Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [65]
Signed by Dr. Henry Johnston Garnett, Director of the Centers for Disease Control, the directive urged the FBI to contact all pertinent agencies and alert them to the transfer of the potentially deadly cargo. Immediately, the FBI analyst in charge of intelligence redistribution alerted state and federal law enforcement officials in Atlanta and New York City about the potential biohazard threat coming their way.
Because of the Frank Hensley accusations about Jack Bauer, however, FBI Headquarters in New York City instituted a Bureau-wide intelligence blackout with CTU. Beyond the routine security alert issued eight hours before, no one at the Counter Terrorist Unit was notified about the chartered CDC flight, or the deadly cargo it contains.
* * *
8:59:04 A.M. EDT
Office of New York Senator William Cheever
Hart Senate Office Building, Washington, D.C.
Dennis Spain, a bundle of nervous energy in a stocky, compact form, entered the Senate office precisely on time. As Chief of Staff to Senator William S. Cheever of New York, Spain felt his duty to be sleek, smart, and imperially efficient was surpassed only by his obligation to appear that way. Today's ensemble was one of Spain's favorites, a lightweight Italian suit and Bruno Magli loafers. The impression, he felt, was "chic competence," but the finely tailored clothes also left Spain feeling crisp and comfortable, no easy feat during the muggy summer months of the glorified swamp that was Washington, D.C.
After picking up his own mail, Spain's next stop was his boss's in-box, where his daily routine of browbeating the staff began. "These letters are all dated three days ago," he said, shaking a blue folder at a quaking intern sitting behind her desk. The young woman pulled a lock of long, dark, stringy hair away from her face.
"I... I know, Mr. Spain. But the Senator was away on a junket and he couldn't sign them until today."
Spain read the names and addresses on the letters. "None of these people matter one bit. Why didn't you use the signature machine?"
The young woman — an undergraduate at Columbia University and daughter of a rather large donor to the Senator's last campaign — seemed to shrink in her chair as she avoided his angry stare.
"The... the Senator... Senator Cheever...He said he didn't want me to do that anymore. Said it was too impersonal."
"Well, Senator Cheever certainly can't sign these. They're as stale as old fish." He tossed the folder on her desk. "Do the letters over with today's date, then give them to the Senator to sign. Let's hope he can find a pen around here."
"Yes sir, Mr. Spain. Right away."
Her reply was barely heard and certainly not acknowledged. Dennis Spain had already entered his office. He closed the door behind him, dropped into his leather chair, and brushed back his blond-streaked brown hair, exposing a broad forehead over thin eyebrows and narrowly set eyes with a constantly critical gaze that made him appear shrewd. That's the word his friends used — shrewd. His opponents preferred shifty.
Like everyone in Washington, Dennis Spain had enemies, more than his share considering he'd never run for or been elected to a political office. He'd served only as the Senator's campaign manager and then his Chief of Staff. Not quite out of his thirties, he occupied a powerful position that had been well earned in Spain's own estimation.
Five years before, Senator William S. Cheever had been a political dinosaur, an endangered species — just another fading Northeast politician with a penchant for bloated government programs even his constituents no longer favored. His chances for reelection were so bleak that his own party endorsed his rival in the primary campaign. After that blow came, Senator Cheever did the first smart thing he'd done in a decade — he fired his old campaign manager and put Dennis Spain in charge of his reelection.
As a political strategist, Spain