by J. R. McLeay
Doug Morrison made idle conversation with Joe while makeup technicians applied a final touch-up. When the go-live countdown began, the host’s expression suddenly turned serious, and he turned to the camera.
“Another day is dawning across America,” he said as the red light lit up, “and the wave of random sniper violence shows no sign of abating. Yesterday, there were eight more shootings in cities and towns across the country. Every new killing seems to embolden another person to take up arms and begin executing random citizens. The high rate of violent crime in this country has taken a new turn, with lone gunmen taking potshots at whoever crosses them the wrong way.
“Detective Joe Bannon, who's led the search for the original sniper, is back in our studio to share his thoughts on this disturbing trend. But first, we'd like to hear from another law enforcement expert—Dr. Nathan Chandler, Professor of Forensic Psychology at George Washington University.”
The camera cut to show a middle-aged man in a suit and bow tie looking into the lens.
“Professor Chandler,” Morrison asked, “what do you make of this alarming new trend in violent crime? Are these simply copycat killings, or are they representative of some kind of built-up collective anger?”
The professor paused to consider his answer.
“I think it's a bit of both. The New York City sniper who started all this presented a new prototype of a cold, calculated killer. He showed that anybody can be killed from a safe distance with the right tools and planning. The fact that he's gotten away with it so many times seems to have encouraged other like-minded people to take out their frustrations in a similar manner.”
“What kind of frustrations are you referring to?” Morrison asked. “What causes someone to randomly kill innocent victims?”
“Sometimes the victims simply represent the emblems of their frustrations. The Son of Sam killer targeted amorous young couples who represented his own failure developing close relationships. Jack the Ripper targeted sex-trade workers who represented the corruption of morals he ascribed to.”
“But the New York City sniper has targeted people across a wide range of ages, genders, and demographics. How can he have a grievance with pregnant women, letter carriers, and young children at the same time?”
“There may be other forces at work. His situation appears to be a classic example of operant conditioning. When he behaves a certain way, something happens to him. If the response to his action is perceived as beneficial and if it's repeated enough times, the behavior becomes conditioned, or habitual. The probable outcome of his aiming a gun at a stranger and pulling the trigger is the immediate and very public death of that person. A somewhat delayed, but just as reliable, outcome is all the media attention his act attracts and seeing his name in the paper. For a previously obscure or marginalized individual, this kind of power and attention can be very addictive.”
The camera cut to Morrison as he turned to address Detective Bannon.
“Detective Bannon, first I'd like to offer my condolences for the recent passing of your wife. I know the entire nation admires your courage and sacrifice in attempting to bring this killer to justice.”
Joe nodded his head silently.
“You've followed the New York City sniper from the beginning and have developed your own profile of the killer. Does the professor's description of the killer's motivation align with yours?”
Joe paused for a moment.
“I agree that the need for power drives many of these criminals. It's easy to shoot an unarmed and ill-prepared person in broad daylight from a safe distance. I think this killer and others like him are fundamentally weak individuals who lack the courage or fortitude to stand up to their challenges and tackle them like a man.”
“Are you characterizing their behavior as cowardly?”
“Anyone who takes an innocent person's life without risk of consequence is a coward.”
Morrison paused to let his viewers soak up the sound bite.
“The professor has suggested that avoidance of consequence is feeding this behavior. You've had considerable difficulty capturing the original sniper. Can you give us an update on your search for the killer?”
“The suspect has been identified. Todd Weir is on the run and the entire country now knows what he looks like. Just like his victims, he will need to come out in the open eventually. When he does, we'll be ready for him.”
“What about the copycat killings? Dr. Chandler thinks the New York City sniper has become something of a role model for a new generation of killers. Do you think his capture will stop the spread of these killings?”
“Our experience in New York City has been that the copycat killers have been far sloppier and less careful in their planning. They've been much easier to track and capture. We've apprehended three new snipers in the last few days. I believe good police work and the rule of law will always triumph over a rogue wolf.”
Morrison turned back to the camera.
“Judging by the amount of traffic in the streets, I'm not sure the citizens of New York share your confidence. Our correspondent Elizabeth Porter is standing by to sample the latest mood.”
The camera cut to the correspondent standing in a department store next to a middle-aged man.
“Elizabeth,” Morrison said, “what is the prevailing sentiment among the citizens?”
“Doug, I'm standing inside one of New York City's busiest transportation hubs at Grand Central Station. As you can see, there are a few shoppers milling about the underground stores, but outside in the streets it's still ghostly quiet. Most people traveling outside their homes are sticking to the underground corridors connecting the shopping malls with subway terminals. Few people are feeling confident enough to venture onto the streets.”
The correspondent pointed her microphone toward the man.
