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Chapters (36)
  1. VECTOR
  2. Copyright page
  3. Dedication
  4. AKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  5. Epigraph
  6. PROLOGUE
  7. ONE
  8. TWO
  9. THREE
  10. FOUR
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. TWENTY-ONE
  28. TWENTY-TWO
  29. TWENTY-THREE
  30. TWENTY-FOUR
  31. TWENTY-FIVE
  32. TWENTY-SIX
  33. EPILOGUE
  34. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  35. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
  36. GLOSSARY

Using the heel of his hand Jack pounded the jamb around the door, probing for any sign of weakness. Unfortunately, it was all very solid. He put his shoulder to the door, backed up a pace, and then rammed it. He did it several times, each time upping the force with which he hit. The door didn’t budge.

“So much for the door,” he said. He turned the light to shine against the whitewashed concrete walls. He tapped them lightly with his knuckles in various locations, searching for evidence of deterioration. The walls were sound.

“I’m surprised this house has this kind of solid foundation,” Jack said. “Looking at it from outside, it appears so flimsy.”

“What about the ceiling?” Laurie asked.

Jack shined the light up between the joists. Almost immediately the tiny flashlight began to dim.

“Uh oh,” Jack said. “I’m afraid we’re about to be plunged back into darkness.”

No sooner had he said that than the light brightened for a moment and then rapidly dimmed again. A minute later it went out altogether.

TWENTY-FOUR

______________

TWENTY-FOUR

Thursday, October 21

9:15 A.M.

Mike Compisano let his pale blue eyes rise up the face of the imposing forty-two-story Jacob Javits Federal Building. Its immensity intimidated him, as did the power of the authority it embodied. At the same time, its authority angered him.

Mike had become a skinhead because of the rage he felt as a member of a society that had left him behind like so much flotsam in the wake of a speeding ocean liner. From his perspective, the African-Americans, Hispanics, and Asians he’d been with in high school had more opportunity than he had as a true American thanks to affirmative action and a bunch of other screwy programs. And as Curt had pointed out to him, it was the government the federal building represented that made it all possible.

Unconsciously, Mike’s hand slipped into the pocket of his baggy trousers. He fingered the smoke bomb he was to set off in the vent. He understood in a way he didn’t completely comprehend that he was about to play a critical role in striking back at the people who had robbed him of a future.

Mike eyed the bureaucrats rushing past him to enter the building. They were the ones responsible for the mess the country was in. He would have preferred to stop one and smash his arrogant face had not Curt warned him not to make a scene.

Mike checked his watch. Finally it was nine-fifteen. He’d been standing in front of the building since eight-forty-five, trying to keep warm. He was dressed in the only suit and tie he had. He’d tried to brush his short blond hair to the side and make it lie flat, but it had refused to cooperate. It was standing up like a bristle brush.