“Mind if I join you two for a walk around?” Janson asked. “I’d like to go through the whole place to be sure we both understand the total picture. Okay?”
“Sure,” replied Osborn. “That’ll be good for both of us, and it will give Stephen a feel for everything.”
The three men took the enclosed over-the-street walkway from the hotel to the convention center. Osborn described everything as they went through the various areas.
“This walkway joins the convention center on level 2. Here, as we enter,” he pointed to his left, “is an elevator to take people downstairs. As all the delegates come into the center, they will be directed downstairs for registration. They will exchange their ticket for a badge to clip on their clothing, or they can use the cord and wear it around their neck. There will be several registration desks downstairs.”
“How many delegates are coming?” asked Stephen.
“Eighteen hundred and fifty.”
“Wow, That’s a bunch.”
“Yes. This is a pretty large conference. There are also ninety-two convention center security personnel, two hundred twenty staff members for the conference, plus ten convention center office personnel.”
“We have all those people identified for us, right, Randy?” Janson asked.
“Yes. They are all on the lists that were given to your people and mine.”
“Good. So they should all have been given at least a cursory check.”
“Yes.” They continued walking. “Over here to the left is the Sharp Street entrance. The lobby here will not be functioning. We will check for tickets and direct people through to the elevator over there on the right, to take them downstairs for registration."
They continued walking. “This is the mezzanine level. From this vantage point, you can see over the entire vendor area below.”
“That area over there across the opening is the Pratt Street entrance. The only thing there is the elevator. Again, we’ll have people at every entrance checking tickets and directing people downstairs. Further down here on the left is the Otterbein entrance and lobby, which will be closed during the conference.”
“The conference center offices are further back to the left, behind those double doors. The offices will be manned, but they will not be seeing any visitors during the conference. The security office is also back behind those doors, off to the other side. There will be some traffic to the security office, but it should only be our own people. Let’s go down to the first level.”
Getting off the elevator, Osborn moved to the right. “This level is for registration and vendor displays. Ninety-three vendors will be displaying their wares. They have all been vetted to be sure they are legitimate dealers for the various products they will be showing. Back over here, the other side of the partition,” they kept walking, “This area here in front of us is designated area A on the map. It will be one of the registration stations. To our left is the Charles Street entrance, which will be combined with this area to accommodate registering delegates. On the other end of the vendor area is the Swing Space and section F. You can see those on the map. That will be the other registration station. There’s almost 100,000 square feet there, so we will have a lot of tables to help speed up the registration process.”
He turned to look at them. “Once delegates have their badges, they are free to wander through the vendor area at their leisure or go directly to the third level, where the conference will be held. Shall we go up?”
As the elevator arrived at the third floor, the FBI supervisor continued his description. “This is where the actual conference will be held.” The elevator door opened and they stepped out. “All the room dividers and partitions you see will be removed for the conference. Here at the south end of the hall, tables and chairs will be set up for lunch. The President and his cabinet members will not be eating while here. This area will be for special guests and dignitaries, and a limited number of delegates selected ahead of time, who will be given special passes. Everyone else will eat upstairs in the ballroom area.”
Osborn had them follow as he walked toward the north end of the building, where the room became one very large open space, narrowing slightly as it continued around a corner to their left. “You can see this area expands. This is where the main conference will take place. There will be a couple of small meetings upstairs that will only last an hour or so each morning, then those people will join the main conference here in time for the start of the general activities. All the delegates will be here for opening day, the day our President and the others will be making their appearances. This is where it will all happen.”
He guided them to his left, past the service area. “This area is where the stage will be set. It will be a raised platform large enough to hold fourteen people seated behind the speaker’s area. In the front will be a large podium with multiple microphones and teleprompters.”
“How will the seats be arranged?” asked Janson.
“We have comfortable padded chairs for everyone. There will be sections of ten rows, ten seats across. Aisles between, in front and behind each section will be six feet wide to accommodate people moving to their seats. You can see the space is shaped like a funnel and widens toward the back. We will add additional sections back there until we have enough seats. There is more than enough room to seat everyone in here.”
“Well planned,” said Janson. “I like it. You did a good job.”
“I wish I could take all the credit, but it wasn’t just me. The people here at the center helped me design the arrangement.”
“Well, it is a good job planning it all out,” said Stephen. “Looks like it should work fine.”
Osborn pointed to various spots around the large open area. “Restrooms are spaced all around the area, enough to support this large of a crowd.”
He nodded at them. “That just leaves the dining area upstairs. Do you want to see it?”
“Yes.” answered Janson. “Let’s see the whole thing while we’re at it.”
Getting off the elevator, Osborn told them, “The only way up here are the elevators and two back stairways. There are no outside entrances.”
They started walking through the area. Several tables had been set up, scattered around the open area in no particular pattern, each table prepared to seat eight people.
“Tables will be set up all though this area,” he motioned, waving his hand, “but we will be seating ten people per table. This whole room will be completely filled with tables.”
He paused, suddenly appearing out of breath. Looking down, he put his hand on one of the tables to steady himself. Flushed, he looked up at the other two men. “They ... they’ll be much closer together, of course. We need to feed ... a lot of people ... to feed ... in a short time.”
“Randy,” Stephen asked, “are you all right?”
“I think I ─ ”
Janson grabbed a chair and pulled it over for Osborn to sit down. “Here, Randy. Sit.”
Osborn slid down onto the chair and inhaled deeply. He gazed up at the two men sheepishly. “I’m sorry, guys. I need a minute to gather myself.”
Both Stephen and Agent Janson pulled chairs around and sat facing Osborn. Janson said, “Take your time, Randy. It’s okay.”
Stephen inquired, “Do you need anything?”
