Against All Enemies Read Free Page A

his voice, full of warmth and honesty, that captured the moment and came through the glass. “We could have prevented this,” Meredith said. His face filled the screen. “We need to go after these cowards and stop them dead in their tracks. We’ve been too concerned with their constitutional rights. Where are the rights of the victims? We need to send a message to our leaders, our judges, that this must stop. Give the FBI, our police, the power they need to root out this evil before they kill again.”
    “He’s right,” Marcy whispered. Then, louder, “So right.” Sutherland turned away from the screen and studied Marcy, taking the measure of her reaction. She stood up. “My editor wants a follow-up. I’ve got to go.”
    Sutherland sat up but almost passed out. “Marcy, take some time to get over this.”
    She stood and touched his hand. “Do we ever have enough time?” She bent over and kissed his cheek. “See you around.”
    He watched her walk away. “See you around,” he repeated as the guilt came crashing back.

2
     
    6:00 A.M. , Tuesday, April 6,
Aspen, Colo.
     
    Nelson Durant stood at the picture window and watched the long shadows of early morning retreat across the valley below him and up the side of the mountain. So much like Kandersteg , he mused, thinking of his chalet in the Swiss Alps. He sipped at the steaming mug of coffee. He loved this time of day and wondered how many more of them he had. The cancer was in remission, and his health was good so he probably had a few more years. Don’t beg for more , he chided himself. Take however many good days you can get and enjoy them. The trick is knowing when you’re having one .
    He scanned the news summary his staff prepared every morning. Lately, the media was hyping the craziness that was sweeping the country as the end of the millennium approached. The Pet Cemeterians were launching a multimillion-dollar lobbying campaign to create federal pet cemeteries that would endure for the next thousand years; Heaven’s Gate Revivalists were holding a convention in Las Vegas; and a millenarian had sealed himself, along with his four wives and a hundred ardent followers, in the cafeteria at the bottom of Carlsbad Caverns until the century ended in nine months, on December 31, 1999. But like so many, the millenarian was confused: the century, and the millennium, ended a year later. Nothing serious , Durant thought. So far .
    Arturo Rios, his longtime assistant, came through the open door and stood in front of the fireplace absorbing warmth from the burning logs. Rios had started out as Durant’s copilot and bodyguard. When the big man proved he was a trustworthy and accomplished aide, Durant had made him his personal assistant. And somewhere along the way, Rios had become as good a friend as Durant could have. “Anything on the bombing?” Durant asked. It had been a month since the San Francisco Shopping Emporium had been destroyed and there were still no leads.
    “Nothing,” Rios answered. “Everything is coming up dry.”
    “Up the ante.”
    “How much?” Rios asked.
    “Make it two million and a pardon. That should get someone to start talking.” Durant looked out the window and studied the early April morning. It was a perfect day for flying and he hadn’t flown his beloved Staggerwing Beech in weeks. “How’s the schedule today?”
    Rios knew the signs. “Nothing pressing,” he replied. “The videotape from the field test came in last night. Interesting results.” The videotape in question was the product of a micro TV camera and a remote videocassette recorder created by Century Communications, one of Durant’s many companies. The camera was a triumph in miniaturization and was being field-tested under real conditions. “The FBI or CIA would kill to get their hands on it.”
    Durant shook his head. “It might get in the wrong hands. See if we can sell it as an add-on to the Project.” While Durant firmly believed in making money