Free Abuse of Power by Michael Savage

that narrow threshold.
    Not that anyone noticed. Most of them were there to fill air time, column space, or blog pages. That wasn’t anything new. Jack had noticed mainstream media reporters becoming oddly incurious over the years. No one dug for information anymore. They simply regurgitated press releases or drummed up controversy in the hope of pleasing their employers, who were busy trying to woo back the viewers or readers they’d lost to the Internet and talk radio.
    Real news was a rare commodity these days, and rarer still were real journalists. The image of the investigative reporter who let nothing stand between him and his pursuit of the truth was seen mostly in movies and episodic television shows.
    The lobby of the federal courthouse was jammed with people who claimed to be real journalists, but Jack could only count on one hand the number of them who truly fit that definition. He considered himself among their number, but was sure there were plenty of his colleagues who would disagree.
    The conference began in the usual manner. A mix of uniforms and suits, feds, cops, and politicians flanking a single podium crowded with microphones. The chief of police stepped up and waited as the room grew quiet except for the steady click of digital single-lens reflex cameras.
    After a moment, the police chief said, “Before we get into the reason we’re here, I’d like to renew my condolences to the family of Officer Tom Drabinsky. His dedication to this city is unparalleled, and we’ll all miss his good humor and unwavering courage in the face of danger.”
    A good start, Jack thought. The networks had all jumped at his tribute to Drabinsky, although most of them had edited the footage to fit their time slots, which wasn’t uncommon. As he expected, the name Jack Hatfield was never mentioned.
    Several of the uniforms behind the chief were members of the SFPD bomb squad, and they lowered their heads in respect.
    “A memorial service for Officer Drabinsky will be held at a later date, and the family has asked that the press allow them to mourn in private. I hope you’ll all respect those wishes.”
    “Do you have that date?” a reporter asked.
    The chief frowned. “I’ll let the family decide whether or not they want to release that information.” Several more reporters tried to jump in, but he ignored them and pressed on. “Now, I’d like to introduce Field Director Carl Forsyth, head of the FBI task force assigned to investigating this incident in conjunction with the Department of Homeland Security and the SFPD. He’ll give you a rundown of the facts. Agent Forsyth?”
    Cameras flashed as one of the suits stepped forward. He had the crisp but slightly bland demeanor of a typical FBI agent. Jack immediately recognized him as the agent in charge from the night of the blast.
    Forsyth expressed condolences to the Drabinsky family on behalf of the federal government, dispassionately listed the names of his team, and thanked each of them for their swift and decisive work.
    Then he said, “You’ve all read the release sent out by our press office late last night, so you know that our agents conducted a raid yesterday evening of a compound in the northern California border town of Higgston. We took into custody several suspects we believe are responsible for the failed bombing attempt last week.”
    The crowd erupted with shouted questions, but Forsyth held up a hand to silence them.
    “Let me finish my statement and I’ll answer all your questions.” He paused as they settled again. “The compound is owned by a small paramilitary organization who call themselves the CDB or the Constitutional Defense Brigade, boasting about twenty-five members. As many of you may know, the leader of that group is under federal indictment for tax evasion and wire fraud and we believe the federal courthouse was the intended target of the bomber.”
    “What evidence do you have of their involvement?” someone called