Free Fatal Conceit by Robert K. Tanenbaum Page B

of Chechnya had been overrun by unknown assailants, who, according to some sources “in the administration who requested anonymity because they aren’t cleared to talk about the situation,” had been identified by Russian authorities as Chechen terrorists connected to “criminal elements.”
    Karp’s heart skipped a beat when he read “there are no known survivors,” but he forced himself to read on. The remainder of the short story reported that the president was going to address the nation that morning from the Rose Garden. Except for a brief statement Sunday that he was “monitoring the situation” and keeping up with “a fluid and evolving situation,” the administration had declined to comment to that point, “preferring to wait until the facts come in.”
    â€œGood morning, Butch.”
    Karp was surprised to hear the familiar voice behind him. He turned. “Good morning, Espy,” he replied, searching the agent’s face for clues to whether he came bearing good tidings or bad. But there was nothing he could read in the blue-steel eyes or set jaw, so he asked, “Any news?”
    Jaxon nodded toward the elevator door that had just opened. “Let’s go talk in your office, if you don’t mind.”
    The men were alone on the ride up to the eighth floor, but they kept their conversation light except when Jaxon asked how Marlene was taking the situation. “Hard,” Karp replied. “She’s taking it hard. I don’t think she’s slept much since Sunday and paces around a lot. You and I both know how tough she is, but yesterday I found her in Lucy’s room sitting on the bed crying. I think the worst part is not being able to do anything about it; that’s bad enough for me, but Marlene’s first reaction to almost any stress is to take action. Not knowing and not being able to go rescue her baby girl has her on edge.”
    Jaxon nodded. “Well, I may have some news that will help,” he said, but waited until they exited the elevator, walked down the hall, through his office’s reception area, and into Karp’s inner sanctum.
    The office was a throwback to another time when Karp’s mentor, the legendary DA Francis Garrahy, sat behind the immense mahogany desk that dominated the shadowed room with its dark wood paneling, leather-upholstered seats, and a wall filled from floor to ceiling by a bookshelf lined with law books and classics. Even the window coverings were heavy green drapes that Karp now pulled back to let in the morning light before he sat down at the desk as Jaxon settled into a chair across from him. Although Karp didn’t himself partake, there was a faint odor of cigars and scotch lingering from days gone by.
    â€œSo what’s this life ring you’re tossing us?” Karp asked. He meant the question to sound more matter-of-fact than it came out, but Marlene wasn’t the only one whose nerves were frayed.
    Part of the difficulty was there was no one to talk to about their fears. They explained their melancholy to the boys as an old friend having passed away. And the only person Karp had told about the situation was Fulton. Marlene had called Karp’s cousin, Ivgeny Karchovski, a former Russian army colonel and, more germane to the issue, the head of a criminal syndicate in Brooklyn’s Little Odessa. She hoped that his connections in Russia might be able to find out more than they were getting through official channels. She said he’d gotten back to her but other than reports that his former employer, the Russian army, was cracking down hard in Chechnya, there wasn’t much. I would not want to be associated with the separatist movement in Chechnya right now, Marlene quoted him. He also told her that it was possible that Al Qaeda in Chechnya was involved.
    â€œI still don’t have a lot,” Jaxon said. “Those NSA pencil-necks and the CIA goons