Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [9]
A few minutes after his encounter with the security agent, Abdal was seated at the gate, his paranoia abated. If the woman had suspected anything he would never have gotten this far. She would have motioned one of the security guards over casually but with a hand gesture that indicated there was a problem, and Abdal would have been thrown to the floor, pinned there while another agent handcuffed him.
Instead, the woman went out of her way to be polite, to smile, to assure him she wasn’t profiling. And in that way she let a terrorist through her checkpoint.
But that was not his concern.
All Abdal could think about now was not his mistakes, nor his certain death, only getting home to the woman he loved.
Getting home to Sara.
4
The FBI wasted no time instituting a media blackout.
They didn’t call it that, of course. At an impromptu press conference near the blast site that night, with particles of dust still visible in the floodlights, newly appointed Mayor Daniel Maywood announced that the city of San Francisco was cooperating fully with the FBI and Homeland Security. However, due to the sensitivity of the investigation all inquiries were being routed to the FBI’s press liaison—which Jack knew from experience was a deep black hole.
The public was assured that the federal government would spare no expense in finding out who was responsible for the blast, but until the investigation was complete, they would not engage in speculation.
Questions about Al Qaeda and other terrorist organizations were floated, but an FBI spokeswoman repeatedly explained that unless someone came forward to claim responsibility they may not know who was responsible for several days. At this point they didn’t even know who the driver was, who owned the car, or what his target had been.
Figuring that out didn’t take a Heritage Foundation think tank, Jack thought. The city’s civic center was only blocks away, the fattest target on the route. But the feds had no intention of fueling rumors or causing concern that the center, or any other public space, was not safe.
The mayor had no comment about the assertion that a person involved in the carjacking had identified the driver as an Arab. He didn’t want to speculate and create a reactionary spike against Muslim Americans.
When he heard that, Jack wished he had been there instead of riding in the back of an ambulance with Maxine. He would’ve gone on record as saying that he, for one, was tired of all the special-interest hyphenates and wished that any fill-in-the-blank Americans would be Americans first and something else second.
Even though that was the kind of thing that got you tossed off the air, he reflected. But it was worth it. People said he was insensitive and a racist. He said he was a patriot, which was different from most of the mainstream media who seemed to be happy watching the country perforate along ethnic borders like Spain or the former Soviet Union or Iraq.
Jack lived and worked on a fifty-nine-foot Grand Banks yacht in the Sausalito Marina where, as if reflecting the mood of the region, the wind and tides were making some pretty ugly chop. Still, he managed to snag a few hours’ sleep around dawn then watched as local and national law enforcement across the country were put on high alert and did everything they could to create the impression of ensuring the public’s safety. The President made an Oval Office speech the following morning, reminding the country of his commitment to keeping