Madam President ✓

21. IQ

Alex

  Through my pure exhaustion, I manage to push myself up off the floor. In what I like to call "the pit"- agents are scrambling to get around one's desk for a good view of his monitors. I run down the steps to join them and push my way through the crowd, stepping on someone's toes in the process. They curse at me under their breath but I just smirk. They don't know what I'm getting at- or how vital this information could be to my investigation.

"They call themselves the Brotherhood of Terror." The agent sitting down says. "While they're widely referred to as a white supremacist group, if you really look into their beliefs, they hate everybody. Black, White, Asian, Native American, Russian, Indian, French, Gay, Straight, Old, and young people have all been targets of their threats."

  "Threats?" Someone asks.

  "Yes- threats. They've only successfully carried out bombings twice. Once at the American embassy in Iran in 1987..... and at the capital building...hours ago. The problem is that the materials needed to build their signature bomb design are extremely expensive, and the materials themselves are finicky- making the bomb subject to explosion upon placement or even touching them. We saw that happen with.... Agent Warner." A brief sadness falls over the crowd. "Uh, the bombs are built to explode with such a force that they powderize upon being set off. That's why first responders haven't found any more shells. The one that.... Killed Agent Warner was defective. The bombs.... Must have been set on a timer to go off when they did and... maybe that one just didn't get the message. And the question is-"

  "Who funded them?" I ask.

  "Precisely."

  "Can somebody get me a list of known billionaires with suspicious activity or obvious relations to the group?"

  "Already on it!" An agent shouts from halfway across the room, combing through our databases.

  "So when do you think-"

  "Alex?" Jeremy poked his head out of his office, an urgent look on his face. At the current moment, I feel stretched thin between two aspects of the investigation.

  I make a split second decision as to which is more important and head back up the tiny set of stairs. He closes the door and presses a button on his wall, activating the noise cancellation in them instantly.

  "I'm in."

  "You- you're in?" I feel like crying and hugging him at the same time. "Jesus, what was the password?"

  "You know I can't tell ya that. It would-"

  "Violate so many more laws than the ones we've already broken, I know. Have you found anything yet?"

  "No. It'll take some time to pick out anything suspicious."

  I nod. "Well then- I'll leave you to it."

  So now, we're finally at the waiting stage; where I can't do anything without getting in the way. Where I basically have to "wait my turn" to help bring down whoever did this.

My phone rings, Jane's face displayed on the Home Screen. I hesitantly pick up.

  "Alex- the president would like to speak to you."

  I hang up without hesitation.

—8.5 years ago-

Ignoring the grumbling in my stomach, I pour over the case file that was just dropped on my desk. Apparently some dad went berserk last night and killed his three kids and wife.