I remember enough about the old me to know that I have never been good at waiting. My jaw starts to clench, and then it spreads to the rest of my body, until it feels like I am going to explode. It’s not the most pleasant of feelings.
This waiting is going to be in two parts, and that’s in a best case. First of all, Bradley has secured a 7:00 A.M. meeting with Wiggins by triggering some kind of Homeland Security emergency alert procedure. He will be trying to get Wiggins to go after a court order to shut down all the cell towers. So we have to wait and see how that goes.
I can’t imagine that Wiggins can make the call by himself, but assuming he wants to and can get the needed approvals, then they have to go to a judge to get the order issued. Which means more waiting.
I’d feel better if this approach was likely to succeed, but it isn’t. It’s going to be a very heavy lift to get Wiggins and the judge to go along; we really don’t have that good a case to make.
It’s almost eight o’clock, which means that Bradley has been gone for more than two hours. Nate and I have been just sitting and basically doing nothing; we’ve insulted each other a couple of times, but our heart really hasn’t been in it.
Jessie’s been on the computer doing whatever it is that Jessie does on the computer. But she’s using the computer in my office rather than hers, because she wants to be here when Bradley gets back and gives us the news.
I called Lieutenant Roberts on his cell phone at 3:00 A.M. Vegas time to update him on what was going on. He answered the phone sounding completely awake despite the time, which is very definitely a cop thing, and possibly a Vegas thing as well.
I don’t know if he thinks that we’re right or not, but he certainly didn’t dismiss it out of hand. He’s going to wait along with us to find out whether we can get a judge to issue the order, since it would cover Vegas as well.
With Harriman being so close to the Strip, his list of potential targets is considerably larger than ours. Every hotel, every casino, is a potential disaster waiting to happen, triggered by a simple cell phone call.
Bradley finally returns and comes straight to my office, where we’ve been hanging out. “Good news and bad news,” he says, and we just wait to hear it.
“The good news is that the Bureau will seek the court order, and in the meantime they will figure out what to do if they get it, meaning who to deliver it to, and how to do it quickly. He thinks it can all be done electronically.”
“And the bad?” Nate asks.
“He thinks we’re probably wrong, but doesn’t want to take the chance that we might be right. But neither he nor the people he works for thinks we’ll get the judge to go along.”
“Why?”
“A bunch of reasons. It will cause very significant public disruption, and if the reason for it gets out, a good amount of panic. And except for Lewinsky’s brief mention of the sixteenth, there’s no solid information that today is the day. They can’t keep those towers down forever.”
“What else?”
“There’s too much hunch involved without any real evidence that this organ thing is happening. They were not terribly impressed with the fact that William Simmons had a driver’s license, even if it turns out to be a fake.
“And the last thing, as if all the rest wasn’t enough, is that even if we’re right about everything … the motive and the timing … we still have only a small chance of preventing it. Because if we shut down the cell service, then they pull the device, and do it tomorrow. Or next week. Or the week after that.”
I don’t necessarily agree with all that he is saying, but there’s no use arguing the point. All he is doing is quoting Wiggins, so convincing him won’t accomplish anything. Now if I could talk to the judge, that might be a different story. But that’s not going to happen.
“We need to come up with a plan in case we get shot down,” I say.
Bradley nods and says, as he’s leaving the room, “Let me know when you have one.”