Chapter Twelve“A tuba Christmas?”
“Tonight at the Library of Congress. Led by the Marine Corps Band tuba section.”
Cornelia stared at Damien. “You do understand what’s happening here?” They sat alone in the Sit Room.
He waved a hand at the massive files spread between them. “I’ve been reading the same things you have. What’s happening is absolutely nothing. Every single idea here is conjecture. Whatever President Javad Madani heard, there isn’t a shred of evidence that any of our intelligence agencies can scare up.”
“But—” He cut her off with a raised hand.
“I’m not saying that his warning isn’t valid. I’m saying that we don’t have a single hypothesis or communication here that gives us the least insight into its meaning. This—” he gestured helplessly at the pile of reports perfectly
