5The matronly CIA secretary made me wait alone in reception. After five minutes, she returned and ushered me into the conference room. Randall Abington, Gerry Davis and Warren Smythe were seated inside. The air smelled of an unpleasant mix of men’s colognes. They’d been confined a while. I took the empty chair. Warren reached behind me to secure the door.
I slapped my papers on the table. “We have four more dead victims. Did you do anything with what I brought you Monday?”
Davis gripped the edge of the table. “Don’t try to shift the blame, Collins. Those plane passengers are dead because you didn’t give us enough information to save them.”
I grabbed my cables and tried to stand. “You guys screwed up.”
Davis reared up and our heads were so close over the center of the table, I smelled t
