A phone on one of the desks rang and Doug McGuire picked it up. He listened to the handset for ten seconds.
‘Yes, sir, he’s here.’
He listened again, only briefly, before holding the handset out to Denning.
‘It’s Porter Burnett, he wants to speak to you.’
‘Who the hell is Porter Burnett?’
McGuire cupped his hand over the mouthpiece.
‘Mr Burnett is one of Atlanta’s good ole boys. A lawyer, old money, he is presently running for mayor,’ he whispered.
‘How does he know I’m here?’
‘There isn’t much that happens in this town that Porter doesn’t know about.’
Denning looked at the handset.
‘Tell him I don’t want to talk to him.’
McGuire held the handset further towards Denning.
‘You may not know a lot about local politics, Dr Denning, but believe me, it would be a big mistake not to talk to ole Porter here.’
Denning shrugged.
‘In a short time, maybe today, a group of terrorists are going to attack somewhere in this city. They consider it an honour to die for the cause. So far, we’ve got a group of nine, including you and Curtis, and the only one of us who has any idea how to stop them is me. This is going to be really, really tough and the last thing I need is some self-seeking, publicity crazy politician looking over my shoulder and second-guessing everything I do. So why don’t you tell him, as politely as you feel is necessary, that I don’t want to talk to him.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Curtis Hoffman as he walked out of the room and into the corridor. McGuire spoke quietly and apologetically into the phone for two minutes, then put it down.
‘Where did Curtis go?’ he asked.
‘My money would be on a conversation with the mayor.’
Leaning against the wall in the corridor, and watching both directions to make sure that he was alone, Curtis Hoffman dialled the mayor’s private number.
He told her that Porter Burnett was trying to talk to Denning. She said that she would speak to the governor and get him to put political pressure on Porter to back off. In the meantime, Curtis had better think of an argument to show the public that she was right and Burnett was wrong about the FBI.
As he came back into the room, Denning said, ‘Where have you been?’
‘Talking to the mayor.’
Denning nodded. At least Curtis Hoffman was honest, but they both now knew where his loyalties were.
‘Okay,’ said Denning, ‘let’s give the guys in the other room the idiot’s guide to modern terrorism.’
For 90 minutes, without notes or a single pause, he lectured the men around the table on terrorists, their histories, objectives, support groups and interrelationships. Then he talked about Abu Smadi Almussab.
He told them that Abu Smadi Almussab had been born, the eldest of four children, in Amman where his father was a taxi driver. Abu had intelligence and native wit and after winning prizes for maths and geography at local schools, had gone to Yarmouk University. It was here, in his second year, that he was radicalized and secretly became a member of Black September.
On graduation, he joined the Jordanian army, moving to the Special Operations Command after nine months and, a year later, the Royal Special Forces. When he was discharged to the reservists he led the successful assassination of King Abdullah’s second cousin after which, as the security forces closed in on him, he had to leave Jordan and was recruited by Al-Qaeda in Lebanon. Since then he had gained a reputation for ruthless and successful operations, leading small groups of terrorists at locations throughout the globe.
As he was speaking, somewhere in the background, Denning heard the door of the suite open. He leaned towards McGuire.
‘Who knows we are here?’ he asked quietly.
‘They Mayor and the Chief, that’s it.’
‘I would be surprised,’ continued Denning quietly to the men round the table, ‘if you gentlemen weren’t carrying weapons. Would you mind covering that door?’
He had worked with armed officers for years, but was amazed at the number of automatic handguns that were produced from shoulder and ankle holsters. Denning carried on talking, although everyone in the room, including him, was watching the door.
The door opened smoothly and slowly in a graceful arc and standing in the doorframe was a large man in a linen suit. He looked impassively at the seven guns aimed at him.
‘I see that I’m somewhat late for the talk on the Right to Bear Arms,’ he said.
He sauntered through the doorway, followed by two very smartly dressed, well groomed young men carrying clipboards.
The man in the linen suit stopped three paces into the room and smiled broadly. Behind him, the two young men started writing on the clipboards.
