"That ought to make the public feel all warm and fuzzy about the government," Henry told him. "Where does USA Today stand on the issue?"

"'Our View: Don't Violate the First Amendment'."

"Guess that one hits a little too close to home," Henry said with a chuckle. He finished the rest of his hamburger and picked up the New York Times. Allen craned his neck to read the headline.

President To Appoint Task Force

Vows 'Justice Will Prevail' on ATF Killings

"The President playing CYA?" Allen asked, using the initials for Cover Your Ass.

"Looks that way. I'll read this in a minute," Henry said, handing the section to Allen. "I want to see what a good newspaper has to say about the ATF's current problems." He picked up the Wall Street Journal and turned to the editorial page.

Who is Wilson Blair?

Coworkers Silent About Electronic Message "This is more like it," Henry said as he scanned the piece. Then his brows knitted together and a look came over his face that Allen could not interpret.

"What's it say?"

"For once, ATF has clammed up tighter than a bull's ass in fly time," Henry said, using one of Max Collins' similies. "Not one person in the whole agency is willing to say one word, on or off the record, about your old friend Wilson Blair. Director must have come down on them like a ton of bricks. This article is nothing but questions raised by the guys who write the editorial page." Henry chewed his lip. "I think ATF is scared."

"There's a news flash."

"No, I mean, I figured they'd say Blair couldn't possibly have written that Internet piece. Instead, they refuse to comment. That makes it look to all the world like he really did do it and it's a huge embarrassment to them."

"You going to release that tape?"

"Not yet." Henry closed his eyes, thinking. "Maybe the Journal could find the space to run a guest editorial."

"From that recent convert to civil rights issues, Wilson Blair?"

"None other." Henry took some french fries and nodded at his friend. "They probably won't run it, but hey, you never know. Damn, but I'm hungry," he said, finishing off the fries.

"Want me to get another round? I'm not full, either."

"That's not a bad idea. Let me have the Times, there." Allen Kane handed the heavy paper to his friend. "Jesus!" Henry yelled when he saw the headline to an article at the bottom of the front page. "Look at this!"

Warsaw Ghetto Vet To Fill Post At Holocaust Center

Irwin Mann To Be Presidential Liaison

UPI.

WASHINGTON, D.C. - Irwin Mann, one of the few survivors of the

Warsaw ghetto resistance of April 1943, has been made spokesman for the Center for Holocaust Studies in Washington. He replaces Sol Schenker, who died in April of this year.

Mann, who has lived in Missouri since the late 1950s, was active ly involved in the armed rebellion against the Nazis that resulted in the Warsaw ghetto being burned to the ground. Mann and a few others escaped through the sewers. Over 60,000 perished in the blaze.

The appointment has drawn criticism from some officials at the Center. "I myself would have expected an historian," said Michael Stix, a researcher at the Center. "And understand that Mr. Mann's actions, are, in part, what See MANN, Page 5 "What is it? You know him?"

"That's my friend. Known him since I was a little kid. He and my uncle married sisters from Poland, back in the 'thirties." Henry read the article quickly.

"I can't believe it," Henry said as he finished the piece. "What's the next presidential appointment? Charlie Askins heading the Department of Immigration?" At this, Allen Kane broke out laughing and began to choke on his food.

"So what's the deal?" Kane said after he had recovered. "What's the story on this Mann guy that you're sort of related to?"

"Haven't I told you about Irwin?" Henry asked. "Nazis sent his wife off to be killed and tossed him into the Warsaw ghetto. When Irwin figured out that everyone in the ghetto was gradually getting sent off to the death camps, he joined up with a few others that wanted to fight back. Had about a dozen guys in his group, with a handful of guns they'd scrounged. Irwin killed a bunch of Krauts one at a time with a revolver, and got their group some more ordnance. There were a few groups like his-Mordecai Anielewicz was the overall leader. They held off the whole German army for a couple weeks with about one-tenth of what we got in the back of this truck. Irwin managed to get out through the sewers when the fires got close, but the others died. Krauts burned the whole Warsaw ghetto to the ground."

"Boy, doesn't that sound familiar."

"Yeah."

"What do you think about this guy on the computer network?" the man in the wheelchair asked. It was a question that was being posed around the country wherever people gathered, and the crowded Kansas City VFW hall was no exception. Billings sat at the end of the bar, sipping his beer silently. He was the only Korean War vet in the room, and was not a gregarious man in any case, but he liked the company of other ex-servicemen.

"Some kid, fooling around on his toy," one of the others answered.

