Capitol Conspiracy

21

Joel Salter never ceased to be amazed by the high-tech laboratory the Bureau called the Computer Investigations and Infrastructure Threat Assessment Center (CIITAC). The transparent acrylic dividers, the countless blue-flickering computer screens, the constant clickety-click of printers recording data: all seemed like something out of a Steven Spielberg movie, not anything that could relate to real-life law enforcement. But it did. CIITAC superficially had many domestic purposes relating to Internet activity, such as protecting the Net from viruses, worms, and other invasive programs that could cause havoc with American computer networks. But inside the hallowed halls of this building, no one had any doubt about the true reason Congress had authorized the tens of millions of dollars necessary to put this sci-fi dream together.

Terrorism. After 9/11, the FBI, which supposedly focused on domestic federal crime prevention, was all about the international threat. The Bureau’s number one priority was counterterrorism-the detection and prevention of crimes of large-scale violence. Its number two priority was the gathering of counterintelligence, once the sole province of the CIA and NSA. But those days were long past. Today most people cared far less about kidnappings and bank robberies and far more about airport security, the water supply, and the white powder that might spill out of the morning mail.

Salter had not been happy about watching his job at the Bureau mutate from what he signed up for to something that, in his opinion, he had no business doing, didn’t do well, and left other important duties neglected. He knew he wasn’t the only one who lamented the transformation of FBI agents from door-kicking G-men to intelligence analysts. The CIA did spies; the FBI caught crooks. At least, that was the way it was supposed to be. But the Joint Terrorism Task Forces, an initiative that allowed the FBI to work with state and local law enforcement agencies, had expanded from thirty-five to 101 offices-and more were likely forthcoming in the future.

The Patriot Act had granted the FBI greatly enhanced powers, in particular the ability to wiretap with more leniency and to monitor private Internet activity. Salter knew this was a slippery slope, and sure enough, it was almost no time at all before the FBI was using the “sneak and peek” provision of the Patriot Act to search houses while residents were absent without giving prior notice, or snooping into individuals’ library records. CIITAC was used to keep the FBI abreast of the ever-advancing telecommunications industry and the various ways to invade it, including all forms of electronic surveillance. Just as the fear of communism in the 1960s had resulted in FBI surveillance of Martin Luther King, Jr., and John Lennon, so the current fear of terrorists could lead to even greater abuses.

Fabulous powers to have in a crisis, Salter acknowledged. And dangerous powers in the wrong hands, a fact he was constantly reminded of as he watched the newly appointed director of Homeland Security’s eyes light up like a cocaine addict’s as he explained what all these computer gizmos could do. For someone who had such contempt for the FBI, he sure did like its toys.

“So let me see if I understand this correctly,” Lehman said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “You have the ability to eavesdrop on Internet communications as they are made?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Salter acknowledged. “Of course, that would be unconstitutional absent a warrant, even under the Patriot Act.”

“And the NSA can tap into virtually any telephone conversation,” added Nichole Muldoon, Lehman’s ready right hand, looking fabulous as always. She was wearing a gray suit jacket with no apparent blouse beneath. He tried not to stare, but he thought she had already caught him several times. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just so damn good-looking, she knew he was staring at her whether she saw it or not. “It’s a wonder anyone can heist a liquor store these days.”

“It only happens because we’re soft,” Lehman said firmly. “Because Congress and the courts have kept us working with one hand tied behind our backs. Sometimes both hands. Cried salty tears about the rights of criminals. We have the power to eradicate crime altogether.”

“Not to mention personal liberty,” Salter couldn’t resist adding. “Which would be eradicated at the exact same time.”

Lehman stared at Salter. “That’s pathetic.”

“That’s the U.S. Constitution.”

“That’s bullshit.” Lehman grinned in a way that Salter did not like at all. “What is it you’ve done, anyway, Salter?”

“Done? I don’t get what you mean.”

“In your past. What are you hiding?”

“I wasn’t aware I was hiding anything. If you’d like to continue on to the Criminal Justice Information Division-”

“In my experience,” Lehman interrupted, “the only people who got traumatized about the Patriot Act were people who had something to hide. Something they didn’t want uncovered. Those with a clean conscience were perfectly happy to allow the government to keep them safe from the terrorist threat.”

“That’s a self-serving, gross exaggeration.”

“Which doesn’t prevent it from being a fact. What do you think his secret is, Muldoon?” He gave his deputy director a wink. “Unpaid child support? Drunk driving? Perhaps some sexual incident. Dallying with prostitutes. Child porn on his computer.”

“If he has a secret,” Muldoon said dryly, “it’s probably more like he stole a comic book from the local grocery when he was seven.”

Salter pondered which of the two had insulted him more.

“Maybe,” Lehman said, chuckling, “but I still think anyone so opposed to this badly needed amendment must have a dark secret.”

