Free A Touch of Greed by Gary Ponzo

don’t need yes men, Sam.”
    Fisk shrugged.
    “Well?” Merrick asked. “What about your War Room meeting?”
    Fisk chomped on the last olive, then crumpled up the napkin and tossed it in the trash can under Georgia’s counter. “An offspring of Hamas is trying to get a dirty bomb across the Arizona border.”
    “Who?”
    “The United Palestinian Force. UPF.”
    Merrick pulled his hands out from under his protective cape. “How close are they?”
    “Close,” Fisk said. “The committee is still dubious about the potency of the bomb, however.”
    “Which means?”
    “They feel it’s lacking a main component to achieve full detonation.”
    “So, what do we do?”
    “Nothing.”
    Merrick squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means just what it sounds like.”
    Merrick jumped up from the chair and tossed the cape onto his vacant seat. “I’ll announce a press conference,” Merrick said, rubbing his hands together and taking random steps around the small room. “I’ll denounce this new terrorist organization and put them on everyone’s radar.”
    “No,” Fisk said. “It’s what they want. They understand how Al Qaeda became a household name after 9-11 and they want that kind of global attention. Attention brings in new recruits and draws more funds.”
    “So we ignore them?” Merrick said in a huff. “Then what happens when the bomb explodes and we haven’t been ahead of the incident, warning our people?”
    Fisk stood and wiped his hands on a small white towel hanging from a hook on the wall. He went over to the President and gripped his shoulders. “Listen to me,” he said. “I know these guys. They’re publicity whores. They’re like a five-year-old screaming in a grocery store. Let them scream. We’ve got the right people in place. Let them do their job.” He let go of Merrick and remained in front of him while the President folded his arms and looked up at the bigger man.
    “Who’s down there?” Merrick asked.
    “Nick Bracco.”
    Merrick winced. “Hasn’t that guy done enough? Does the entire country’s safety fall on the shoulders of one man?”
    “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Fisk looked down for a moment. “Also . . . Matt McColm’s girlfriend, Jennifer Steele . . . she was killed by one of Antonio Garza’s crew.”
    Merrick stood still and shook his head. “Shit,” he murmured.
    “Walt’s in Arizona this morning for the funeral,” Fisk said.
    Merrick put it together in his mind. “So Garza’s the one transporting the bomb?”
    “Yes.”
    Merrick nodded. “And Nick is going after him for killing three FBI agents.”
    “That’s another motivating factor, yes.” Fisk walked around Merrick with his hands behind his back. “There’s one other thing. We have an operative down in Mexico. Someone who has dealt with Garza. He seems to know where the bomb is and will notify his contacts when the time is right.”
    “And?”
    “And Ken needs two million in black ops money to fund their contractor’s operative.”
    Merrick sighed. “What’s going on, Sam? How come I’m being told this at such a late date?”
    Fisk pursed his lips. “Because we have issues down in the terrorist War Room. If we continue on this same path of information segregation, we’ll be relying on luck more than data.”
    Merrick turned his back to Fisk and contemplated his options. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll approve the black ops fund, but only . . . and I mean only if we schedule a meeting for the end of the week where I’ll put an end to this info divide.”
    “Okay.”
    “And I want a plan “B” set up immediately. I’m not going to sit at my desk and wait for a bomb to explode before we react. I have a responsibility to the civilian population to protect them from these types of attacks. I want a continuous update e-mailed every couple of hours. If I have to evacuate a city or county, I’ll do it. I don’t care about the political ramifications.”