Let the FBI handle it.” As he spit the words, Gib Gibson’s hawkish nose hovered beside Ed’s cheek. Ed itched to reach up and twist it. “If we sit back and do nothing,” Banning argued, “the media will crucify us all.” Banning had summoned Ed to his office after Gib dropped by with his usual meddling demands. Ed didn’t care about the media. But he thought the FBI might be headed in the wrong direction. Third-world terrorists? Those letters had looked homegrown to Ed. Gib turned his pointy nose at Banning. “I say we provide any support requested, but otherwise stay out of their way. What we don’t need is a bunch of bumbling locals muddying the trail.” The greenish-brown suit he wore had been tailored to fit his trim, muscular body and, the way Gib stood, stiff as a general issuing orders, Ed could imagine brass stars on the Councilman’s shoulders. “What trail?” Ed asked mildly. “If you understood professionalism, Wanamaker, perhaps the FBI would take you into their confidence.”
