SILVER-2 (NORRIS FILES)

by Marshall Huffman

  "You would rate him as one of the best of the best?"

  "No-frickin’ doubt about it."

  "Know what happened to him?"

  "Got his ass shot up. Took a couple of hits to the arm and one in the leg. Got sent back to the free world. I think he went back to Florida. Can't say for sure."

  "Could he shoot after that?"

  "Hell boys, I don't know. Don't see why not. Shit, you see people doing all sorts of stuff that seemed impossible just a few years ago. Shit, it ain't like he was blind."

  "Got it. What about DeRosso?"

  "Ah. DeRosso, the Wop."

  PJ and Sean looked at each other. JJ had said it just like Leon had less than an hour ago. It was freaky.

  "Now that little prick could shoot. He could shoot the pecker off an ant at 1600 yards. He was good in the bush too. Never broke the rules. No dope or none of that shit. He was cool all the time, always under control. He would get real excited after he made the shot, especially a really long one but the rest of the time you never knew what he was thinking."

  "He was the best then? Was he stable? I mean is he the type who would be out killing people for hire now?" Sean asked.

  "Ah, hell fellers, how would I know? I can just tell you about their skills, not how messed up they were after they got back to the World. Could he do it? From a skill level, better than anyone. But I don't think he was crazy. Pop Top was crazy, not The Wop. Let me tell you a story," JJ said opening another beer.

  "He was tracking' this Chink General all over the place. Somehow they found out. The Wop had the highest bounty on his head of any sniper in the frickin' Nam, see? Anyway the Chink takes off to Cambodia. That don't stop the Wop. He tracks the sucker, hell or high water. About the sixth day of trackin' this Chink he catches up with him at some indoctrination camp. I was his spotter, so I shit you not about this. He tells me he thinks he can get this guy. Hell. It was close to 1800 yards out. Ain't no way you’re gonna' pick this guy off unless we get closer, I tell him. He just looks at me and asks for the M-16. Now it’s one of our M-16s, but none the less, it ain't near as accurate as the M-14 or the 700. What the hell, I ask him? Well he says, as he lines up the shot, the muzzle velocity is 3250 feet per minute rather than 2800 feet per minute for the M-14. He figures he is gonna' need it for this range. Gun ain't all that accurate, I tell him. Without taking his eye off the scope he says, ain't the gun, it's the shooter that makes it accurate. Shit. He cranks up and pops one off. I figured he missed the prick cause I see him standing there looking at his troops. 'Got the sucker', he said as he started off. All of a sudden the Chink just collapses like a sack of shit. Never saw anything like before or since."

  "Was it luck?" Sean asked.

  "Luck my ass. The Wop was already packin' up to move out while I was standing there with my mouth open. Boys, I'm better than good, but I'll tell you right here and now, I ain't never been that good. DeRosso didn't need luck; he was just a pure shooter."

  "What happened to him?"

  "Got his ass shot up around Khe Sanh some place. Chopper he was in went down and he got messed-up. Sent his sorry ass back to Saigon for rehab. Got out later and went back to where his folks lived. St. Louis, I think."

  "Ever hear from him again?"

  "What do you think? Do I look like some jerks pen pal?"

  "Sorry, just thought one of these guys might have crossed your path again."

  "No-frickin'-way."

  What about Tim Sparks?" JP asked.

  "Sparky? Damn good shooter. Ten for ten at 1200 yards. Day or night. Rain or sunshine. Damn sharp too. Had a good head on his shoulders. Lazy though. If the target didn't come to him and ask to be shot he would just piss off the mission. Biggest trouble I had with him was getting him to stay with it. Never wanted to leave the range of the firebase. Smart son of a bitch. I don't think Sparky is your man. Can't say why for sure, just a hunch. He is the kind that got out and just went fishin'. His parents had a shit pot full of money so I don't think he was worried about eatin'. I could be wrong, but I don't think so."

