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Shawn was put in charge of all travel. His boss had told him they needed a bigger picture and more centralized access to information, but Shawn thought it had more to do with recent budget cuts.
    “That’s fine. What about the train schedules?”
    “All trains have reported on time so far. Extra security has been posted at all the stations.” Brandon scratched his head and adjusted his glasses.
    “Check them again, and get it right,” barked Shawn.
    The temporary transportation headquarters tent had been set up on Constitution Ave. NW near the Washington Monument, the epicenter of this year’s Election Day Celebration. Outside the tent were three large black buses with electronics and antennas coming out from all sides. Near the buses were a line of militarized Hummers carrying gas generators and a satellite dish soaring fifty feet in the air. Surrounding all this were rows of police cars with all their lights flashing like the Fourth of July. Compared to the outward military appearance, the inside of the tent looked more like an operating room.
    Shawn walked up and down the three rows of desks, looking over shoulders at large screens with people on phones yelling status updates to each other. As he approached the third line of desks, filled with maps and checklists, the tent flexed and billowed slightly in a gust of wind. He re-reviewed the printouts with flight schedules, car schedules, and train schedules for all public figures and family members leading up to, during, and following the day’s events. It was one of the biggest events of the year.
    “Air Force One has landed,” yelled Abigail from the corner.
    “Brandon. Show me the routes we have planned for the president’s ride to the Mall.” The table of papers in front of Shawn was cleared and a large map was spread out, filling most of the table. Though Brandon had suggested that Shawn use digital maps, Shawn insisted on redundant paper copies of every important plan and route.
    “Here are the main and secondary routes.” Brandon pointed at the red and blue lines on a sheet of paper that featured an atlas of information, including the locations of gas stations, office buildings, and even fire hydrant level details. “Police have blocked off the main route.”
    “The president’s in the Beast,” said Abigail.
    “Redirect the police blockade to the secondary route right now. Tell the driver to use the secondary route.”
    Shawn’s staff scattered and started yelling orders into their radios.
    “The main route goes over a train line. Jesus Christ, Brandon, why am I the first one to catch this?”
    “We have eyes on every train within ten miles of the president, sir.” Brandon scurried through his notes. “There’s nothing wrong with this route.”
    Shawn looked indignant.
    “I don’t care, there is no need to take unnecessary risks. Redirect the president to the secondary route right now. Why the fuck are we arguing about this?”
    “Yes, sir.” Brandon was nearly hiding behind his iPad.
    “I swear to god, if you say sir to me one more time…”
    “The president’s on the secondary route now and the police blockade has been moved. Mall arrival in twenty-three minutes.” Abigail held a hand to her ear to hear an update. “Senator McMinniman from Oregon has just landed.”
    “Make sure no other cars cross any train lines for the rest of the day. Go.” More of Shawn’s staff scurried off to their radios and computers.
    Shawn had not found any more messages since the newsgroup went quiet seven months earlier. The now-abandoned email addresses had been run through a series of anonymizers and proxies which led nowhere. But that made Shawn even more convinced that something was imminent. It was too quiet. Against Shawn’s adamant recommendation, six California congressmen insisted on a grand entrance in an old steam train to a turntable surrounded by press promoting a Green Party stunt. Shawn tried to explain to the congressmen that the