Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) by Creston Mapes Page B

“The hate mail. I can guess what it’s about, but I’d like to hear from you. And who does it come from?”
    “Off the record?”
    Ugh. Derrick hated when politicians did that. “I guess so …”
    Sterling walked around his desk to the door and closed it. “ Off the record—it’s from liberals and leftist advocates who are blind to the fact that this country is going straight to hell in a handbasket. They’re opposed to my strict stance on illegals. They’re opposed to my plan to root out terrorists, homegrown and foreign, and cut them off at the knees—”
    “They think you’re profiling—”
    He threw his hands up. “Call it whatever you want! The fact is, if America doesn’t do something—and I mean something radical —this country will never be the same. I hope it’s not too late already. Four more years under this president will sink the ship, I can assure you of that.”
    “Can I just read something? I’d like to get your feedback on this—on the record.”
    Sterling waved his hand, walked to the window, and stared out.
    Derrick found the printout he’d tucked into his notebook. “Some of your opponents believe you’re advocating what they call ‘religious and racial profiling.’ They say, and I quote, ‘Profiling violates our country’s fundamental promise of affording every citizen equal justice under the law. Biased policing makes us less safe because it wastes resources and misleads law enforcement authorities away from focusing on real threats.’”
    “That is the biggest load of you-know-what I’ve ever heard, and yes, that’s the type of people from whom the hate mail flows in.”
    “Let me just add this,” Derrick said. “It says, ‘Since the terrorist attacks of 9/11, religious and racial profiling has namely victimized Muslims, Arabs, Middle Easterners, and South Asians, all of whom have endured disproportionate scrutiny from law enforcement.’”
    “See, Whittaker, what those people don’t want to admit, for whatever reason, is that there is a very real terror threat in America. Within the last year we’ve been made aware of increased incidents involving the stockpiling of explosives, the surveillance of targets, and an increasing number of significant plots and attack plans. Some of these come from—”
    “Are we on the record?”
    “Yes. Some of these initiatives come from homegrown terrorists, common criminals who set out on a path of radicalization toward jihadism. Many others come from people who’ve come to the US for the sole purpose of causing havoc and ruining the freedom we have in the West. I don’t care which they are; under my presidential leadership they will be ferreted out and brought to the severest justice. Call it whatever you want. Someone’s got to do something. My administration will do whatever it takes.”
    “So—”
    “If people have a problem with that”—Sterling raised his voice—“they shouldn’t put me on the ballot for president. But if they have a problem with bombs going off in our subways, I’m their man. They need to support me and encourage all their friends to do the same.”
    Derrick scribbled furiously as Sterling walked around his desk to the door.
    “I guess the next time we’ll see each other will be back in Columbus, eh?” the senator said. “I’m anxious to get home. See the family. Who knows, in another fifteen months we may be living over on Pennsylvania Avenue.”
    “Hold on a sec, sir.” Derrick continued to write. When he finally had it all down, he eyed the senator. “Are you concerned for your safety at all? I noticed you have security guards.”
    “Back off the record?” Sterling said.
    “Okay.” Derrick gathered his things and went to the door.
    “I feel like this is my calling. I truly believe my becoming president will be the best thing for this country. We’re at a turning point. It’s a crucible of sorts. Someone’s got to take the reins. And, yes, with that are going to be