Free The President's Assassin by Brian Haig Page A

replied, “I’ll tell you what I think. If they were serious about killing the President, there wouldn’t be a warning.”
    This glimmer of hope brought Mr. Wardell forward in his seat. “Go on.”
    George said, “They’d be stupid to alert us. Their job becomes more difficult...more risky.”
    Mrs. Hooper asked, “Then what’s the point?”
    “The point?” Clearly George was enjoying his moment, showing his brilliance, dispersing profundities to the washed and unwashed. He looked at all our faces, then back at Mrs. Hooper. He said, “Footballers call it the trap play. We distract ourselves trying to protect the President, and they use the diversion to escape.”
    I had already considered George’s theory, and already discarded it. Threatening the President’s life was anything but a distraction; it was a magnet for the largest dragnet in history. But if George wanted to sound stupid, I wasn’t going to contradict him.
    Still, this was getting a little too open-ended for everybody’s comfort level, so Jennie chose this moment to explain, “My boss may be right. Or he may be wrong. Here’s what we
do
know—or at least can
reasonably
postulate at this stage. They’re American. At least, from the idiomatic expressions, whoever wrote the note is American. And they have professional-level abilities and equipment.”
    “Great,” said Mrs. Hooper. “I put out to the American people that some unknown group of professional assassins is hunting our President. Just great. Do any of you see where I have a problem with that? What do you think the public reaction’s going to be?”
    Indeed, we all saw her problem, and we all worked up appropriately pained expressions that were, of course, completely phony. That was her problem, and like all professional bureaucrats, we intended to keep our noses out of her in-box, and were sorely wishing she’d keep her nose out of ours.
    Our problem was getting a handle on this thing when clearly the bad guys had a head start, momentum, and presumably a plan. I had the feeling Jennie was right; the killers knew exactly
what
they were going to do and
how
. The scheme would unfold at their pace and tempo. Unless they made a stupid mistake or miscalculation, if the President stayed out in the public, there was a good chance we’d still be playing catch-up when the big caisson rolled down Pennsylvania Avenue.
    Anyway, the meeting dragged on, partly because clueless people tend to be talkative, and partly because George was enjoying the sound of his own voice. The decision was made to issue a public statement saying the White House Chief of Staff and his wife had been murdered and the circumstances and cause were under investigation, which at first blush appeared to be an attempted burglary gone askew. I must’ve missed something in this discussion, because it struck me that the only people who wouldn’t be misled by this silliness were the killers.
    Further, it was decided the task force would operate out of Ferguson Home Security Electronics, because it was centrally located and a secure facility; because it contained all the necessary communications and intelligence systems; and because nobody suggested a better place. Actually, Mr. Halderman helpfully volunteered the use of the newly constructed Homeland Security Information Analysis and Infrastructure Protection Office, and that drew a few chuckles. Nobody could even remember all the adjectives. It sucks being the new guy.
    But finally Meany appeared to recognize that we were wasting precious time, while the opposition was not. He informed us, “Agent Margold’s preliminary observations suggest a two-pronged approach. This was an inside job, so we will turn over every stone to find that leak. And we will look on the outside to find our perpetrators.”
    Right. This was sound and logical reasoning. Everybody nodded to acknowledge George’s wisdom.
    He continued, “I suggest three major efforts.” He nodded in the direction of