Osborn slowly shook his head. “No. It’s nothing physical. Just an old memory overtaking me.” He turned to Janson. “You said you would have some bomb demolition people and dogs here for the conference, right?”
Frowning, Janson replied, “Yes. I’ll have a full crew standing by, here on-site.” He turned his head slightly and looked at Osborn out of the corner of his eyes. “Why? What is it, Randy?”
Osborn remained flush and appeared to struggle getting his breath. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I’m sorry. Sometimes this gets the best of me.”
The two men waited, giving Osborn time to catch his breath and recover.
A couple of minutes passed, then a grim smile spread across Osborn’s face. He looked up at the other two men. “I know you both can understand this. Something happened, some time ago, and once in awhile the memory just hits me and knocks me for a loop.”
Stephen sat quietly, and Janson asked softly, “Care to tell us about it, Randy?”
“I don’t talk about it much.” His facial expression became very serious. “Don’t either of you say anything about this to my team. They don’t need to know.”
“Oh-kay,” Janson replied in a low, soft voice.
“Four years ago, in Tel Aviv,” he began. “I was the station chief for the FBI’s small chapter assigned to work with the Israelis.” He looked off to the side, into the distance, remembering. The two men gave him time, allowing him to gather his thoughts.
“There had been an incident with a member of the Knesset, Israel’s legislature. He was a member of the standing Ethics Committee,” Osborn forced a laugh, “and he had a big gambling debt. The man he owed the money to, an Arab, threatened to kidnap his family if he didn’t pay up. They got into a fight and the Israeli shot one of the Arab’s bodyguards, who was an American. I had to drive down to Jerusalem to interview everyone.”
He shook his head. “I had promised my wife and daughter that I would take the afternoon off and meet them for lunch.” Osborn looked at Janson, then over at Stephen. “I had been working overtime and didn’t have a chance to spend much time with them.”
Tears appeared at the corner of his eyes, now turning red, and started slipping down over his cheeks. “My wife wanted to share some ... magical moments, as she called them, with me and our daughter, so I promised.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I was supposed to meet them at Eden House, a bistro sidewalk cafe on Yishkon Street, tucked away a little off the main road to the Tel Aviv beach.” Grimacing, he lowered his head to stare at the floor. “It should have been a quiet, beautiful afternoon.”
Sitting up, he raised his head to look at them both. “I was late getting there.” He shook his head, looking at them, searching for understanding. “I had to park the car a little ways away and walk to the restaurant. I remember it was so busy. People were sitting outside at tables on the sidewalk. I was hurrying to the door. I didn’t see them, they had a table inside the cafe.”
Looking from one man to the other, Osborn broke down. He started crying. “I just got to the door when it happened.” His voice became so low, it almost left him. He could hardly speak. “The bomb exploded with a flash and a loud roar. Windows were blown out, and I was thrown backward and landed flat on the ground. I couldn’t think at first. I just laid there a few minutes, then I realized my family was inside.”
He stared at them, unblinking, tears streaming down his face as he spoke. “They were inside the cafe.”
He stopped crying and struggled to get a breath.
“I managed to get inside, but couldn’t see, with all the smoke and dust. Most everything was black and charred, tables turned over,” he motioned with his hand, “parts of chairs everywhere. I can still hear some of the screams.” The look in his red eyes changed as he looked up and into the distance, away from the others. “And the people moaning.”
His voice drifted away and he became quiet. Pain etched itself across his face. His lips quivered. Tears appeared again in his bloodshot eyes and flooded his cheeks. And again he looked into their eyes, searching for understanding.
“I remember I started walking,” he paused, sucked in air, and swallowed, “searching.” Shaking his head, he tried to smile but couldn’t make it. “I called out to them. Sally?” His blank look couldn’t stop the tears. “Sally? Where are you? Linda, baby? Are you here? Are you okay?”
He dropped his head into hands, sobbing, losing control to the emotions, and started shaking. Stephen reached out and put his hand on Osborn’s shoulder.
After a moment, Osborn regained some composure and raised up in his chair. He looked at Janson, then Stephen, and lost it again. With his head in his hands, he managed, “All I could find ... were pieces. Pieces! An arm. A hand.” Raising his palms, he extended his arms toward the other two men. “Pieces of my family. That’s all that was left.”
The sobs continued. Then, finally, after a few more moments, Osborn raised his head to look around. “I’m sorry. Sometimes it just hits me and I lose it. I’m sorry, guys.”
Stephen kept his hand on Osborn’s shoulder. Janson nodded and said, “It’s okay, Randy. It’s okay.”
Osborn managed to stand, trying to regain control of himself. “Sometimes, when I think about bombs and what they can do, I think of that damned suicide bomber and what he did to my family.”
Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, he wiped his face and tried to smile. Janson and Stephen both nodded their understanding.
After another few minutes, Osborn stood up straight and pulled his shoulders back. Looking at the two men, he said, “Don’t you dare tell my team about this. They can’t see any weakness in me. They have to think I’m strong, as their leader. Understand?”
Again, both men nodded. Janson patted Osborn on the back. “It’ll be our secret.”
Osborn smiled. He stretched out his arm, pointing. “The kitchen is back on the left, over there.” He took a deep breath. “Meals will be banquet style, of course. Most of the food will be prepared ahead of time, and be ready for serving as the delegates arrive. The staff will be ready and the meals will be served quickly.”
He stood in the middle of the room with them. “Any questions?”
“No. Thank you, Randy. And thanks for sharing with us,” Janson said. “You and your people have done a great job getting ready for this. It seems you have everything covered. I just hope it all goes well, without any problems.” He smirked. “But that’s what we’re here for, right?”
“Yes. It is.” Osborn shook his head.
“Indeed,” Stephen added. “A superb job.” He smiled. “It’s just too bad I won’t be here to join you.”