The Lion's Game by Nelson DeMille

Author:Nelson DeMille
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: 1986, John (Fictitious character), Serial murders, Action & Adventure, Libya, FIC000000, Libya - History - Bombardment, General, Corey, Suspense, Prevention, Historical, Adventure stories, Terrorism, Fiction, Terrorism - Prevention, Espionage
ISBN: 9780446520652
Publisher: Warner Books
Published: 2000-01-06T04:37:03+00:00

CHAPTER 38

By mid-afternoon Monday, I’d moved my stuff to the Incident Command Center along with about forty other men and women.

The ICC is set up in this big commo room, which reminded me of the room in the Conquistador Club. There was a real buzz in the place, like everyone was on uppers, and the phones were ringing, faxes were going off, computer terminals were all lit up, and so forth. I’m not exactly familiar with a lot of the new technology, and my idea of high tech is a flashlight and a phone, but my brain works just fine. Anyway, Kate and I had desks that faced each other in a small, chest-high cubicle, which was kind of neat, I guess, but a little awkward.

So, I was all settled in, and I was reading a huge stack of memos and interrogation reports, plus some of the crap I’d picked up in D.C. the day before. This is not my idea of working a case, but there wasn’t much else I could do at the moment. I mean, in a regular homicide case, I’d be out on the street, or down at the morgue, or bugging the medical examiner or the forensic people, and generally making life miserable for a lot of people so that my life could be better.

Kate looked up from her desk and said to me, “Did you see this memo about funerals?”

“No, I didn’t.”

She glanced at a memo in her hand and read me the arrangements. Nick Monti was being waked at a funeral home in Queens, and his full Inspector’s Funeral would be on Tuesday. Phil Hundry and Peter Gorman were being shipped back to their hometowns out of state. Meg Collins, the duty officer, was to be waked in New Jersey and buried on Wednesday. The arrangements for Andy McGill and Nancy Tate were to be announced, and I guessed that the medical examiner had held things up.

I’ve been at nearly every wake, burial, and memorial service of everyone I’ve ever worked with, and never missed one where the person was killed in the line of duty. But I didn’t have time for the dead just now, and I said to Kate, “I’ll skip the wakes and burials.”

She nodded, but said nothing.

We kept at the reading, answered a few phone calls, and read some faxes. I managed to access my e-mail, but other than something called the Monday Funnies, there wasn’t much interesting. We drank coffee, swapped ideas and theories with the people around us, and generally spun our wheels, waiting for something.

As new people arrived in the room, they glanced at Kate and me—we were sort of minor celebrities, I guess, being the only two people in the room who had been eyewitnesses to the biggest mass murder in American history. Living eyewitnesses, I should say.

Jack Koenig entered the room and came over to us. He sat so that he was below the cubicle partition, and said, “I just got a top secret communiqúe from Langley—at six-thirteen P.

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