Critical Error

by Murray Mcdonald

  The President’s announcement that morning that he was visiting the Alibi Club that same evening had caused more than a little concern amongst his Secret Service detail, particularly as the President himself had asked for security to be significantly increased just the day before, for no apparent reason, other than ‘a bad feeling’.

  The Alibi Club was locked down tight. Nobody was getting in or out of there. Of that they were sure. The journey to the club would be in the presidential limousine, nicknamed ‘The Beast’ and, immune to pretty much any form of attack. It was bullet proof, rocket proof, gas proof, fire proof. In fact just about everything proof. Unlike normal motorcades, as this was a personal trip, they had trimmed it down from the normal thirty vehicles to just four. Even that was probably overkill. Nobody knew the President was going out, never mind where he was actually going.

  As the motorcade swept out of the grounds, only a small throng of tourists witnessed the cars leaving. Not one of them took any more notice than normal. Cameras clicked as they sped past. A right turn onto 17 St NW was followed two blocks later by a left onto Pennsylvania Avenue NW. One block later, they turned onto 18th St NW, a block and a half from the Alibi Club. The sixteen secret service agents prepared to jump out and escort the President into the building, surrounded by over sixty of their colleagues.

  Rebecca had walked back across to the Starbucks cafe and was just finishing her coffee as the first black suburban swept past, it’s blue lights flashing and clearing the road ahead. Another quickly followed.

  Rebecca had seen motorcades many times before. She lifted her phone and hit the dial button twice. As it connected, she stood up and left Starbucks, not by the 18th St exit but onto H St., not missing a stride as the explosion shook the windows behind her.

  The Palestinian Embassy was on the same block as the Alibi Club but around the corner on 18th St NW, rather than on I street.

  The Secret Service agent in the third Suburban jumped as the flash of light appeared to his right directly opposite the Presidential Limousine. He knew two things from the location of the flash. It was no accident and they were very lucky. The Beast had hardly flinched as the explosion occurred. The car remained on course and unharmed. All five cars instantly accelerated as the radios broke into life.

  “Lead to Cadillac One, is POTUS OK?” POTUS was the acronymic codename for the President Of The United States.

  The driver and agent in the Beast, formally referred to as Cadillac One, had seen the flash like the others but had not even felt the smallest wave pressure. So it was with some confidence that they lowered the darkened glass between the President and themselves.

  “Lead, Cadillac One is intact, no effects felt. I repeat no effects felt. Will double-check with POTUS.”

  “Return to White House.” The lead agent issued the instruction to the motorcade as he awaited confirmation from Cadillac One.

  As the screen descended, the agent was faced with a scene of carnage. The President lay on his side, holding his stomach. His chest and body were covered in blood while his assistant’s head lolled back as blood ran from her mouth and down her chin, her white blouse crimson with blood.

  “Oh my God! Lead, change of destination, Walter Reed, I repeat Walter Reed and make it quick.”

  Chapter 70

  Sam heard the explosion in his hideout and fought against looking. The explosion was nearby, he knew that much and he also knew it wasn’t large. A diversionary type explosion, he thought. He thought back to all of Rebecca’s goings on throughout the day. She didn’t suddenly have something else that needed to be done, did she? She wouldn’t, he thought. No, she couldn’t have. She couldn’t be implicated in anything to do with an action against the President. As the night air filled with the sound of sirens coming ever closer, Sam knew it was Rebecca’s work. He gave it ten more minutes and rolled to his left. He could see one of the sniper positions clearly from there and unless he was staring straight back, he wouldn’t be seen.

  The sniper was nowhere to be seen. Sam rolled to the right, the other sniper was not there either. He rose onto his knee. They were all gone. He ventured a look down at the roof below. Six men had become two. Rebecca, he knew, had diverted the President, saving his life and robbing Sam of an opportunity. She had probably also saved his own life but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or angry. He’d figure it out once he had dealt with the old men.

  He looked over the lip of window at the two remaining guards. The Secret Service agents had obviously been pulled out. Not unsurprising in the circumstances. The President wouldn’t be going anywhere near there for a very long time. However, the old men would have based their security requirements on the Secret Service being there. With them gone, there was probably a high probability they would make a break for it themselves. Sam realized he had to hurry.

  The two guards below were not like Lawson’s. The beefcakes were gone and had been replaced by real professionals but professional what? They were extremely confident in their abilities but unlike the Secret Service, they were not covering the angles. These guys were not trained defenders, they were attackers thought Sam. And just like in football, each had their own specific purpose. They would look for where they would come from themselves and concentrate their efforts there. The Secret Service never took such chances, they just covered everything.