“Sir, can you tell me how you’re feeling venturing out in public?”
“I'm keeping my head down and under cover,” the man said. “The rooftop sniper is still out there. I'm not taking any chances showing my face in public until he's locked away. If he can take out the mayor, he can take out anyone.”
“Now that his image has been widely circulated, how will you react if you see him?”
The man pulled his coat aside to reveal a pistol stuffed in the front of his trousers.
“I'm carrying my own protection now. If I catch him unaware, I'll give him some of his own medicine. The cops can't seem to catch him, so it's up to every person to protect himself.”
“Are you saying you'd shoot him on sight?”
“I'd lay my sights into him, that's for sure. One twitch and I wouldn't hesitate to blow him away. Let's just say he might not be the same man when the cops come to cart him away.”
The correspondent turned to face the camera.
“There you have it, Doug. It appears the citizens of New York have had enough. Some of them are literally taking the law into their own hands.”
The camera cut back to the host in the studio. Morrison turned to address Joe.
“I'm pretty sure I can guess how you feel about this, Detective Bannon.”
Joe remained expressionless for a moment then looked coldly into the camera.
“I believe our founding fathers implemented the Second Amendment for a reason. The citizens have every right to protect themselves. But we will uphold the law. Anyone who takes the life of someone else, unprovoked, will be held to account.”
Morrison looked into the camera.
“You heard it, folks. The sheriff has spoken. It's looking more and more like the Wild West out there every day.”
52
Oval Office, The White House
July 21, 8:30 a.m.
The President shook his head as he watched the Today Show. The wave of recent sniper shootings in New York City and the slaying of the mayor had captured his attention, as it had the rest of the nation. Until recently, he'd been content to allow local law enforcement agencies to manage the situ
ation. But the rapid and escalating rise of similar shootings across the country had kindled his desire to take personal action.
He’d summoned the Secretary of Homeland Security, Otto Kellerman, to his office to discuss appropriate responses. Although domestic violence technically fell under the responsibility of the FBI, the Secret Service came under the umbrella of the Department of Homeland Security. And the President had an idea that would require the utmost secrecy and personal security.
He felt a certain affinity for the beleaguered New York City cop at the center of the fray. The President knew what it felt like to have his family under constant threat and to be looking over his shoulder for hidden assassins. When the Today Show cut to commercial after Detective Bannon's final comment, the President flicked off the monitor and turned to his secretary.
“Sometimes I wonder if our founding fathers ever considered the possibility that arming the people might create more problems than it was intended to solve.”
The secretary nodded.
“It doesn’t help when a peace officer encourages others to take the law into their own hands.”
“Maybe not, Otto, but I understand where he's coming from. I know what it feels like to always be in the crosshairs. With snipers popping up all over the country, citizens are feeling besieged. Something has to be done.”
“I don't know what else we can do beyond supporting the local law enforcement agencies in tracking down the killers. We've seen this pattern before, with school and nightclub shootings. It only takes one nut job to create a whole new cottage industry of domestic violence.”
“That's precisely my concern. If we don't stop this in its incipient stage, we'll have an epidemic that can't be stopped.”
“Did you have something in mind, Mr. President?”
“Like the psychologist said, if people see they can get away with it, they'll be encouraged to do more of it. We need to stop them getting away with it.”
“But how can we stop killers in multiple locations across the country any more effectively than local law enforcement?”
“I don't think we need to stop them all. We just need to stop one. The one who started it all—the New York City sniper that everybody else is using as a role model. If we can capture him and put him away, we'll send a strong message that nobody is above the law.”
“What do you propose, sir?”
“I'd like to set a trap.”
“A trap? You mean some kind of decoy?”
“I suppose you could say that. Though I don't think I've ever been called that before.”
The secretary's eyes opened wide.
“Sir? You're suggesting putting yourself in the line of fire to draw him out?”
The President nodded.
“He seems to have a penchant for shooting authority figures. What better target than the President of the United States?”
Kellerman's jaw slackened. He couldn’t believe what the President was saying.
“Mr. President, the best defense of the Secret Service has always been the cloak of uncertainty. Not knowing where you'll be and when is our secret weapon. Are you proposing to broadcast your public appearance ahead of time?”
“Exactly. We'll let the whole country know where I'll be and when. I was thinking Central Park, around noon. That's one of the sniper's favorite times and places, right?”
The secretary looked at the President, aghast.
“Sir, you know I can't let you do this. It would be impossible to ensure your safety.”
“Come on, Otto, your guys are supposed to be the best. People are always trying to take potshots at me. So far, you've done a pretty good job holding them at bay.”
