by Greg Sandora
We heard the one, barely audible shot fired.
“I used Tommy’s finger on the trigger.” Dead silence followed, and I thought I’d lost him. I looked at the phone, realizing I had accidentally pressed the speaker button turning it off; I hit the button just in time to hear, “I’m going to get in position now; I don’t want to miss the arrival.”
My heart was pounding so hard I thought Sandy could hear it.
While Tip waited in the Hay Adams, we were watching on television. The TV was turned down low and I heard the commentator say that the Prime Minister’s car was about a mile from away from the White House.
The president stepped out onto the North Portico and Sandy gasped, “Oh my God, Jack. This is it.”
My arm started an involuntary twitch and I laid my head back staring motionless at the screen.
We heard as Tip cocked the rifle, loading a bullet like the one he used to shoot Hobbs into the chamber. Tip narrated, he sighted the gun to the spot where he thought the president would stand and made some final minute adjustments. There was no wind; the distance would mean the bullet would travel in a slight arc. Now was the time. He would only get one shot. Tip gently closed the gap between the trigger and his palm. The projectile was off with a light blast that echoed into the phone. The sound would definitely attract attention. Tip tapped the ball off his foot on a switch setting off a police yelp siren - four short blasts to mask the sound of the shot at street level. In the two and a half seconds the bullet would travel to reach its target, Tip tapped the foot switch a second time setting off timed blasts at Washington Monument Park.
Sandy grabbed my arm and gasped at the television as the president appeared to lose his balance and fall on his back. The sounds of rapid-fire weapons could be heard faintly in the background. While the world was catching up to what was going on, we heard the progression of explosives go off in a wave on 15th and 17th Streets behind the White House, as Tip had planned.
We heard Tip say, “I love that smell, you never forget that.”
On television, we watched as the British Prime Minister was knocked to the ground abruptly by Secret Service. There was chaos as people scrambled in every direction to escape what sounded like an attack.
Agents were huddled around Gil Barker blocking him from view as the commentator announced, “It appears the president has been shot.”
I switched the channel changer through the networks hoping for a better angle on the scene.
Sandy said, “Right there Jack,” as we picked up a camera showing men carrying the president into the White House.
The reporter was blaring, “It’s hard to imagine the scene. We heard shots fired from the side of the building and then watched as the president fell back. The Secret Service has brought the president inside. At this point, we do not know his condition.”
It only took the networks a few moments to replay the tapes that recorded what had happened. We watched as slow motion photography showed a projectile hitting the president right under his left eye. Frame by frame, the news replayed the scene showing the hit and fall.
“It’s time to get out of here,” we heard Tip say. Tip quickly scrubbed the area for any trace that he was there, sat back in the wheelchair, and rolled out the door of the seventh floor Jr. suite. While the nation was in shock and reporters were in near panic describing the events, Tip told us that he was rolling down the hallway toward the elevator.
We all waited together after he pressed the call button. Seconds seemed to be passing like hours and my whole existence had come down to one wish that he would make it out of there without getting caught.
On television, there were sirens and police appearing from every corner of the city as if showing up after the fact could change anything.
The door to the elevator finally opened, and Tip rolled in.
We heard as he settled himself into the small sized area.
“What floor would you like?” We heard a woman’s voice speak in a very proper tone.
“Ground level please,” Tip replied.
“Hi Mister,” a little girl’s voice sweetly spoke. She sounded about four or five. Tip didn’t respond.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “His hands are shaking, Mama.”
“Let’s mind our own business, Sweetheart.”
“That’s okay,” Tip said, “I’ve got Parkinson’s disease, Honey.”
“Oh,” she said, like it was the first time she’d ever heard that term. We could imagine from the little voice that she was wide-eyed staring at the strange old man in the wheelchair.
“What’s that, Mommy?” the innocent little voice asked.
I turned to Sandy, “It’s not like Tip to shake. His nerves must be taking over.”
“This is surreal, Jack. I can barely take my own nerves and I’m sitting safe on this couch! I can’t imagine what Tip is feeling.”
“She so inquisitive, I apologize. That’s what makes the man’s hands shake, Honey, but he can’t help it. We’ll look it up later on the computer, and I’ll help you learn all about it.”
“Okay, Mommy,” then turning her attention back to Tip, “Mister, why do you have those black gloves on?”
We could hear Tip say to the mom, “She a precocious little thing. Oh, my hands get sore from rolling these wheels, Honey, and the gloves make it softer on my palms.”
“Sorry for all the questions. Are you in any need of assistance?” the woman asked.
“He’s all wet, Mommy.”
“No, I’m okay girls. It’s normal for my body to get overheated in small confined areas. To be honest, chancing on a beautiful woman has caused me to flush. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s quite alright,” the lady told Tip. “I wish I had that effect on my ex.”
“The man thinks you’re pretty, Mommy.” We heard a giggle. It sounded muffled, like the little girl had her hand covering her mouth.
