Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [41]
INTERVIEWER: “What are family members of those who died in the attacks feeling at this moment?” ANSWER: “Shock, sadness, remorse, anger—yes, extreme anger.”
Wally Watson’s wife, Celia, succumbed to incessant pressure and agreed to appear on a local talk show.
INTERVIEWER: “How is the family holding up?”
ANSWER: “We’re doing the best we can under the circumstances. Wally—that was my husband—is missed very much.” She began to cry.
INTERVIEWER: “If you could come face-to-face with the person who shot down the plane with your husband on it, what would you say to that person?” ANSWER: “I would say… I would ask why.”
INTERVIEWER: “Yes, indeed, why is the question all America is asking. We’ll take a brief commercial break. When we come back, we’ll ask this courageous lady what the future holds for her and her family now that her husband is no longer with them.”
The story multiplied, fed on itself. CNN devoted two hours to the activities of local police across the country. San Jose’s police chief was among those interviewed:
INTERVIEWER: “What’s the mood here in San Jose?” ANSWER: “The mood is somber and concerned.”
INTERVIEWER: “What is your department doing— what can your department do to allay these fears?”
ANSWER: “Well, we know that incidents like these aren’t going to happen every day. The citizens of San Jose are being encouraged to go about their daily activities in a normal manner.”
INTERVIEWER: “Including getting aboard airplanes?”
ANSWER: “Yes, that too. Look, I don’t want to minimize what’s happened. We’ve gone to full alert in our emergency crisis center as a precaution, and known hate groups are being sought out and questioned. But—”
INTERVIEWER: “Do you have information we don’t have that a domestic hate group is behind these attacks, not a foreign terrorist organization?”
ANSWER: “No, but every potential source of information is being pursued. Thank you.”
Warren Forrester held the APB his office had received as its subject, Zachary Jasper, approached.
WANTED—CAUTION—FOR QUESTIONING—JASPER, ZACHARY—SEX/M—RAC/W—POB/IDAHO— DOB/020752—HGT/601—WGT/290—EYE/BRO— HAI/BLACK—MIS/EXTRM PARANOID—AFFIL W/KNOWN HATE GROUPS—FOUNDR THE JASPER PROJECT—HEVLY ARMED—LV/RANCH, NORTH WASH, CALLED JASPER, NRST CTY BELLINGHAM (TWN/BLAINE)—RANCH POP APPROX 30.
Jasper wore a black T-shirt. Despite being the largest size available, it was stretched thin over his massive body. An unfurled American flag was emblazoned on its front. On the back, in white letters, was CSA, which stood for the Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord, a militia group whose survival training school was considered among the best in the amalgamation of such groups across the United States. Jasper had been given the shirt after completing a refresher course there, and wore it with pride.
Huge, sunburned arms, covered with tattoos, bulged against the shirt’s short sleeves. His hair was black and shaved daily into a buzz-cut. He wore a leather vest over the shirt, dark blue jeans—waist size forty-eight— leather sandals over bare feet, and a thick gold chain around his neck. A sizable, custom-crafted medallion, on which a lightning bolt cut across a shield containing a large red letter J, hung from the chain.
At first glance, Jasper might have been considered a fat man. He wasn’t. He was a big man, muscular and hard, including his large belly. The only thing that mitigated the imposing figure he presented were round, rimless glasses that were absurdly small on his broad, flushed face.
He walked down the long road to where the six FBI special agents dressed in suits stood next to three unmarked sedans they’d driven to the remote area known as Jasper, Washington, a name given it by its only permanent resident, Zachary Jasper. Flanking him were six younger men, none of whom were armed. The deal struck by phone the night before called for Jasper to surrender to the agents