The naked edge

17

Seven a.m.

The communications center was even more crowded and noisy than the evening before, radios crackling, keyboards clattering. But in contrast with the chaos of yesterday, everyone in the room seemed paralyzed. Motionless agents stood before a vast array of closed-circuit television monitors that showed intense crowds assembling on various streets around the conference center. Helmeted police officers and military reservists formed a line behind barricades, holding shields and batons, ready to respond if the crowd pushed beyond the checkpoints.

Somber, Rutherford sensed movement behind him and glanced back, frowning toward Cavanaugh and Jamie. His gaze lingered on William.

"Any developments?" Cavanaugh asked, reaching him.

A stranger shifted next to Rutherford. A mustached man of fifty, he had gray hair, the severely short cut of which exposed a crescent of skin above each ear. His tie was rigidly knotted, his suit meticulously pressed, his shoes obsessively shined. Of medium height and weight, with pallid skin suggestive of a career spent at a desk, he wore a white shirt whose style communicated the impression he gave: button-down.

"The demonstrators are getting ready to try to block the streets so the trade ministers can't reach the conference," Rutherford said.

"It starts at nine?" Jamie asked.

"It was supposed to," the severe-faced stranger said.

Cavanaugh studied him, puzzled. "I don't believe we've met."

"This is Deputy Director Mosely." Rutherford subtly emphasized the stranger's title, as if giving Cavanaugh a warning.

"Pleased to meet you." Cavanaugh extended his hand. "This is my wife Jamie, and my name's-"

"You've got plenty of names, I hear." Mosely ignored the offered hand. "I'm surprised you can keep them all straight."

Cavanaugh looked at Rutherford and then back at Mosely. "Is something wrong?"

"You got what you wanted," Mosely said.

Two FBI agents edged toward them.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Four hotels needed to be evacuated," Mosely continued. "The ones with the most trade delegates. There wasn't any way to put them in rooms in other hotels in the area. Every place was full. In fact, there weren't enough available hotel rooms within twenty miles. We had to take them to the nearest city: St. Charles. All the confusion forced the WTO to cancel today's meetings."

"They did?" Jamie asked.

"Don't act so surprised," Mosely answered.

Other agents stepped closer.

"Hey," Cavanaugh said, "if the conference got postponed, it's a good thing, right? It gives everybody more time to try to find Carl and stop whatever he's doing."

"Oh, it's a good thing. Definitely," Mosely replied with sarcasm.

Frowning with greater puzzlement, Cavanaugh turned toward Rutherford. "John, on the flight here, you and I talked about how important it was to get this thing canceled, how crazy it was that the WTO wouldn't allow itself to appear to give in to the demonstrators. Now the trade ministers did what we hoped they would. A lot of lives have probably been saved."

"Oh, I'm all for saving lives." Mosely stood more rigidly. "But when you couldn't convince the WTO to change its mind, do you think it was right to change their minds for them?"

"You're not making sense," Jamie said.

"Who's this man?" Mosely pointed toward William.

"My attorney," Cavanaugh answered.

"You suspected you'd need one?"

"William has one of the most attentive, logical minds I've ever come across. I thought it would be a good idea to include him. Maybe he'll notice something we haven't thought of."

"Well, he's definitely going to come in handy," Mosely emphasized.

On the various TV monitors, the crowd kept getting larger.

"Wait'll they find out the conference isn't happening today," someone said.

Mosely pointed toward a door. "We need to talk," he told Cavanaugh. "You too," he told Jamie. He looked at William. "And by all means, you're invited, counselor."