“Yes, but that’s always been under our rules of engagement. You're throwing the rules out the window. Short of putting you in a bulletproof cage, I don't see how we can stop a determined assassin who'll have plenty of time to prepare. The New York City sniper has proven to be very resourceful, and Central Park is surrounded by high-rises. We'll have no way of knowing where he'll be, or be able to stop a bullet fired from up to a mile away.”
The President shook his head.
“I don't want any barriers or walls. I want to make a statement that everybody should be free to go about their business without reservation. Besides, if you make it look impossible to kill me, no one's going to want to even try.”
The secretary paused for a long moment.
“Just to be clear, Mr. President, you want to make a public address in broad daylight with virtually no protection and tell every would-be assassin in America exactly where you’ll be and when?”
“Precisely. Of course, this plan will only work if I don't get shot. Your job is to make sure I don't get shot.”
“Sir, you know our agents would take a bullet for you. But it's impossible to step in front of a ballistic projectile traveling faster than the speed of sound when you don't know where it's coming from.”
“This is the United States of America. We figured out how to cloak a ten-ton bomber and shoot down intercontinental missiles. Surely you can figure out how to misdirect one little bullet.”
Kellerman shook his head and sighed.
“How much time have I got?”
The President paused.
“Every day we're losing more innocent lives and encouraging new would-be snipers. I'll give you forty-eight hours.”
53
The Bellagio Hotel, Las Vegas
July 22, 9:00 a.m.
Lance Britten rubbed his tired eyes as he knocked on the door of the penthouse suite at the Bellagio Hotel. His magic act at the Mirage went late into the night, and he normally didn't drag himself out of bed before noon. But he'd gotten a cryptic message from an unusual source that was too intriguing to ignore. Besides, anyone who could afford the twenty thousand dollars per night penthouse suite at one of the strip's most luxurious hotels was an opportunity worth exploring.
A tall middle-aged man with a crew cut answered the door. His broad shoulders and stiff posture gave him the bearing of a military man.
“I'm here to see Mr. Richardson,” Britten said.
“You must be Lance Britten. Please come in.”
The man stepped aside and waved Lance into the room. He extended his hand to introduce himself.
“James Richardson, Director—Secret Service. Thanks for coming so early in the morning. I know you Vegas performers keep late hours.”
Britten looked about the room. There were no other occupants, which seemed odd for such a large and sumptuous suite.
“How could I pass up an invitation from the Secret Service? Though I can't imagine what business you'd want with me. I'm just a magician.”
“That's exactly what we're looking for.”
The man led Britten onto a large terrace overlooking the famous Bellagio fountain. A large brunch spread was laid out on a table next to the window.
“Please, have a seat. Help yourself to the buffet.”
Britten glanced at the dancing water sprays in the pool below. He grabbed a tea biscuit from the buffet table and sat down.
“How can I help you, Mr. Richardson?”
“As you probably know, the Secret Service is tasked with protecting the President. We've been studying your impressive portfolio. We need you to perform a special trick.”
“Do you want me to make the President disappear?” Britten joked.
“In a manner of speaking. Can you make him vanish with a bullet flying toward him?”
Britten choked on his biscuit.
“A real bullet? You realize I work with illusions? I make things disappear through misdirection and sleight of hand.”
“I think you're being unduly humble. You make elephants disappear and shoot people with flaming arrows. How hard can it be to make one man disappear or misdirect a little bullet?”
Britten looked at the Secret Service director doubtfully.
“Is this for real? I thought you guys had all kinds of fancy technology to protec
t the President. What makes you think a magician can help you?”
“That technology is good for preventing people taking shots at the President. We go out of our way to keep his itinerary and movements a secret so the bad guys don't know where to find him. But this time the President wants to make a public address and announce his plans in advance.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“To catch a bad guy who's proven to be very elusive. Someone who's taken out lots of other important people.”
Britten nodded. He'd read about the recent spread of sniper shootings and seen the mayor's assassination on the news.
“So this is some kind of setup? You're trying to draw someone out then use artifice to misdirect his focus. That's something I might actually be able to help you with. If I control the setting and the terms of engagement, just about anything is possible.”
“That's what I was hoping you'd say.”
“What's the venue and how much time do we have to prepare?”
“Central Park. Two days.”
Britten's eyes widened.
“That complicates things. I usually work in a darkened theater with plenty of props at my disposal. Will the President be delivering his address outside?”
“Yes. And he's insisting on a minimum of visible walls and barriers. He wants to show that it's safe to go out in public. While at the same time making it look as easy as possible for someone to shoot him.”
“Isn't that an oxymoron?”
“That's why we're calling a magician. You're a master at making the impossible look possible.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to move the President after a bullet has already been fired at him?”
“Either the President, or the bullet, yes. We'd rather the two not meet.”
