Executive orders - Tom Clancy [26]
Don't move the body anymore, she told the fireman. Like most FBI agents, she'd been a local police officer before applying to the federal agency. It was the cold that made her face pale.
First crash investigation? the NTSB man asked, seeing her face, and mistaking her pallor.
She nodded. Yes, it is, but it's not my first murder. With that she switched on her portable radio to call her supervisor. For this body she wanted a crime-scene team and full forensics.
THE TELEGRAMS CAME from every government in the world. Most were long, and all had to be read-well, at least the ones from important countries. Togo could wait.
Interior and Commerce are in town and standing by for a Cabinet meeting along with all the deputies, van Damm said while Ryan flipped through the messages, trying to read and listen at the same time. The Joint Chiefs, all the vices, are assembled, along with all the command CINCs to go over national security-
Threat Board? Jack asked without looking up. Until the previous day he'd been President Durling's National Security Advisor, and it didn't seem likely that the world had changed too much in twenty-four hours.
Scott Adler handled the answer: Clear.
Washington is pretty much shut down, Murray said. Radio and TV announcements for people to stay home, except for essential services. The D.C. National Guard is out. We need the warm bodies for the Hill, and the D.C. Guard is a military-police brigade. They might actually be useful. Besides, the firemen must be about worn out by now.
How long before the investigation gives us hard information? the President asked.
There's no telling that, Ja-Mister-
Ryan looked up from the official Belgian telegram. How long since we've known each other, Dan? I'm not God, okay? If you use my name once in a while, nobody's going to shoot you for it.
It was Murray's turn to smile. Okay. You can't predict with any major investigation. The breaks just come, sooner or later, but they do come, Dan promised. We have a good team of investigators out there.
What do I tell the media? Jack rubbed his eyes, already tired from reading. Maybe Cathy was right. Maybe he did need glasses, finally. Before him was a printed sheet for his morning TV appearances, which had been selected by lot. CNN at 7:08, CBS at 7:20, NBC at 7:37, ABC at 7:50, Fox at 8:08, all from the Roosevelt Room of the White House, where the cameras were already set up. Someone had decided that a formal speech was too much for him, and not really appropriate to the situation until he had something substantive to deliver. Just a quiet, dignified, and above all, intimate introduction of himself to people reading their papers and drinking their morning coffee.
Softball questions. That's already taken care of, van Damm assured him. Answer them. Speak slowly, clearly. Look as relaxed as you can. Nothing dramatic. The people don't expect that. They want to know that somebody's in charge, answering the phones, whatever. They know it's too soon for you to say or do anything decisive.
Roger's kids?
Still asleep, I expect. We have the family members in town. They're at the White House now.
President Ryan nodded without looking up. It was hard to meet the eyes of the people sitting around the breakfast table, especially on things like that. There was a plan for this, too. Movers were already on the way, probably. The Durling family-what was left of it-would be removed from the White House kindly but quickly, because it wasn't their house anymore. The country needed someone else in there, and that someone needed to be as comfortable as possible, and that meant eliminating all visible reminders of the previous occupant. It wasn't brutal, Jack realized. It was business. They doubtless had a psychologist standing by to assist the family members with their grief, to process them through it as best as medical science allowed. But the country came first. In the unforgiving calculus of life, even so sentimental a nation as the United States of America had to move on.