‘These gentlemen,’ said the man over his shoulder, ‘are what the mayor is calling her Task Force. And,’ he turned his face, still smiling, to McGuire and Hoffman, ‘I already know the Deputy Chief and Curtis so, by process of elimination,’ he lethargically turned to face Denning, ‘you must be Dr Denning.’
He strolled round the room, looking around him with feigned interest, like a minor royal on a conducted tour. As he got to the window he stopped with his back to the room and looked down onto the street.
‘I am Porter Burnett and I’m here, Doctor, because you won’t take my phone calls.’
‘That is because I don’t have anything to say to you.’
Porter Burnett swung round very quickly for a large man.
‘You don’t? You could start by telling me why you’ve got together this rag-bag bunch of no hopers, instead of calling in the Bureau.’
‘That’s none of your business.’
The smile which had gone from Burnett’s face reappeared.
‘Could we have a word? In private?’
The two young men in the doorway stood aside as Burnett and Denning walked across the main room to the smaller one at the far side, where Porter Burnett carefully closed the door behind him.
‘I don’t know what line Curtis has been feeding you, Dr Denning, but the good ole boys you’re up against are terrorists. You understand what that means, don’t you?’
‘I have a fair idea.’
‘Well, just in case, let me spell it out for you. These people have been trained to engage in violent acts to cause the maximum damage to this country. They will destroy buildings and kill and maim our citizens. They are, most likely as not, heavily armed and perfectly prepared to die. You can’t line up half a dozen traffic cops against people like that. The Federal Bureau of Investigation has specialists who do nothing else but neutralize terrorists. Play these people at their own game: professionals to fight professionals. Step aside and let the Bureau would take over. You do see I’m right, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Denning.
Porter Burnett, who had been pacing the room, preparing for an argument, stopped in his tracks.
‘You do?’ he said.
‘It makes sense. But I’m told this is a political decision.’
This time Burnett’s smile was genuine. He sat down, took a cigar from his jacket breast pocket and examined it.
‘Political decisions,’ he said slowly, ‘can always be reversed. I have some influence.’
‘I’m sure you have, but there is a problem. I get my orders from my boss, he gets his from the Commissioner and so up it goes, all the way to the Prime Minister. And the orders came down the line from him after he’d had a conversation with your President. It seems to me that they are the only two who can reverse the decision. But if you want to take them on, best of luck.’
The smile still played on Porter Burnett’s lips, but his face had hardened and his voice was full of false regret.
‘I had hoped that you and I could get along. I see now that may not be the case.’
Losing interest in the cigar, he put it back in his pocket and looked shrewdly at Denning.
‘That doesn’t mean that we can’t be useful to each other.’
Denning didn’t reply, or show any emotion, so Burnett continued.
‘I will ensure that my people stay off your back and allow you to get on with your job. In return, you can supply me with the odd piece of information.’
‘I’m not going to have time to give anyone information.’
‘Perhaps I could give you something for the extra trouble, say a regular payment into your account?’
‘Don’t insult me, Mr Burnett.’
Burnett turned the full force of his professional smile onto Denning.
‘Believe me, Doctor Denning, no insult was intended or, I hope, taken. Perhaps we could talk about this some other time?’
‘I wouldn’t waste your breath, Councillor.’
‘Well, we’ll see,’ replied Burnett, opening the door and walking across the main room to the conference room on the other side.
Ignoring the police officers sitting round the table, he said,
‘Curtis, a pleasure to meet with you, as always. Deputy Chief, give my best to your lovely bride and your family.’
With a nod towards the two young men in business suits, he said, ‘Okay boys. Let’s go.’
As he left the room and walked down the corridor his pace quickened and the smile evaporated.
‘I want that son of a bitch Denning nailed to the wall!’ he hissed over his shoulder. The two young men, struggling to keep up with him, jotted rough notes on their clipboards.
‘Get onto our people in London and find his weaknesses, I need some leverage to get to him. And then phone Dan Fowler, I want to know everything about those gorillas sat round the table. If I’m going to the press, I need ammunition, load the gun for me, boys. Let’s crucify this group and that bitch Taylor. And, while you’re at it, think of some disinformation to feed Curtis.’