* * *
Anderson was back on McDowell mode, unwilling just to let him ride off into the sunset. McDowell might still have a job to do, and with Thorn and his associates not yet installed in the White House, there were protests to be co-ordinated and the final moves executed.
The good news seemed to be that neither side was prepared to raise the stakes by bringing in the army, the coup becoming more of a personal struggle between Thorn and Cavanagh. Quite what Thorn had in mind if – or once – Cavanagh resigned was keeping the media fully occupied, their political correspondents and analysts enjoying the limelight. Even the stock market couldn’t seem to make up its mind what it wanted, shares fluctuating wildly, some suggesting it might need to close temporarily.
Despite the chaos around him, Anderson felt more relaxed than he had for days, able to actually have a conversation with Charlotte without worrying as to whether someone might be listening in or having the police suddenly barge through the door. It was proving to be the most dramatic Election Day he could remember, Americans always having to do everything to an extreme.
Anderson tried to see it from McDowell’s perspective: communications and intelligence would be the most basic requirements, plus somewhere secure. Without a proper base he would have to settle for second-best, the situation now potentially far more dynamic and complex than in the past. Live images and data could presumably be pulled from the police or other friendly agencies, communications perhaps even using the same piggy-back route.
Of course, McDowell might already be sunning himself in Hawaii, a blonde on one arm, a brunette on the other. Special Agent Flores was still tasked with the search for McDowell, the success of Terrill apparently outweighing the means by which it was achieved. With nothing else to go on, Flores had agreed with Anderson’s premise that McDowell would likely be here in Washington, much closer to the action than he had been in Terrill, wanting to complete his task.
A brief word to Flores, and Anderson jumped down from the FBI mobile command centre, walking up Fourth Street towards the National Mall. The FBI jacket made him feel a little self-conscious but he wanted to get a better sense of what was happening around the Capitol, needing to suck in the atmosphere and maybe gain inspiration.
He moved along Independence Avenue past First Street, the Capitol maybe two hundred yards away to the north-east. The protestors were busy organising their evening routine, preparing for a cold and uncomfortable night, the hundreds of tents a multi-coloured sign as to people’s anger and frustration. The FBI estimated that around twenty thousand were aiming to stay the night, a second day of protest planned for the morning, few doubting the organisers’ claim that more than a million demonstrators would throng the Mall by midday. Thorn was apparently spending the night at a local hotel, with the D.C. police supplementing his own security arrangements.
Anderson turned and looked up at the buildings behind him, wondering if McDowell was somewhere nearby. It was only by being close to the Capitol that you could have any real sense as to the demonstrators’ mood, McDowell surely needing to judge how they would react to a specific stimulus.
Or maybe Anderson was just over-analysing it all, his respect for McDowell’s skills making him look for things that weren’t actually there. Even so, it was worth checking out, just to be on the safe side.
The Trust Of The People Page 55