“Ever since coming back home from the war, I blush if I get caught off guard or surprised. Isn’t that crazy?” Tip asked in an old man's voice. Tip could spin a story with the best of them and he was so believable in character we almost forgot he was really an assassin making a getaway.
“Are you a princess?” Tip asked the little girl.
She thought for a moment. “Yes,” she said.
“Well, sir, you needn’t worry about a thing,” the Mom said.
“Thanks for understanding, I just need a little air and I’ll be fine,” Tip told her adding, “Would you mind just wheeling me out onto the street area?”
I looked at Sandy, “Tips taking advantage of the situation.”
“Right,” she said, “Who would suspect an old man with a mom and little girl rolling out of the hotel…”
“Even while the whole world is coming apart at the seams a few blocks away,” I finished her sentence.
The elevator door opened.
“I’d be happy to help you out of the hotel.”
“I have a van parked just down the road,” Tip told the mom. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name. I’m Chet from Ohio.”
“We are Tina and Hannah; we’re here to take a tour of the White House tomorrow morning. I’m a flight attendant with a private airline and my employer arranged it and let me bring Hannah along this trip.”
While Tip was telling her how wonderful that all was, my body was going cold. Could that be the Tina I’d flown with now in Washington with the daughter she had spoken of? It’s not like I could call her and ask.
“Look, Mommy, that man’s washing the sidewalk. There’s a rainbow in there.”
Tip whispered softly into the mouthpiece, “They’ve made the van. Tell Bill to abort.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say,” Tina asked.
“Oh nothing, sweetie. I’m just muttering to myself about the wet sidewalks getting my wheels all wet. Would you mind terribly just wheeling me across the street?”
“Not at all. Hannah, hold on tight to Mommy’s arm while we cross.”
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Sandy quickly got on the phone to Bill, “Don’t stop. Just get out of there.”
Sandy put Bill on speaker, “What’s wrong? There’s a cop parked blocking Tip’s van, I saw him with a woman that looked to be about thirty five with a little girl. I figured I circle the block once...”
I grabbed the phone, “Bill, Tip wants you out of there, come back to the office.”
“I can’t just leave him here!”
“Bill, leave the area. There are cameras that will recognize you, the van’s been made, there’s nothing you can do now!”
“Thanks for helping me; I’ll be on my way now. Have fun at the White House tomorrow, both of you.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you, Chet?”
“No, I’m fine. Bye, Hannah, it was nice meeting you. Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Shirley Temple?”
“Yes,” Hannah said, with a little girl’s laugh, “Grammy tells me that all the time.”
“Have a nice rest of the day you two, bye bye.”
We heard Tina and Hannah saying goodbye, their voices further away.
Tip said, “Jack, I’m going to blow the van.” Tip had every contingency covered. “I put a small charge in mostly a little compression and a lot of smoke.” There was a small explosion in the background, “That oughta keep em busy for a while.”
On television, the cops had helicopters flying over the bombed FedEx boxes. The blasts seemed to have been contained. Reports were coming in that the Museum of Natural History was on fire. As we flipped through the channels, all hell was breaking loose - Tip told us he was rolling in the other direction.
“Jack, change of plans, I’m heading down to McPherson Square Metro Station on Vermont Ave. Tell Sandy to pick me up right out in front of the zoo. Tell her to look for a red Toyota Corolla with a bumper sticker that says, ‘This Car Climbed Mt. Washington.’ I’ll be inside.”
Tip told us he was taking the 12-minute ride the 2.46 miles to the Woodley Park Zoo exit. That he pulled an MIA/POW sticker out of his backpack and stuck it to the back of the chair. He pulled out a black cowboy hat and placed it on his head along with some mirror aviator sunglasses. He placed an American Flag in the tube in front of the armrest and rolled to the metro.
“I hope you’re getting all this,” he said. There were sirens going off faintly in the background. My nerves were completely shot.
Tip kept his humor, “Jack, I rented a locker at the Museum of Natural History; they have ‘em available for twenty five cents, they’re about 12 by 16 inches. I don’t think I’ll go back for the refund.”
Back at the office, Sandy couldn’t stop shaking. I grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to get a hold of herself.
“Do you want Bob and company to get suspicious?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then calm down.”
“I don’t know if my nerves will let me, Jack.
“Fake it, then, you’re gonna have to put on an act good enough to get you out of here and onto that plane. We leave for Texas in an hour.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“You know what he had me do?”
“What?”
“I pulled up to the car and he kneels at the window, I open it to hear him. He says, ‘I’m going to put this phone in front of the tire, drive forward a couple of inches.’ Then he tells me to turn the tires back and forth to mash the thing into the ground. All the while, I just want him in the car so I can get us the hell out of there. I’ve never been so nervous in my whole life. When he finally slips into the car as I’m driving away, the Toyota he was in—the one with the bumper sticker ‘I climbed Mt. Washington’—is a smoky mess.”
Tip was smiling. He explained, “Cell phones, even when they aren’t being used, track basic location by continually locating the closest cell tower. When in use, they pinpoint exact location GPS style.”