"Homer thinks anything with more electronics in it than a Jeep alternator is some crackpot invention we don't need," a Vietnam radioman said with a laugh.

"Yeah, well, we did okay without all that fancy stuff George Bush had in Iraq."

"I wish we'd had some of those 'smart bombs' in "44."

"Amen to that." Others in the room put in their own comments.

"But what about this government fella sending computer messages?" the man in the wheelchair repeated. "What do you men think?"

"I got no quarrel with what he's saying."

"Me neither. My grandson came back from Iraq with a bunch of Ay-rab hardware, had to give it all up. Feds said he was lucky they wasn't goin' to put him in prison. Couple of men in suits never spent a day in the service."

"Far as I'm concerned, he should add a bunch a other federal agencies to his list." The owner of the nowdefunct Ace Cleaners froze when he heard the words, the mouth of the beer bottle barely touching his lips. Billings sat the bottle down on the bar and turned his head towards the speaker.

"My son's 'bout to lose his farm," the man continued, "because he graded an acre and a half, and the government's sayin' he destroyed wetlands, or some such nonsense. Snotty little shit with a fifty-dollar haircut come out to his place with some kind a legal papers. If I had any sand, I'd poke the muzzle of my Garand in that bastard's ear, pull the trigger, an' say 'Fuck the lot of you, cancer'll get me 'fore you put me in front of a jury'."

"They'd go after your estate. Your kids wouldn't get a dime."

"Yeah, well maybe that's part a the reason I got a yella streak runnin' up my back," the man said with a look of disgust. Billings took a sip of his beer and watched silently as the others reacted to what had been said. "What do you mean, Skeets?" one of the oldest men there said suddenly, "Federal government's paying most of the medical bills for the people in this place. You included."

"I'd pay my own bills with a smile if the bastards would leave me and my family alone." There were grunts of agreement around the room. Billings took a long pull from his beer and set the bottle down on the bar. A faint smile was on his face. For the first time since he had learned he would lose his dry cleaning business, his life had purpose.

June 19 "The President and the First Lady will be here in a few minutes," the Chief of Staff announced. "Please make yourselves comfortable." He turned around and left the room.

Roland Lemp gave Alex Neumann a look. The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation had not expected the President's wife to be present at the meeting for which they had been summoned. Both FBI men stood as if at attention.

George Cowan, the Director of the CIA, remained impassive. Cowan, a spare man in his late fifties with thinning brown hair, wore his trademark grey suit. Cowan's clothing always fit as if the man had recently lost fifteen pounds. He stood relaxed, with his hands in his pockets. He seemed personally untroubled by the current situation, and this was indeed the case. George Cowan had no intention of laying even one finger on the tar baby that currently faced the President.

Richard Gaines, the Democratic Congressman from Missouri, continued to stare around the room. It was only the second time he had been in the White House, and he had an uneasy feeling that he didn't belong there. The Secret Service agents that had looked at him when he had come in the room had made him especially nervous.

Lawrence Mills, the hawk-faced Secretary of the Treasury, stared at ATF Director Dwight Greenwell. Greenwell forced himself to hold the man's gaze yet remain impassive. He imagined that Mills held him responsible for the current situation. That assumption was fairly accurate.

Harrison Potter, the retired Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, smiled at Helen Schule, who was the only woman in the room. Potter, a widower, was an exceedingly handsome man who looked much younger than his seventy-nine years. His navy chalk-stripe suit was the most expensive garment in the room. Potter had a full head of white hair and strong features that sagged almost imperceptibly to one side. The Chief Justice had suffered a mild stroke the previous year. The doctors had correctly told him he was likely to enjoy a complete recovery. Only some muscle control had been affected and not Potter's substantial mental ability, but he had retired immediately from the Court. For Harrison Potter, it had been a perfect exit.

Helen Schule returned the smile. She was a freshman Congresswoman from Vermont, a Republican, and she was not at all certain why the President had summoned her to the White House. She had met the man only once, and that had been for all of ten seconds. Helen saw that the look in the Chief Justice's eyes seemed to acknowledge her puzzlement, and her smile involuntarily grew broader.

Carl Schaumberg, the long-standing Democratic Congressman from New York who was on the House Committee for Criminal Justice, leaned against the wall and smiled also. The effect, however, was not nearly so pleasant as with Helen Schule or Harrison Potter. Schoolmates when Schaumberg was a child had tagged him with the nickname 'lizard face', and as he had aged his visage had grown only more reptilian in appearance. He was the only person in the room who had specifically asked to be included on the task force.

