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defenses for current terror threats, and also share what I consider to be potential future threats to the homeland, no matter how far-fetched they may seem. I suppose you might consider me terror’s point man—specific or potential, imminent or elevated; bombings, cluster-cell identification, motorized incidents, weapons of mass destruction—you name it.
    “But don’t let the impressive title fool you. My extremely skinny staff and I work in the trenches hand in hand with every federal enforcement agency. It’s all about teamwork. For some strange reason, my boss doesn’t believe in letting dedicated, loyal, and hardworking human beings take time off. He just keeps piling on the assignments.” Riley turned. “How long has it been since I’ve had a vacation, Mr. Secretary? Three years or four?”
    “Write your senator,” Bridge responded to a throng of laughter.
    It had been four years. A day here or there was fine, but Bridge had finally allowed his senior staff to take an extended vacation only after bin Laden had been killed.
    Riley shook his head and turned back to the audience. “Perhaps we’ll meet somewhere in an official capacity, but I hope not. Terror is never a pleasant thing.” He pointed to the large US flag standing in the corner. “Take a good look at the symbol of American freedom, people. It might be the last time you’ll ever think that.”
    A slide appeared on the room’s two ten-by-twelve-foot projection screens.
    You can’t defend against the unthinkable
    without thinking about it in the first place.
    “And now, the unthinkable.”
    A photograph of two adult Komodo dragons appeared, mouths agape, spaghetti-like streams of saliva dangling disgustingly. The title said: al-Qaeda.
    “Before we get started, I’ve been working real hard to clean up my language and apologize in advance if I slip,” Riley announced. “I tend to get emotional about terrorism and more than a little colorful. I’d also like to find out where your heads are.” He held up the stuffed toy. “This is Shaitan. In Arabic, that means ‘Satan.’ He represents an evil black grouper that I’ve been chasing around the Florida Keys. I’ve hooked him several times, but he’s always managed to slip away. My daughter taught English in El Salvador and shared my fish story with some villagers. One was kind enough to hand-sew this little guy. Who among you is smart enough to catch Shaitan?”
    Several hands went up. Riley flung the fish across the room in a wide arc. It landed in a woman’s lap.
    Riley strolled toward her. His eyes took a snapshot of her name tag and appearance. African American, thirties, medium build, short hair, attractive. “Patricia Creed, NTSB Aviation Operations. You look familiar. Nice to meet you.”
    “Nice to meet you. I prefer Tricia.”
    “Okay, Tricia. You win the prize. What do you do?”
    “I support aviation accident investigations. Mainly interviews with principals, survivors, relatives, and other witnesses. Usually face-to-face, but not always.”
    Riley nodded, impressed. “What’s your vision of the next 9/11?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “The next large-scale terror attack on American soil.”
    Creed straightened in her seat. “Well, I’m not exactly familiar with terrorism tactics. Um . . . what about blowing up Amtrak trains or poisoning food at McDonalds?”
    “Yikes, that’s scary,” Riley said, extending his arms. “I always did like their French fries. Do you like my fish?”
    “It feels like a beanbag,” Creed noted, squeezing it thoroughly before tossing it back. The audience chuckled nervously.
    Riley tucked it under his arm. “Those are red beans, Tricia. One more question before we move on. Where does our freedom come from? How is it guaranteed?”
    “Um . . . the Constitution. Speech, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. Our freedom is guaranteed by the US Constitution, specifically the first ten amend—”
    “ No! ” Riley’s voice boomed into the