  Sam also noted a lack of intercoms. They really had expected the Secret Service to do their job for them. With the cacophony of sirens from just around the corner, Sam did not have to worry in the least about noise. Even without the silencers he had on his MP5 and Sig, he’d have been fine. He watched for a few minutes as both men wandered aimlessly from front to back of the roof, checking down below and occasionally lifting their eyes skywards towards to the taller rooftops. They really did not expect any company. They were probably moaning about having to babysit some old codgers. He watched as they came together again on their almost constant wandering. He had already perched himself ready, praying they didn’t look up on that occasion. Fortunately they didn’t and Sam dropped the fifteen feet and his 210 lbs onto the men below. The three of them landed in a sprawl, Sam coming off best. He had used the two men to break his fall. One, he was certain had a cracked collarbone, the other he knew had a broken leg. There was no way it would have bent that way otherwise. He almost felt sorry as he cable-tied them both, trying to make them as comfortable as possible. A fresh sock and elephant tape ensured they would also remain fairly quiet, although the guy with the funny leg was making one hell of a racket despite the gag.

  Sam entered the loft space via the hatch and checking below, dropped down into the building proper. It was deceptively large and a number of doors led off the passageway. Sam tried a few and found nothing but bedrooms. He needed to go down. He made his way to the end of the corridor and peered over the balcony. Another two men stood below him, chatting inanely about football.

  “Get ready to move out!” The shout from below made it clear time was running out.

  The men below split. One heading up and one down. One to tell the guys on the roof and the other to prep for leaving.

  Sam slipped back towards the loft hatch and noticed a small alcove just to the right of it. He pushed himself back into the space and waited as the guard moved towards him.

  As the guard was halfway up the ladders, Sam stepped forward and kicked them away. The guard’s legs desperately searched for some purchase in mid air like some childish cartoon. But gravity always wins and the guard crashed to the floor. It was only when he hit the ground that he realized somebody had deliberately removed the ladder. As he started to look around, Sam’s right fist hit him square in the jaw. 210 lbs of pure energy connected with the very confused guard and almost raised him back into mid air. He crumpled to the ground with little or no fight left. More cable-ties and another fresh sock secured and silenced him.

  Three down, at least another two left, thought Sam — the one who shouted up and the guy w
ho went down. Sam walked down to the second floor and quickly ascertained it also was empty. His guys had to be downstairs. Time was running out.

  Sam had to make a quick decision. If he wanted these guys, this was his chance and it wouldn’t come again. Sam pulled out the Sig and chambering a round, he walked down the stairs as if he had every right in the world to be there.

  The first guard he came across hardly gave him a second glance. Sam swung his pistol and brought it crashing into the side of his head. The guard had stupidly assumed his three colleagues above would have either stopped anyone coming in or warned them of any oncoming threats. The third option, that an intruder might get past them without warning, did not even figure in their range of potential threats. Sam had found, throughout his service, that arrogance about ability was just as dangerous as inability.

  Sam heard voices to his right and walked towards them. A guard opened the door as he approached and unlike his colleague, he was obviously far less confident in his colleagues. His UZI submachine pistol was raised immediately in response to the threat. Sam pulled the trigger on his already raised Sig and two shells ensured the guard would never pull his trigger. His lifeless body fell back into the room behind him and from the screams, it was clear that Sam had found his prey.

  “Good evening, Gentlemen,” he offered as he strode into the room. “I believe you’ve been looking for my brother and I?”

  Chapter 71

  Rebecca had made it back to the guesthouse without incident. She knew that the explosion was all bang and no power, nothing more than a glorified firework. However, it had been timed to perfection and coming from the Palestinian Embassy, it would look like a bomb that had failed to explode properly. It was therefore with some concern that she watched the news and discovered the President had been rushed to Walter Reed Hospital and was undergoing emergency treatment.

  The more she considered the possibility, the more ludicrous it became. The explosion was miniscule and the President was in a vehicle that would stop a direct hit from pretty much anything. It just wasn’t possible.

  “Ben, we have a problem.” She needed to know what to do. Killing presidents was way beyond her pay grade.

  “What’s wrong Rebecca?” asked Ben, instantly worried by the sound of her voice.

  ‘I think I’ve really screwed up,” she offered.

  ‘Why?” he asked cautiously.

  “I helped Sam tonight.”

  “So?”

  “The President was going to be there as well. As you said, I couldn’t let him get to the President. So I either stopped Sam or the President. I went with my heart rather than my head and went for the President and arranged a little diversion but I may have miscalculated.”

  Ben began to laugh uncontrollably, to the point that Rebecca was furious.

  “What??!!!” she screamed, forgetting where she was.

  “I have it under very good authority,” he continued to laugh. “That President Russell was almost castrated this evening. It seems his Personal Assistant is very personal and while performing an oral act in the back of his limo, your little diversion caused him to jump and her to clench her teeth. She damned near took his dick off!”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep, but obviously we don’t know anything about it!”

  “Of course. Are they going to be OK?” she asked with genuine concern, failing to see the humor. Ultimately, she was responsible.

  “They’ll be fine — he just needs some stitches and a couple of teeth removed while she needs her teeth replaced, if you know what I mean?”

  “Unfortunately, yes!”

  “How did Sam get on with the Horsemen?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “The who?”

  Ben kicked himself. “The four old men?”

  “You said the horsemen?”

  “No I said the four men.”

  Rebecca could argue but she knew what she had heard. There was more to this than Ben was telling her. She dropped it but had every intention of coming back to it.

