At six thirty a.m., Cabinet Secretary Phyllis Dryden called all ministers to an emergency cabinet meeting. The heads of Scotland Yard, Special Branch, MI5, SO15, the foreign secretary, the director of COBRA, and even Stanhope, the leader of the opposition, had been summoned. The Cabinet Room was “standing room only.” All hands were on deck. All staffers knew something was up—something big.
Georgia stood and addressed the room. Major Darling and Sir Melvin Burnlee flanked her. Steel was seated against the wall across from her with a direct view of Georgia.
“People, thank you for your prompt arrival. Six days ago this house was violated with a most hideous and disgusting crime. It has rocked this building, shaken our people, and saddened our souls. We have not stood idly by, as some have suggested; rather, with the good work of MI5, SO15, the DPG, Major Darling, and Inspector Davina Steel, today we have some answers. We have a suspect. He is an American. His name is Adam David Tatum. He is from Chicago. He has a history of subversive, aggressive behavior, and, it seems, a misguided inclination for violence as a tool for change.”
There was a small murmur from the room as it was revealed that an American was the prime suspect. The “special relationship” with the United States had endured a few tough years starting all the way back during George W. Bush’s disastrous foray into Iraq and on into the long, painful years of the battle with ISIL in the Middle East. Many in the British government had come to distrust the United States and Americans in general, and in fact the British public as well could be called “more than concerned” about the United States and its role in the world. The fact that they would now be turning west, looking at a US citizen as a possible perpetrator of this intimately horrible act, brought a new weight and a somber bass line to it all.
As the chancellor spoke, dossiers of Adam were passed around the shocked, silent, crowded room, one for each person. They contained his mug shot, a photo of the break-in in Michigan, and press clippings on the “Lansing plot.” Georgia continued with her recap.
“His motive would seem to be that he is some sort of union activist, a man willing to do anything for his fellow workers. I will say there are many among the investigative team who aren’t quite ready to believe that to be the case. They don’t believe it possible or plausible that this was the work of one lone man. Some here feel he is part of a larger plot—a plot and a motive that we are still not sure of. Some fear very much that we may well be in treacherous waters today, that in fact this American’s life could be in danger; the people who put him up to this would do well to kill him, to silence him. At one point we thought him dead already. This is not the case. He is very much alive. He is on the run.”
Photos now passed around the room showing a gruesome shot of a dead body in the back of the Ford wagon that Adam had rented. As the photos circulated, Georgia and Steel made eye contact. Steel was so proud to be on her team and adored how strong and alive Georgia looked as she spoke to the assembled group.
“This man must be found. Every resource of our government must now be used to bring him in and to uncover where and to whom the trail behind him leads. His details and photos must be sent to the attention of every station house, border crossing, and police officer in and around every corner of Great Britain. The press should not have his name or any, I repeat, any knowledge at this point of his or this potential scheme’s existence. We don’t want them to know we are on the hunt just yet. We’ll hope Mr. Tatum thinks himself free to roam and makes an unfounded move.”
Her back was straight now, her chest out, and her voice clear. She was morphing, Steel thought, right before everyone’s very eyes, into a true leader—a powerful figure, a Churchill even. Steel was crazy about her. It was clear in that moment, right then and there: she was head over heels nuts about Georgia Turnbull. How could she not be?
The room was thick with concentration, every eye riveted on the chancellor, her passion evident, the import, the severity, the calm resolve in her voice mesmerizing to the ministers and civil servants.
“This will be stopped. If it is in fact a plot, it absolutely threatens the very future and fabric of our nation. It could well bring along irreparable repercussions. It will not bear fruit. It will not pay dividends.” She was speaking at the top of her voice now. “Our goal from this moment on is to shut down this island, to put eyes on every train, every plane, every boat, lobby, café, and shopping plaza. It is now, from this second on, job one of this government to use all of our powers and summon all of our convictions to locate this American.”
With that, she sat down under the Walpole portrait, in the chair always left cocked to the table, and turned the room over to Major Darling who had more information on Tatum. As Darling spoke, Georgia looked over and saw young Steel looking at her. Her gaze brought Georgia comfort she badly needed—she had never once in her entire life been as frightened as she was at that moment.