“Wait a minute,” Muldoon said, raising a perfectly sculpted index finger. “I’m not crazy about the amendment myself.”

“Yes, but I’m assuming you’re a sensible person who will eventually come around to the right way of thinking. Particularly if you like your job,” he added pointedly. “Salter here will never come around. He’ll be mumbling about constitutional rights as he watches the mushroom cloud rise.”

“Doesn’t really matter what I think, does it?” Salter asked. He knew he should ignore the man-not take the bait-and continue the tour, but Lehman was just so obnoxious, Salter found it impossible to overlook. “Your problem is the Senate.”

Lehman smiled. “We’re working on that.”

“Yeah, I saw the press conference. If the best you could find in the Democratic party was the most junior senator in the entire legislative body, you’re in trouble.”

“To the contrary,” Lehman said. “Seducing Mr. Kincaid was a brilliant stroke. My idea, of course.”

Muldoon started to say something, then apparently thought better of it.

“Stupid kid doesn’t know how popular he is. He’s coming off two big wins, after the Glancy case and the Roush nomination. He’ll rally popular support to the point where those senators will have no choice but to approve, regardless of their party affiliation. After that, getting three-fourths of the states will be a breeze.” He paused. “They’ll come around. And so will you two.”

Salter did his best to mask his reaction but it was a struggle. “I will never think this amendment is a good idea. Not if the foreign troops were landing on our soil as we spoke. Never.”

“The troops have already landed, Salter. But they’re not wearing uniforms and they don’t march in formation. They’re holed up in little cells, making bombs and training snipers and taking flying lessons. Torturing the director of Homeland Security. And now that I hold the post myself, I don’t want to see that happen again. Do you?”

Salter bit back the obvious response.

“Speaking of which,” Muldoon said, breaking in, “did you read that report I sent you, Carl?”

“Which one, Nichole? You spit out more paper than the photocopier.”

“The one about the woman. Believed to be a Saudi national. Witnesses say she took out two attackers at once without even trying hard.”

“I don’t care about muggers. Even when they attack people from the Middle East.”

“Carl, think about it. We’re talking about the Middle East, where half the countries still keep their women buried in beekeeper’s uniforms and execute them for showing their faces. And yet this woman acts like she stepped out of a Jet Li movie. Doesn’t that make you the least bit curious?”

“No,” he said curtly. “It does not.”

“Well, I’m going to organize a team to follow up-”

“No, Nichole, you will not.”

This time, Salter was pleased to see a much more graphic reaction on Muldoon’s face. He knew that although she was Number Two in the hierarchy and followed Lehman around like a lapdog, she was accustomed to having a great deal of authority and the ability to do what she thought needed to be done.

“Just a small team, Carl. Just to make sure.”

“No. No team at all.”

“Carl, this could be related to the attack on the president.”

“It isn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know we have limited manpower, so we’re not going to divert anyone to chase around some lady who got lucky with a mugger.”

“But, Carl-”

“You heard me, Nichole. This discussion is now officially ended.”

Muldoon stopped talking. But Salter could see she wasn’t happy about it. He wondered if she would really take no for an answer, or just wait until the boss wasn’t looking and do whatever she wanted. She seemed the type.

“We have to focus on finding out who the April nineteenth assassin was, and it wasn’t some Saudi woman who took a kickboxing class. We need to focus on getting this amendment passed. God knows I wish we had it in place already. I’d have caught the killer a week ago. I’d have his whole damn cell by now.”

“Then you would declare a national emergency,” Salter asked, “if the amendment were in effect now?”

“Damn straight I would. Have you forgotten what happened, Salter? What we witnessed in horror from our rooftop vantage point? Did you enjoy watching all those people die? A little girl? The first lady of the United States? If that’s not a national emergency, I don’t know what the hell is.”

“That’s my main problem with the amendment,” Salter said. “It leaves that decision up to…someone who might not be impartial.”

“Like the FBI?” Lehman rolled his eyes.

“Every FBI special agent, myself included, has been through an intensive eighteen-week training course at Quantico. I don’t know what the people at Homeland Security do. They’re mostly patronage appointments, aren’t they?”

“I think you’ve got a serious case of agency envy, Salter. Which is very closely related to another kind of envy you may have studied in psychology class. Now have you got anything else to show me?”

Salter steeled himself. He hadn’t wanted this crappy liaison assignment, but he would do his duty.

“As I suggested before, let’s move to the CJIS Division. It’s the main FBI repository for law enforcement data-largest in the world, in fact. It incorporates the Uniform Crime Reporting Center, the National Crime Information Center, Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, and the National Incident-Based Reporting System. State and local police all across the country tap into our databases when they need an assist. The CJIS complex is bigger than three football fields. They collect fingerprints, DNA, incident reports-”

“But they haven’t figured out who tried to kill the president, have they?” Lehman tweaked.

“No,” Salter said, leading them down the main corridor, not missing a beat. “Have you?”