Page 47 of The Grave Artist
The strike didn’t force the gunman to release his bite, and it had unintended consequences. Blood from the man’s freshly broken nose flowed onto Williamson’s right hand and the slippery liquid broke his grip on the shooter’s gun hand.
At that moment, little Mary managed to wriggle out from under her grandmother and scramble to her feet. Before Mrs. Abbott could pull her back down, the gunman aimed at the girl.
It was a shot even an amateur could make.
Williamson shouted, “No!”
A word that was lost in the thunderous blast, which deafened him and brought tears to his eyes. Gunshot residue spattered his forehead and cheeks.
In the ringing roar that followed, Williamson watched the shooter silently slump to the floor.
A .38 special round is roughly the same diameter as a 9mm, but the shell is longer and has more mass—as well as a lot more gunpowder behind it. When the bullet strikes the temple, death is instantaneous.
He knew what type of ammo had killed the shooter because of who had pulled the trigger. His wife, Camille, a federal prosecutor, was permitted to carry a weapon, and she did with some frequency. She put away sicarios and OGs and young banger punks from South Central and Mafia wannabes from the docks. From time to time some foolish—and now incarcerated—soul threatened her or put a price on her head.
The shooter was down, but procedures were baked in. Instantly Williamson was on his feet, securing the man’s weapon, unloading it and locking the slide back before pocketing it and verifying there were no other weapons on him.
He scanned the church for accomplices. None that he could see. A quick check of the man’s vitals confirmed he was dead.
He then checked the man’s phone to see if there were texts about others he might be working with for coordinated attacks. But he couldn’t access messages in the password-protected device.
Paramedics and LAPD soon arrived to take charge of the scene.
This incident was the spark that gave life to the organization destined to become I-squared.
And yet, the shooting itself was not the genesis.
What spurred him to act came days later when he learned the shooter, John Ray Hobart, had been active on a website.
Williamson had logged on to check it out. The site had a chan chat board and an imageboard that were filled like a hornet’s nest with hateful rants, angry diatribes, disgusting cartoons and pictures. Racism and misogyny-fueled conspiracy theories abounded.
The shooter at the church had been called a hero.
And the site was not even hidden in the corners of the dark web. It was free for anyone to access by using simple search terms.
Williamson sucked in a breath—a rare show of emotion—when he read some of the posts about Hobart and the shooting. Hundreds extolled him as a martyr to the “cause.”
One began:All he was trying to do was kill a bunch of ...
And of course the vile word made yet another appearance. On that page alone he counted it two dozen times.
As a senior agent in Homeland Security, he was more than aware of terrorist threats against the country and the efforts by the federal government to identify and thwart them. But after the shooting at the church and his discovery of the website and many others like it, Eric Williamson came up with a new concept: micro threats to national security.
Not hatched by enemies overseas or domestic extremist organizations, these were perpetrated by lone actors or small groups. Each incident might account for only one or two deaths—but those crimes, in the aggregate, were as much a threat to the fabric of America as a coordinated attack planned in some far-flung terrorist enclave. Williamsonwanted a rapid response team that operated independently to find and thwart them before they carried out their deadly plans.
And so began his quest to create a dedicated group. The new unit would devote itself to searching for these micro threats by scouring the web, NCIC, social media and regular news sources for any hint of brewing danger. He would then send the rapid response team to stop it.
Which was why he’d been delighted to score Professor Jake Heron—the best on the web he had ever met. Carmen Sanchez too, who not only had a background in cybercrime but had served on the FBI’s LA field office SWAT team.
Until Williamson had recruited her for Homeland.
Then came Declan. Williamson was the first in the Department of Justice to employ a large language model this way, searching for any traces of a micro threat.
But resistance within the DOJ was fierce, especially from the man who could give the yea or nay to the program he’d proposed, none other than Stanley Reynolds. A new, streamlined unit that operated independently and moved fast, without involving endless chains of command, was “out of the ordinary.” It threatened both the status quo and his bailiwick. Reynolds apparently believed, inexplicably, that an outfit like I-squared would endanger his ascension to the top spot at Homeland.
But because of the positive attention garnered after a case Carmen and Jake had recently concluded, somebody over Reynolds’s head had authorized a pilot program to test the concept.
A step forward.