While Tip was talking, he took a 16 oz. tumbler from the bar and put the phone he had given me to use into it. He poured a small bottle of liquid about the size of one of those mini bar bottles of booze over it. Sandy and I watched as it liquefied the contents. Tip added a few drops of something else, “This is neutralizer.” Then he poured the mixture down the drain.
I asked, “Tip, how were you able to plant explosives at the Washington Monument without being noticed?”
“That was the easiest part. For three days, I rolled over to visit the park in the afternoon. I looked like and old man in a wheelchair feeding peanuts to the pigeons. When I pretend to reach down to clean up the terrible mess I’ve made, I plant the charges. A lot of kids like to roll down that hill or do cart wheels in the grass, so I was careful.”
“What do you mean ‘careful?’”
I picked a wall area about a hundred yards down the hill to the left of the monument, no kid would want to play there, that’s where I put the explosives. All anyone saw was one lonely guy who likes to feed the birds. The charges are radio controlled set to blow off randomly for ten minutes. My insurance to create a lot of noise, divert attention and confuse the situation. In an operation like this you want the authorities to think we’re under attack, not just a lone gunman getting away.”
“How did you burn the car, the van and the Museum without causing widespread damage?”
“I use one of those 6 volt lantern batteries and a thin tightly wrapped coil spring. The kind they use in toys. It heats red-hot within seconds and burns the evidence leaving no trace of sophisticated equipment. I fill a large flashlight with lighter fluid and set it all in a gym bag filled with shredded newspaper. It makes a lot of smoke. If I need to have the fire start as a diversion to draw responders away from my location I just use a remote timer set. I had each of the buttons on the phone set for a different area. The FedEx boxes were number one, the museum was number two, everything set up in basic order to make it easy. I really was surprised they made the van though, must have been some cop who got lucky or suspicious or something. When I got out of the hotel, I asked the lady and little girl to take me across the street while I reached into my pocket and felt for the number nine to blow it. I saw the cop jump back, he didn’t know it was just noise and smoke, anyway they closed off the street, and I high tailed it to the Metro for plan B.”
There would be no evidence linking Tip to the event.
Tip told me once in a late night heart to heart conversation after having too much to drink.
“Jack if the U.S. Military can train an innocent to kill in 8 weeks, imagine what Uncle Sam can teach you in ten years of specialized training.” Tip had shown us what he could do, and he made it look easy.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
On the plane heading to Texas, Betty Hobbs called to say that the media had gotten a hold of Tommy’s suicide note, that it was being read endlessly along with continuous coverage of the assassination.
“Jack, I know the president wouldn’t have had Gene killed; they were good friends, you were friends.”
I decided to appeal to Betty Hobbs to donate land rather than getting it by exposing Gene and destroying their name.
“Betty, we will all be memories at some point.”
I could hear Bud bitching in the background about how weak Porter was. He couldn’t bring himself to call him the president. North Korea had launched a test rocket as a show of strength claiming it was a weather satellite.
“The VP should take a strong stance and send a carrier off the coast,” Bud said. “Jack will be running against Porter, It’s gonna be a shallow victory against that guy.”
Bill was answering his mutterings in a low tone, “What does it matter, Bud?” I heard him say as I began speaking to Betty.
“Why don’t you bring the girls down to Texas; you can speak. Lily and Timlin and their husbands, your grandkids, all onstage while you dedicate land to energy production under a Canon Presidency. That will be his legacy, in fifty years Gene’s name. Your family name will be bigger than Carnegie. Your husband was mi
xed up with organized crime; you can choose how he will be remembered.”
I had a heart to heart with Betty as we discussed the speech she could give. I basically gave her a choice: she could donate the land or wait for the Feds to seize it.
“Take the payoff out from under them, there’ll be no reason coming after a dead man. I promised her if she agreed I would order them to leave her alone.
“The country will be on your side, Betty, for a leading donation in the Energy Revolution, others will follow…, but you’ll always be the first. Think of that. Besides, I’ll be right there next to you the whole time, it will be good you’ll see.” It helped that she liked me personally.
The Hobbs family fortune divided three ways left Betty the 6th richest woman in America followed by her two daughters tied for 7th.
Betty told me that her oldest, Timlin, was quite taken by our campaign and wanted to get involved. She also confided that her daughter was divorcing and that she would be coming with just her girls. She added that her husband paid the worthless son-in-law five million to sign a release to get the hell out of their daughter’s life. Days later, he returned violently angry wanting more money. The family believed there was motive.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The event in Big Spring was growing by the hour. Texas State Troopers decided to close off the interstate. People were leaving their cars by the side of the road and just walking in.
I was ready to hit the stage joined by the Hobbs Family. What better way to start I thought than to begin with a gift.
I was waiting backstage when Betty arrived and reintroduced her daughters, “You remember Lily and Timlin. You met the night of the fundraiser.”
“Yes, I remember. Great to see you both again.” I heard myself saying it, but I must have been distracted in New York because one of the girls was a looker and I would have remembered her. “Girls, this is going to be a great night.”
