curious. ‘Go on.’
‘The fact is, Boko Haram is a domestic terror group. Focused on their country. This, as far as I know, will be the first time they’ve come outside the immediate vicinity of Nigeria and the neighboring countries.’
‘Chuck, you want to pick that up?’
‘Mr President, there’s a first time for everything. There’s a metamorphosis in terrorism. What was once is not necessarily any longer.’
‘And apart from the No-Fly List, and a couple of interviews with the FBI, there was never any other eyes or ears on David Thorpe?’ Woods asked.
‘None.’
‘Is he talking?’
‘Nothing, but hey, we can easily remedy that. It’ll be like the good old days. Show him we mean business.’
‘For God’s sake, Chuck, are you seriously talking about EI? And just for the record, wherever it’s carried out, it’s not okay. Torture is never okay.’
Chuck shrugged again and took another sip of water and leant back on his chair and winked at Lyndon and pulled at the hair in his ears and said, ‘Hey, whatever happened to having a sense of humor? But for my record, I disagree, and when it comes down to it, I don’t care what any of the liberalists say. I know for a fact every citizen, senator and even you, Mr President, would be calling on a guy like me to get the information from a prisoner, if that prisoner had taken and kidnapped a loved one. They’d be begging me to use enhanced interrogation; water board the hell out of that son-of-a-bitch like there’s no tomorrow. And it wouldn’t matter to them what I did as long as I brought their kid or whoever it was back home safely. I know you’d want me to get the information from a person who took your son, wouldn’t you, Mr President? No matter what it took.’
Woods said nothing.
‘Think about it, Mr President, and tell me I’m wrong… You can’t, can you? And that’s the point. What’s the difference between getting information about a loved one in danger, or getting information about this country which is also in danger? Because that’s how I see America. As something I love, will protect and keep safe. Which means if I know that there’s someone with information about attacking this great nation and hurting her, then I will do all I can to make sure that threat isn’t carried out. We need to stop all this sentimental bullshit and outright hypocrisy, because otherwise we will keep having attacks on Homeland. Whatever it takes to protect and serve… By any means necessary.’
Lyndon P Clarke smiled. Wide. It hit his eyes so hard they sparkled. ‘One of your heroes?’
‘What?’
‘Just that it’s good to hear you quoting Malcolm X, Chuck. Who would’ve thought?’
Woods, not even attempting to hide his own smile, said, ‘Lyndon, are you still going out to Turkmenistan?’
‘I am.’
‘I can’t see any need for that,’ Chuck said.
To which Lyndon answered, ‘No, I’m sure you can’t. But I’ll see you there.’
A hush. A breeze of tension settled in the air before Woods asked, ‘Have we got anything on the other bombers yet, Chuck?
‘We got nothing, Mr President, but the odds are they didn’t come from the US. No doubt smuggled in just for this purpose. It’ll take longer to find out who they are – or rather who they were – because they’re only kids. Terrorist kids, but kids nevertheless.’
‘They were somebody’s children, Chuck. They didn’t wake up one day and decide to get involved with this on their own. Take their life. Someone, somewhere got them to do this. But the point is they’re dead when they should be in high school or college. They were somebody’s babies. I’d say they were as much a victim as everyone else.’
Chuck Harrison clenched his teeth. Hard. It was bullshit. And hell, he was going tell Woods just that. ‘Bullshit.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Bullshit, Mr President. Those kids. Those victims as you call them, well, let me tell you, a lot of them are more radicalized than any adult. Not a day goes by when somewhere in the world, there isn’t a kid strapping on his or her suicide vest to cause the most damage and the most casualties. Why? Because they believe they’re going to get the pleasures and blessings of paradise. They’ll leave behind their crippling poverty and a life less lived with one push of a button. That’s all it takes. One push for them to reap their rewards in paradise.’
Woods said nothing.
‘And the problem you have, Mr President, is that you can’t give a definitive answer and say their beliefs aren’t true. And because you can’t, you will always have the threat of suicide bombers happy to go to paradise, no matter what the age.’
‘But you must see they start off as victims, even if it’s a victim to their environment.’
Chuck gave a small smile. ‘No, what I see is terrorists.’
‘Chuck…’ Woods paused.
Tried again.
‘Chuck…’
Winced.
Then said, ‘Excuse me, everyone, I just need to use the bathroom.’
VIRGINIA, USA
Nb5 ab4
Chuck Harrison took the call in his car on the way back to Langley, where the HQ for the CIA was based. He listened. Turned up the radio and simply said, ‘Meet me at my house.’
*
Forty-five minutes later, Chuck stood by his large, newly installed glass and steel water fountain. He hated the damn thing. God knows what the designer thought he was doing. But then, he supposed his instructions had been more than just a little ambiguous.
Tall.
Wide.
Don’t care if it’s round.
Don’t care if it’s square.
His only specification: it needs to produce jets of water. Lots of jets. As noisy and as vigorous as possible.
So after a dozen men and two weeks of work, and several complaints from neighbors in the private gated community, and a visit from a balding noise control officer to come and measure the output of sound, and a big-ass bill, he’d got what he’d