From the street view, the Rayburn House Office Building was as imposing an edifice as any on Capitol Hill. Presiding at the main entrance were dual twelve-foot statues, The Spirit of Justice and The Majesty of Law, both gazing down in everlasting wisdom. More subliminally, the workplace of the nation’s leaders was surrounded by vibrant parks, including the United States Botanical Garden, the designers likely seeking counterweights for a legislative body where so many high-minded principles withered and died.
Burke had come alone, Alves staying behind at the field office. He’d been to the Rayburn building twice before. In the first instance, five years ago, he’d interviewed a congressional staffer who had been propagating terrorism-related conspiracy theories on social media—as it turned out, a web-based smear campaign against a primary rival. In the second instance, Burke had raided the office of a congressman accused of bribery, a man who’d ended up in federal prison. His visit today, he expected, would be far more routine.
He breezed through security, and had no trouble finding the office of the junior congressman from Virginia. In the anteroom Burke spoke to a college-aged woman with a cheery demeanor and high-pitched voice—an intern, he guessed. After introducing himself and showing his credentials, he was shown straight into the main office. If nothing else, Ridgeway was making good on his promise of being accessible.
The congressman was on the phone, and he raised an index finger to say just a minute. Burke’s eyes drifted and he saw what he would have expected. Weighty furniture, a few plaques, bookcases suffering under volumes of federal statutes. Ridgeway was as he remembered, if somewhat more subdued. After seeing him in action at least a hundred times—the same thirty seconds viewed repeatedly from various angles—watching him talk on a phone from behind his desk seemed oddly anticlimactic. Like watching Chuck Norris having tea.
Ridgeway ended the call and came around the desk with an extended hand. “Special Agent Burke, good to see you again.”
Burke took a firm handshake. “Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”
“No problem. If you were a reporter it would never have happened, but I meant what I said. If I can help you get to the bottom of this—I’m always available.”
Burke nodded obligingly.
The congressman backed up and took a seat on the front of his desk, his arms crossed casually. It was a pose few on the Hill could have pulled off, but for Ridgeway it worked. He was young and energetic, his gaze fixed singularly on Burke. During their first encounter in the interview room, the congressman had been seated behind a table. Now, seeing him in full measure, Burke’s first impression was magnified—the carriage and bearing of a soldier.
“How goes the investigation?” Ridgeway asked. “I’ve been pretty busy since we last talked, but I’d like to hear the latest.”
Burke tipped his head to one side. “As I’m sure you know, we’re always careful about divulging the details of investigations. But given your involvement, not to mention your security clearance, I suppose I can share a few things. We identified the bomber, and we’ll be releasing his name later today—Mohammed al-Qusami. He’s a Saudi national, twenty-one years old, and a former ISIS fighter. He was captured in northern Syria four years ago, then escaped.” Burke watched closely for a reaction, and he did see something, a flicker of recognition in Ridgeway’s eyes. What it meant Burke had no idea. Was the congressman flashing back to his Army days? Had it struck him that the enemy he’d fought for so long, the one that had ended his career with a bomb on some godforsaken desert road, was now here, launching attacks against America’s leadership? Whatever the connection, it dissipated as quickly as it came.
“Was he part of a cell or acting alone?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Burke said. “Both possibilities are being considered and we’ve got a few leads to track. You might be able to help with one of them.”
“Shoot.”
“On the roof of the hotel, when you tackled al-Qusami. You told me you went for his hand.”
“That’s right. I figured if he was wearing a vest, that’s where the switch would be.”
“Do you remember actually seeing the switch?”
Ridgeway’s eyes went distant in thought. He shook his head. “I saw something … at some point. Things were happening really fast.”
“So, you tried to clamp your hand over his.”
“Exactly. I wanted to keep it locked down.”
“Why?”
“Like I said the other day, I’ve had some training. Vests often use a dead man’s switch. It’s a mechanical thing—you squeeze to arm the circuit, but the bomb only goes off when the trigger is released. It’s a fail-safe—insurance in case the bomber is taken out right before the endgame.”
Burke said nothing.
“I guess I thought if I could keep his hand closed, I might be able to keep the bomb from going off.”
Burke nodded as if this made perfect sense, quietly imagining the nerve it would take to reach such a conclusion and act on it—all in a matter of seconds, and in the heat of a life-and-death struggle. “Let’s move forward a few beats. You’ve got your hand over his, and he’s fighting back. It doesn’t look like plan A is going to work, so you decide to heave him over the rail.”
Bryce held out his hands, a What’s a guy to do? gesture. “You give me more credit that I deserve. I’d like to say there was a plan, but the truth is, I was just reacting. Tossing him off the roof … that was probably survival instinct kicking in.”
“Okay. Next you get him up over the rail, but at that point he surprises you, tries to take you with him.”
“No telling what was in his mind. I suppose my jacket was the only thing he could reach. I was off balance, and he got a good grip. I went over with him but somehow got one hand on the rail. I was lucky. Really lucky.”
“I guess so,” Burke agreed. “Then al-Qusami lost his grip and fell.”
“That’s right.”
“Now, somewhere in that sequence you let go of his hand.”
“Like I said, it all happened fast. I can’t tell you exactly when I let go, but I’m sure it’s on the video.” The congressman regarded him for a moment, then said, “But then the bomb didn’t go off … at least not right away.”
Burke remained silent.
Ridgeway straightened his arms on his desk. He looked like he was doing a dip at the gym. “Actually, I did wonder about that. Do you think he held the switch for a few more seconds?”
“Why would he do that?” Burke asked.
“I don’t know. He had to be scared shitless, amped up. One second he’s fighting me, the next he’s falling off the roof of a building. Who knows what goes through a jihadi’s mind in a situation like that. I guess he froze, lost track of what he was doing.”
Burke pursed his lips ponderingly. “Maybe so.”
“Whatever the reason, Agent Burke, I’m glad it worked out the way it did.”
“Yeah,” Burke said, allowing a grin. “I’ll bet you are.”