Andrew Ward, the Republican Congressman from Indiana, and Jonathan Bane, his Democratic counterpart from Ohio, stood off to the side. Neither had any close ties to the President, but each man understood why he had been asked to participate.

The eleven people in the room quickly stood to attention as the President and his wife walked through the door. The First Couple were followed at a discreet distance by two Secret Service agents. Harrison Potter bowed slightly towards the First Lady. The President's slim, dark-haired wife gave him a warm smile in return. Like most people who met Potter in person, she could not help but like the man. Then she stepped to one side and faced her husband along with the rest of the group.

"Thank you," the President said without preamble, as his eyes scanned the twelve faces before him. "Thank all of you for dropping everything and coming here to help me tackle this problem." The way he said the words made each person feel that he or she really had made a conscious choice to join the Presidential task force, instead of merely jumping at the President's signal.

"I can only stay here a few minutes, as I have a press conference to go to. I expect you to plan on spending some serious time with me here tomorrow morning, however. I want everyone to be up to speed by then, and I want your thoughts well-organized." The people in the group nodded. They all knew the President's insistence on being given concise briefings.

"I think everyone here knows everyone else, but just in case any of you do not, I'll make quick introductions. All of you have met the First Lady, of course," he said with a smile. The Chief Executive then gave each person's name and position, pausing slightly each time to let the words sink in to anyone who might not have already known them.

"We have a serious problem on our hands, ladies and gentlemen. Twelve federal agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and one Missouri National Guard helicopter pilot are missing," he said, glancing down at the piece of paper he was holding, "along with the helicopter itself. Twenty-six ATF agents and two National Guard helicopter pilots are dead, and-" the President stopped when he noticed Roland Lemp's face twitch.

"What is it, Roland? Did I get something wrong?" the President asked. Roland Lemp was startled at the question, but he recovered quickly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President," Lemp said, cursing himself silently for having let his face show any emotion, "but we just got word less than an hour ago. Two more ATF agents were murdered in Nebraska this morning. A suspect is in custody."

"Twenty-eight ATF agents, then," the President corrected himself. "Furthermore, someone claiming to be one of the missing agents has distributed inflammatory material via the electronic media, with the implication that he is at least in part responsible. Those are the known facts, and if I have left anything else out you can tell me about it later." He took the time to look each person in the room in the eye.

"Presidents have always been quick to appoint committees, as my predecessors often demonstrated. If ever there was a time when a Presidential Task Force was called for, though, it is now. Furthermore, there is a very good reason why I asked each one of you to be a part of it.

"I don't need to explain why I've called in the directors of the FBI, CIA, and ATF. Director Lemp asked that Agent Neumann be placed on this committee. Alex is a member of the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team and has field experience with terrorist situations. Since the FBI will be doing most of the actual investigating and is the primary federal law enforcement agency in this country, I readily agreed. I suspect that both men will still be overworked.

"Similarly, I asked Lawrence here to be a part of this team since the ATF is a part of Treasury, and it is his men who are being killed." Secretary of the Treasury Lawrence Mills nodded curtly. His face was respectful, but he would have preferred the President to have used the word 'murdered' instead of 'killed'.

"Harrison Potter, as retired Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, is going to keep me advised on the legal aspects of this situation. Several of you are lawyers, but Harry has a background in constitutional law no one here can match." The others looked at the white-haired man. Everyone knew the President trusted Potter's judgment, and listened to him more than he did anyone else in the room, with the possible exception of the First Lady.

"This committee also needs bipartisan support from elected representatives who have more contact with the public than do I or any of the Agency directors. Carl Schaumberg has served in Congress for many years, and has extensive experience on the house crime Committee." Schaumberg smiled at the recognition.

"Jon Bane, Andy Ward, and Dick Gaines," he said, nodding at the three men in turn, "I asked each of you to be here because the agents who initially turned up dead or missing all vanished from or died in Ohio, Indiana, and Missouri. I may need to be in even closer contact with the people in those states than I do with the rest of the nation. I hope the three of you can help me out." His eyes fell on the Republican Congresswoman from Vermont. It was obvious she was waiting to hear what he was going to say about her.

"Helen, there will be those in the media who say that you are on this task force because you are a woman." Helen Schule smiled. That thought had crossed her mind, along with the fact that three of the other four congressmen were Democrats, and another Republican was needed for balance on the committee. She also thought that being a freshman legislator might count in her favor here.