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Investigations, where do we stand at the different sites?"
    A female agent sitting on the edge of one of the closest desks stood up. Her suit looked crisp, and her face appeared unaffected by the early wake up. She stood in stark contrast to several of the agents clustered near her as she spoke. "Sir, Supervisory Special Agent Olson. Agents from the closest field offices were dispatched a few hours ago to each site to assist local law enforcement in their initial assessment of the scene. I've taken reports from each site's lead agent. So far, we don't have any witnesses, and evidence appears scant. I think we'll start piecing this together once the sun is up, and we can take a hard look at each site. Start knocking on doors. We'll get this moving fast. I've also requested additional agents from other field offices within each region. I want to establish a second tier of FBI support at each site."
    "Let's get a third tier in the works. I want to send a headquarters team to each site. Four agents minimum. Let's make sure we have one member from Terror Financing in each group, then a good mix of agents from Investigative and Counterterror. We need our own agents on scene ASAP. We can't afford to miss anything," Sharpe said.
    "I'll work with Agent Mendoza to get the teams assigned and out the door with the necessary field support," Olson responded immediately.
    "Great. I want those teams on site by mid-morning," he added, and both Mendoza and Olson nodded vigorously.
    "Next. Comms. Anything?"
    Special Agent Keith Weber walked forward a few steps from a position against the left wall of the room. He flipped open a battered pea-green government-issued logbook, which barely looked more weathered than he did. Sharpe saw that he had a sizable coffee stain on his light blue oxford shirt, which could not be hidden by fully buttoning his rumpled suit jacket. Weber pushed up a pair of wire rim glasses to squint at the logbook through puffy, red eyes.
    "I've been on with Fort Meade all night. Nothing unusual prior to the murders. We've been poring over this for hours, and we don't see any chatter or patterns that I would classify as suspicious, or even remotely interesting."
    "It didn't go dead before the killings?" Sharpe interrupted.
    "Not that we could tell. We traced the patterns back a month, and we're seeing the same level of activity," he said.
    "And this morning?"
    "We've seen a growing increase in communications, both national and overseas. In my opinion, news of the murders is starting to spread through these networks. We're doing everything we can to scan for more meaningful information or patterns, but so far, we haven't detected any direct previous link between our targeted communications and the coordinated attack. There is clearly a growing response after the event," Weber stated and moved back to the wall.
    "I can't stress enough the importance of figuring this out. If Al Qaeda pulled the plug on these guys, we could be looking at an attack on our country or U.S. interests abroad. Until we figure it out, we need to treat this like an imminent threat."
    He looked over at Supervisory Special Agent Olson and added, "Get those teams out the door before this investigation is hijacked by National Security. Our liaisons will have the best chance of uncovering something useful."
    Sharpe was interrupted by Agent Mendoza, "Sir, I just took a call from the lead agent in Newport. They're pretty sure they just captured the shooter alive. He apparently slipped on some rocks and knocked himself unconscious trying to climb down the seawall behind Umar Salah's mansion. They think he's been lying among the rocks all night. They're moving him to the Newport police station."
    "Get back on the phone and tell him that I want the suspect transported to the Boston field office. Just make sure they don't piss off local law enforcement. We'll still need their cooperation on scene at the house. And tell him I want that guy in an armored personnel