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Fiona said, “I learned about free will at CCD. Does it basically mean we are responsible for the things we do?”
Seamus said, “Exactly.”
I noticed Trent frantically searching something on his phone. Recently he had been making a concerted effort to match his brother Eddie’s intellectual output. A tall task by any measure.
Trent said, “C. S. Lewis wrote, ‘Free will, though it makes evil possible, is also the only thing that makes possible any love or goodness or joy worth having.’” He turned and gave me a sly smile.
I chuckled and said, “Good job, Trent. Watch out or you might end up studying philosophy.”
Trent said, “Why do you say it like that? You studied philosophy.”
I wanted to say, “Look where that got me.” Instead, I just nodded and said, “And enjoyed every minute of it.”
Finally, we gathered for our Thanksgiving dinner. When we were all around the long table, with one chair left empty for Brian, as had become our custom, we joined hands and Seamus said grace.
“Thank you, God, for this family being safe after what they witnessed. I can ask no more of you at this moment. The fact that we are all here together makes everything else in life trivial. We thank you for your guidance and understanding as we humans try to figure things out.”
The old guy could still make his point in a quick and efficient way.
Later, as I was helping the kids clean off the table, my phone rang. I was prepared to let it go directly to voice mail, but I noticed it was from my lieutenant, Harry Grissom.
I tried to hide the weariness in my voice when I said, “Hey, Harry, how has your day been?” That got the rare laugh from my boss.
“You did a good job out there today.”
“You mean except for the part where I let a suspect beat my ass and get away.”
“From what I hear, you got a good look at him, you marked him with the cut on his face, and got a few licks of your own in. They all can’t be home runs.”
“Did you call just to try and cheer me up?”
“You’re assigned to work with a joint terrorism task force at the FBI building starting tomorrow.”
“Do they know that?”
“Frankly, I don’t give a shit if the FBI wants to work with us. But we’ve gotta give it a chance. By pooling our resources, we have a better chance of catching this jerk-off and unrolling the cell he’s connected with. And we gotta do it before they try something else.”
Chapter 8
I WAS READY to go at six the next morning, but I had been told to arrive at the FBI building at eight o’clock sharp, so I enjoyed having a little extra time with the kids and Mary Catherine. But at eight, that’s where I was: standing in front of the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building on the corner of Broadway and Worth Street in lower Manhattan.
The building was the standard, drab government off-white color with an efficient, if not attractive, design. There were low decorative posts all around the property to discourage car bombs.
I had friends here. Agents I’d worked with and analysts who had helped me solve some of my biggest cases. But the Bureau’s attitude and ability to work with others was still questionable. Old habits die hard.
A tall, good-looking guy in his mid-thirties took his time coming down to collect me from the front desk. He stuck out a big hand and said, “Dan Santos. You must be Mike Bennett.”
We walked slowly to a conference room behind the main FBI door. I was impressed that the entire office seemed to have shown up ready to work.
As we walked, Santos said, “I thought about joining the NYPD after I graduated from Hofstra.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I wanted to make a real difference in the world.”
I said, “I hear you. Guess I don’t mind just collecting a fat city paycheck without doing anything.” I could tell this was going to be a long special assignment.
The conference room was the new headquarters for the investigation into yesterday’s bombing. I recognized a few of the agents and a couple of the NYPD Intel people who were also working the case.
