Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [83]
Claudia was about to remind Roddy that she wrote legal thrillers, and the only explosions that occurred in her novels were in the courtroom. But instead she kept her mouth shut, knowing she'd be wasting her breath. As Associate Dean of Humanities at Harvard University, Roderick Cannon held all works of popular fiction beneath contempt.
Besides, thought Claudia, things were already strained between them. They'd spent much of the previous night's dinner arguing about her husband's new job as Northeast District Director for the CIA's Counter Terrorist Unit.
Roderick insisted on focusing on CTU's old directives. He kept bringing up the Unit's supposed trampling of constitutional rights, illegal wiretaps, and alleged use of torture.
Her brother-in-law refused to acknowledge that Claudia's husband was an agent of change, that Nathan Wheelock was working toward expurgating any CTU personnel who favored such practices. In the past year, since he'd taken the position, Nathan had abolished all racial and religious profiling within his command, made certain that his people placed wiretaps only on domestic calls to known terrorists overseas, and forbade any agent under his authority to engage in torture.
Claudia was very proud of her husband's progressive policies. She herself had been a high-profile civil rights attorney before quitting to raise her children and write best-selling legal thrillers, and she was in the perfect position to help keep her husband's career objectives on track, ensuring the civil rights of any suspect or prisoner were treated as a CTU priority.
The law was on Nathan's side, too, of course, and it helped that the current Administration was in Nathan's corner. It was only a matter of time before Claudia's husband would be elevated to a much higher position within the Agency. Then Nathan's regional policies could be implemented nationally, through every district and division of the CTU organization.
But Claudia's arguments fell on deaf ears. Roddy's mind was already made up. CTU was a useless, fascist organization that should never have been created, period.
Obviously sensing another argument in the works, Claudia's sister Gillian stepped out of the bedroom. "Since we're all awake," she chirped brightly, "I'll turn on the telly and see if we've had a minor quake."
Claudia winced at Gillian's use of British idiom. Since marrying an Englishman, she'd been suppressing her Boston accent, as well.
Downstairs, her sister put on a pot of tea while Claudia tuned into WHDH, the NBC affiliate in Boston. Her timing was perfect. After a few seconds of one of those ubiquitous M*A*S*H reruns, the show was interrupted by a "breaking news" interstitial, then a somber-looking announcer appeared on screen.
"We've just received word here at the studio about a massive explosion in the center of Boston. It appears the blast has collapsed a portion of Interstate 93 between Cambridge Street and Boston Harbor."
"The Big Dig," Roddy grumbled, plopping down at the kitchen table. "A monument of excess and corporate corruption..."
"I thought the Dig was a government project," Claudia corrected.
"In America, government and business are one and the same thing. Instruments of arrogant avarice." He imperiously waved his hand. "The superciliousness of your American officials never ceases to astound me."
"You know what, Roddy? You can always go back to England..."
"Here we are!" Gillian forcefully chirped, setting the teapot down between them. "It's chamomile. It won't keep us awake..."
Another blast, much louder than the previous one, shook the windows. Roddy jumped to his feet, sending a china cup tumbling to the floor.
"Roddy, do be careful! You've broken a piece of our good..."
Another blast shattered the kitchen window. Gillian screamed. Claudia pushed her sister away from flying shards of glass. Other windows in the neighborhood had broken, too. They could hear cries of shock