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rime。 He'd faced Miller in the Old Bailey； Ryan remembered； not a military court…martial。 They can even use that against us。 It was a surprising realization。 They can fight their kind of war； but we can't recognize it as such without giving up something our society needs。 If we treat terrorists as politically motivated activists； we give them an honor they don't deserve。 If we treat them as soldiers； and kill them as such； we both give them legitimacy and violate our own laws。 By a small stretch of the imagination； organized crime could be thought of as a form of terrorism； Ryan knew。 The terrorists' only weakness was their negativity。 They were a political movement with nothing to offer other than their conviction that their parent society was unjust。 So long as the people in that society felt otherwise； it was the terrorists who were alienated from it； not the population as a whole。 The democratic processes that benefited the terrorists were also their worst political enemy。 Their prime objective； then； had to be the elimination of the democratic process； converting justice to injustice in order to arouse members of the society to sympathy with the terrorists。
The pure elegance of the concept was stunning。 Terrorists could fight a war and be protected by the democratic processes of their enemy。 If those processes were obviated； the terrorists would win additional political support； but so long as those processes were not obviated； it was extremely difficult for them to lose。 They could hold a society hostage against itself and its most important precepts； daring it to change。 They could move around at will； taking advantage of the freedom that defined a democratic state； and get all the support they needed from a nation…state with which their parent society was unwilling or unable to deal effectively。
The only solution was international cooperation。 The terrorists had to be cut off from support。 Left to their own resources； terrorists would bee little more than an organized…crime network 。 。 。 But the democracies found it easier to deal with their domestic problems singly than to band together and strike a decisive blow at those who fomented them； despite all the rhetoric to the contrary。 Had that just changed？ The CIA had given data on terrorists to someone else； and action had been taken as a result。 What he had seen earlier； therefore； was a step in the right direction； even if it wasn't necessarily the right kind of step。 Ryan told himself that he'd just witnessed one of the world's many imperfections； but at least one aimed in the proper direction。 That it had disturbed him was a consequence of his civilization。 That he was now rationalizing it was a result of 。 。 。 what？
Cantor walked into Admiral Greer's office。
〃Well？〃 the DDI asked。
〃We'll give him a high B； maybe an A…minus。 It depends on what he learns from it。〃
〃Conscience attack？〃 the DDI asked。
〃Yeah。〃
〃It's about time he found out what the game's really like。 Everybody has to learn that。 He'll stay；〃 Greer said。
〃Probably。〃
The pickup truck tried to pull into the driveway that passed under the Hoover building； but a guard waved him off。 The driver hesitated； partly in frustration； partly in rage while he tried to figure something else out。 The heavy traffic didn't help。 Finally he started circling the block until he was able to find a way into a public parking garage。 The attendant held up his nose at the plebeian vehicle he was more accustomed to Buicks and Cadillacs and burned rubber on the way up the ramp to show his feelings。 The driver and his son didn't care。 They walked downhill and across the street； going by foot on the path denied their truck。 Finally they got to the door and walked in。
The agent who had desk duty noted the entrance of two people somewhat disreputably dressed； the elder of whom had something wrapped in his leather jacket and tucked under his arm。 This got the agent's immediate and full attention。 He waved the visitors over with his left hand。 His right was somewhere else。
〃Can I help you； sir？〃
〃Hi；〃 the man said。 〃I got something for you。〃 The man raised the jacket and pulled out a submachine gun。 He quickly learned that this wasn't the way to get on the FBI's good side。
The desk agent snatched the weapon and yanked it off the desk； standing and reaching for his service revolver。 The panic button under the desk was already pushed； and two more agents in the room converged on the scene。 The man behind the desk immediately saw that the gun's bolt was closed the gun was safe； and there wasn't a magazine in the pistol grip。
〃I found it！〃 the kid announced proudly。
〃What？〃 one of the arriving agents said。
〃And I figured I'd bring it here；〃 the lad's father said。
〃What the hell？〃 the desk agent observed。
〃Let's see it。〃 A supervisory agent arrived next。 He came from a surveillance room whose TV cameras monitored the entrance。 The man behind the desk rechecked to make sure the weapon was safe； then handed it across。
It was an Uzi； the 9mm Israeli submachine gun used all over the world because of its quality； balance； and accuracy。 The cheap…looking （the Uzi is anything but cheap； though it does look that way） metal stampings were covered with red…brown rust； and water dripped from the receiver。 The agent pulled open the bolt and stared down the barrel。 The gun had been fired and not cleaned since。 It was impossible to tell how long ago that had been； but there weren't all that many FBI cases pending in which a weapon of this type had been used。
〃Where did you find this； sir？〃
〃In a quarry； about thirty miles from here；〃 the man said。
〃I found it！〃 the kid pointed out。
〃That's right； he found it；〃 his father conceded。 〃I figured this was the place to bring it。〃
〃You thought right； sir。 Will both of you e with me； please？〃
The agent on the desk gave both of them 〃visitor〃 passes。 He and the other two agents on entrance…guard duty went back to work； wondering what the hell that had been all about。
On the building's top floor； those few people in the corridor were surprised to see a man walking around with a machine gun； but it would not have been in keeping with Bureau chic to pay too much attention the man with the gun did have an FBI pass； and he was carrying it properly。 When he walked into an office； however； it did get a reaction from the first secretary he saw。
〃Is Bill in？〃 the agent asked。
〃Yes； I'll 〃
Her eyes didn't leave the gun。
The man waved her off； motioned for the visitors to follow him； and walked toward Shaw's office。 The door was open。 Shaw was talking with one of his people。 Special Agent Richard Alden went straight to Shaw's desk and set the gun on the blotter。
〃Christ； Richie！〃 Shaw looked up at the agent； then back down at the gun。 〃What's this？〃
〃Bill； these two folks just walked in the door downstairs and gave it to us。 I thought it might be interesting。〃
Shaw looked at the two people with visitor passes and invited them to sit on the couch against the wall。 He called for two more agents to join them； plus someone from the ballistics laboratory。 While things were being organized； his secretary got a cup of coffee for the father and a Dr Pepper for the son。
〃Could I have your names； please？〃
〃I'm Robert Newton and this here's my son Leon。〃 He gave his address and phone number without being asked。
〃And where did you find the gun？〃 Shaw asked while his subordinates were taking notes。
〃It's called Jones Quarry。 I can show you on a map。〃
〃What were you doing there？〃
〃I was fishing。 I found it；〃 Leon reminded them。
〃I was getting in some firewood；〃 his father said。
〃This time of year？〃
〃Beats doing it during the summer； when it's hot； man；〃 Mr。 Newton pointed out reasonably。 〃Also lets the wood season some。 I'm a construction worker。 I walk iron； and it's a little slow right now； so I went out for some wood。 The boy's off from school today； so I brought him along。 While I cut the wood； Leon likes to fish。 There's some big ones in the quarry；〃 he added with a wink。
〃Oh； okay。〃 Shaw grinned。 〃Le