  As she was about to reply, the door opened and Sam walked in, fresh as a daisy and threw her a huge smile.

  “I’ll call you back Ben!” She hung up and rushed across the room to hug Sam.

  “Well?” she asked, eventually letting go.

  “Five down, two to go!” he answered simply and without explanation.

  Chapter 72

  Walter Reed National Military Medical Centre

  President Russell insisted on leaving. He had a country to run and a few stitches weren’t going to hold him back. That was part of the excuse, the other part was that the embarrassment was killing him. Every time a doctor or nurse smiled at him, he assumed they were thinking of what had caused his injury. Nancy had accepted his offer the second he had made it. Honey would be taking a role elsewhere in government and a substantial ex-gratia payment would ensure her silence for ever more. Russell was tempted to make it more air tight with a call to Johnson but she was an exceptionally beautiful young woman and so had decided against it.

  Nancy sat by his side on the journey back to the White House, tut tutting at the state of his diary. It was going to take her the rest of the week to sort it out. The irony of his assistant actually running through his diary with him, following his previous car journey, was not missed as he accepted and declined a number of requests that had come in. His driver and his agent, the same ones as before, also noted the screen remained firmly down between themselves and the President.

  “Saturday we have you going to Corpus Christi for the unveiling,” said Nancy.

  Russell didn’t need to be reminded, it was down as the unveiling of a memorial, commissioned by the former President and in memory of the victims of the nuclear atrocity. It was rather ironic that it fell on the same day as a new atrocity was planned. However, it offered Russell an excuse to get out of Washington, just in case, and would give him a platform for a far bigger event. He would be naming his VP, as well as other positions.

  “Best we fly down the night before, it’s going to be a big day,” he suggested.

  Before long, they were back in the White House and CIA director Johnson was pacing the hallway as he waited for the President.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Russell as Johnson followed him into the Oval Office.

  “Koch, Harkness, Hathaway and Mellon, that’s what’s wrong,” he said, shutting the door.

  “Christ, what now? They moaning about their babysitters?” he asked, slumping into his sofa and instantly regretting the sudden motion and impact.

  “They’re all dead is what’s wrong!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” exclaimed Russell, not believing Johnson for a second.

  “Definitely! Executed! One round through each of their foreheads. Bang, bang, bang, fucking bang.” He motioned each bang with an outstretched index finger and thumb.

  “Your guys were watching them!”

  “While you were getting your cock sewn back on, your secret service agents left the Alibi Club and left my guys swinging in the wind with their asses hanging out. Sam Baker waltzed in, popped the guys and disappeared.”

  “Shit!”

  “The explosion that had you jumping in the air was nothing more than a glorified firework, all bang no bluster. It was a sham, timed and placed to perfection. We did exactly what he wanted, pulled the secret service away from the Club.”

  “But why not get me at the Club? He must have known I was going if he rigged the diversion?”

  “Shit, hadn’t thought of that.”

  The President pressed his buzzer. “Nancy, get me Henry Preston and Jim Gates, please.”

  Five minutes later, the four were trying to work through why Sam Baker had not taken a shot at Russell.

  The only conclusion any of them could come up with that made any sense was that Sam Baker did not know Russell was involved. It also meant that if he were unaware of Russell’s involvement, Johnson was probably in the clear also.

 
; “Ah, one problem. We’re assuming he didn’t get anything out of the four before he killed them,” offered Preston.

  “OK, back to plan A. I want Sam Baker dead,” instructed the President.

  Chapter 73

  Sam woke up with a start. Despite the hour, only 4.00 a.m., he called his brother but assured him everything was fine. They had, as ordered, not ventured outside. Cabin fever was setting in but they would be good, he assured his younger brother. They would not go out.

  He looked back at the bed and the stunning figure of Rebecca. It felt wrong and he knew it was wrong. His wife and child lay dead. He hadn’t even buried them properly. He knew strange things happened in times of crisis. You would do things that would otherwise not even enter your mind. Rebecca had kept him sane. She had kept his mind occupied, his thoughts alive and not with the dead. He knew he’d feel guilt and shame for what he had done but somehow it felt right as well. He stared at her sleeping figure and realized now was not the time. There would be time for mourning and recriminations later.

  Sam spotted the Victor Annual in his backpack. Perfect, he needed something to occupy his mind. His mind ventured back almost 40 years as he read and followed the comic strips that told their stories of the British fighting the Germans. He smiled as one strip told the story of a spy caught behind enemy lines who managed to escape before he was interrogated and returned home. Nothing overly surprising other than the fact that the spy had a false tooth with a cyanide pill. He looked across at Rebecca to see if she was awake to tell her where Deif’s idea must have come from. She was sound asleep. He’d tell her later. The next strip featured a naval convoy taking vital supplies to the Russians who were valiantly fighting the Germans on the Eastern Front. It was real gung-ho stuff, thought Sam. The British ships fought the harshness of the seas before being set upon by German fighter bombers. Without an escort, all was lost but in good old Victor style, they pulled something out the hat and what a something, thought Sam. He stared at the little comic drawing and thought back to the false tooth. Jesus!