Against All Enemies by Richard Herman Read Free Book Online Page B

Armed Islamic Group with Broderick months before, the two of them had decided it was better to ignore the AIG than upset the President’s Middle East policy. Broderick tried to change the subject. “I had no idea the Project was such a powerful tool. I’m quite sure if we’d known about what the Armed Islamic Group was doing, the President would have responded accordingly.”
    “The Project really belongs to the CIA, not the National Security Agency,” the DCI grumbled, gnawing on the bone of who controlled what. “The NSA should have never been made a separate operating agency.”
    It was an old political battle and Durant had offered the Project to the government only when it was out of the CIA’s reach. In his view, the CIA had become ossified and incapable of reforming itself. “This information turned up during a test run,” Durant said. He decided a little lying was necessary to keep them focused on the threat. “My technicians can explain how it happened but it was pure luck. Unfortunately, we’re still twelve to eighteen months away from the Project being fully operational. But I thought you should be aware of what we discovered.”
    “You should have shown it to me first,” the DCI grumbled.
    “What is important at this time,” Broderick said, “is that we determine a proportional response to this threat.”
    “I never understood that term,” Durant said.
    “It means,” Broderick said, “that the President will respond accordingly.”
    12:20 P.M. , Monday, April 19,
Sacramento, Calif.
     
    Hank Sutherland put the finishing touches on his apartment, making sure the bookcase was dusted and his collection of pewter miniature soldiers was properly arranged. He suppressed a longing for Rosa, their former maid. But he could no longer afford her, not after the divorce, selling the house, and quitting his job. He glanced at Beth’s picture that stood in its new place on the side table. The photo was six years old but Beth Page hadn’t aged a day. He often wondered about that. It must be in the genes , he decided.
    He checked his watch; the mail should have arrived. He went out to the mailboxes, surprised by the unusually warm temperature for mid-April. Two letters and the usual junk. The top letter was a bill that was thirty days overdue. He would have to pay it and let something else slip, especially if he was to come up with the $9,000 in prepayment penalties. The second letter was from Beth. He turned the letter over looking for the return address. There wasn’t any. He checked the postmark: JFK International Airport in New York. Beth loved to travel so that made sense. By the time he walked back to his tiny apartment, his shirt was streaked with sweat. Once inside, he turned up the air conditioner and carefully laid the letter against her silver-framed photograph without opening it. What do you want now, Beth?
    He sat down in front of the computer to work on the manuscript of None Call It Justice and stared at the blank screen. Nothing. The gentle whir of the air conditioner turned to a clanking sound and stopped. I can’t believe this , he moaned inwardly. He called the apartment manager and listened to the current crop of excuses about why it couldn’t be fixed until the next day. Rather than face the building heat that would soon turn the apartment into an oven, he opted to go out for a late lunch. He quickly showered and shaved and dressed in crisply pressed walking shorts and an open-necked sports shirt. He pulled on crew socks before slipping on his Birkenstock sandals. Just before he left the apartment, he glanced at Beth’s still unopened letter. It could wait.
     
     
    Superior Court Judge Jane Evans parked her car on the levee road’s narrow shoulder across from the Virgin Sturgeon. She hadn’t meant to stop and wanted to get home to spend some time in her garden. It wasn’t often she could slip away from her office before four in the afternoon. But when she caught sight of