You’ll Be All Right, Kid

31. Live Free or Die

32. A Significant Step Forward

33. We Cannot Afford to Wait

Afterword

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1

The Bigger Issues

TOM BENSON DROVE TO THE METRO STATION, trying to make his meeting on time, for a change. Traffic crawled in the overcrowded lanes reserved for ordinary commuters. The sign overhead read “Trains Next Exit,” but at the rate things were moving he wouldn’t be exiting the highway for quite some time. He gazed at the virtually empty lane to his left, marked “Express Lane for Official Use Only — $5,000 Fine,” but dared not try it. Cameras at either end of the sign were trained on the highway. “Today’s Threat Level Is Orange,” scrolled a message. “Report Suspicious Items or Activities to the Authorities.” While he sat idling in traffic, police vehicles and dark limousines with blacked-out windows sped by occasionally to his left. He wished, just once, that he could drive in the official lane in rush hour at full speed. No such luck for him today. Sighing, he resigned himself to being late for his train yet again.

Once inside the station, he lined up at the security checkpoint. “Attention,” boomed the loudspeakers. “Please report suspicious items and socially dangerous persons. The Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority and your Transportation Security Administration appreciate your compliance.” Upon presenting his ID for inspection, he dumped his keys, shoes, jacket, watch, belt, wallet, phone, computer, and briefcase into a gray plastic bin and pushed it onto the conveyor belt. Entering the scanning booth, he held his hands over his head, facing one direction and then the other. He collected his things and got dressed, made his way to the platform, and bounded up the stairs just as his train began pulling away. The impassive conductor watched him sprinting for it as the alarm sounded and the doors shut.

The next train arrived 13 minutes later. Two Transit Authority cops with drug and bomb-sniffing dogs stood by the train doors as the passengers scurried in and out. The cops chatted among themselves, talking of this and that, while their dogs eyed the passengers with fanatical intensity, emitting low, resonant growls whenever something caught their interest. One of the dogs sniffed Benson’s crotch, leaving a wet mark on his pants.

Benson gave the cops a long, dirty look.

“What’s your problem?” one of the cops sniffed. “He’s just doin’ his job, ya know?”

“At least someone is.”

He found a seat on the train between a group of Middle Eastern men wearing expensive suits and stern expressions. The air was rank with their pungent cologne. It was the only available seat in the car and he didn’t feel like standing for the whole ride. They must be associates traveling together, he guessed, yet they didn’t speak to, or even glance at, one another. He looked around awkwardly, avoiding their eyes. With all that was in the news lately, distrust and fear ruled. If there were that many of them, why wouldn’t they just take a taxi or a limousine? Wouldn’t it be quicker? By the look of things, they certainly had the money for it.

Despite his better instincts, he’d begun to suspect anyone looking even vaguely Middle Eastern. He couldn’t help it.