I'd actually heard about Miller, who was supposed to be something of a hotshot. He'd been an FBI agent and Department of Justice lawyer linked closely to the Department of Homeland Security before being hired splashily to show the new mayor's seriousness in fighting the terrorists who seemed to love NYC for all the wrong reasons. But hand in glove? I thought as I shook Miller's hand. I was in charge, but I also had a partner or something? How was that supposed to work? And who was to report to whom?
Miller quickly took back his hand as if he didn't want my soot-stained jeans and windbreaker to muss his dapper, streamlined gray suit.
"Hercules teams have been deployed to Times Square and Wall Street," Miller said in greeting. "The helicopters are up, and there are boats in the water. Just got off the phone with the Commissioner. We're going full court press in Manhattan, river to river."
I assumed Miller was talking about the Intelligence Division's tactical units used to flood an area to show any potential attackers the NYPD's lightning-quick response capability. But weren't such shows of force supposed to be used to prevent attacks?
"Now what is this thermobaric-bomb stuff I keep hearing?" Miller continued. "That's crazy speculation at this point, isn't it? Something like that would take an incredible amount of technical know-how and meticulous planning. We would expect a blip of chatter activity from surveillance before such a large-scale attack, and my team and my contacts in Washington are reporting exactly nada. Couldn't this just have been a utility screwup?"
"I don't know about any of that, Bryce," I said eyeing him. "I was actually just with the bomb guys and saw the shrapnel from what looked like pressure-cooker bombs in two separate locations."
My phone hummed again as I took a black piece of something out of the corner of my eye with a pinkie nail.
"No matter how little anyone wants to say or hear it, this was definitely no accident. We just got hit again."</ol>