  "Well Gunny. I guess that about does it for now. Thanks for the information," Sean said.

  "And the beer," PJ added.

  "My pleasure boys. You get down this way again, stop in and we’ll have a beer together. You see that sorry ass Brownie again; you tell him JJ hasn't forgotten the fifty bucks he owes me."

  "I'll tell him. How long has he owed you?"

  "Since summer of 67'. Good people, but damn slow to pay back."

  PJ and Sean drove back to San Diego, turned in the rental car and hopped a flight back to DC.

  They wanted man power. A lot of man power. They need to locate Ted Rafferity and Giovanni DeRosso as fast as possible and find out what they were all about. It wouldn't hurt to locate Tim Sparks, just in case.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Zane arrived at exactly 5:00 P.M. by his watch, in Fairfax, Virginia. He walked into the Holiday Inn and headed for the bar. He saw Wells immediately setting in a corner booth.

  "Have a seat, I was just about to order."

  The waitress came to the table as he sat down and they ordered. They waited until after she delivered the drinks before they started to talk.

  "That jackass Mr. Red showed up at my motel room last night. He came to tell me he had taken out Brooks and that he thought that the police were on to him. I can't believe he was that dumb. What rock did this guy crawl out from under? Dumb shit."

  "Now, now. Relax. Everything is under control isn't it? I know you too well Zane. I'm sure you got him under control. Remember Oswald? Psychopathic little prick. You handled him didn't you? If you can keep a nut case like that under control for nine months, you can handle a professional like Mr. Red. At least he has skill and training," Harmon said.

  "Sure but I'm just getting too old for this stuff. Sitting around back in the States makes me edgy. I’m not his handler damn it."

  "Easy. Don’t let this rattle you. One thing you should know, our primary source has not come through. I will now activate the backup."

  "Shit."

  "No. It's alright really. In fact it may be for the best. At any rate, I will have the list of cities by the end of the week with any luck at all."

  "Do you want me to change locations? Mr. Red has been there?"

  "That's up to you. Do you feel it's necessary?"

  "Hell, I don't know. No, I guess not. It still just pisses me off."

  "It's only a few more days. Stay for now. If you get a feeling that all is not well, head to the back up. I'll know if you do."

  "I sent Mr. Red back to the ranch. I couldn't see him sitting on his ass around here."

  "Good. I was going to have you do that anyway. Good call as usual Zane," Harmon said soothingly.

  "Is the time line still the same?"

  "No later than June 1st. It hasn't changed."

  "Good, the sooner the better."

  "I agree. Here is twenty thousand dollars for expense money. You may need it soon."

  "Good. I have some stashed away but a fallback is always good. You're always one step ahead of everyone else."

  "That's why we have survived so long, isn't it friend?"

  "Just keep steppin'."

  "I'll be going now, unless you have anything else."

  "No, that about does it," Zane said. "I'll keep Mr. Red under control. Or kill him," he added only half joking.

  "I have no doubt. About your ability to do either, actually," Wells said as he left.

  Zane finished his drink, left a generous tip and went back to wait for further instruction.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sean and PJ met with the available members of the combined agency team the next day after getting back from San Diego.

  "PJ, what did you and Sean ascertain from your recent cross country journey?" Neilson asked.

  "Well Ron. We ascertained that we have one hell of a fine shooter loose someplace out there in the world."

  "Cut the crap," Direc
tor Johnson interrupted, "Just tell us the details, and without the smart ass overtone.”

  "Sure. We are going to concentrate on two or possible three suspects. The rest have been pretty much ruled out unless we come to a dead end. Ted Rafferity, Giovanni DeRosso and Tim Sparks. If I had to choose one of the three I would go for DeRosso."

  "Why is that?" Johnson wanted to know.

  "Gut feeling really. I realize we can't account for any of the three at the top of our list but something about DeRosso tells me he is our man."

  "We need more than that I'm afraid to say," Johnson quickly said.

  "I trust his instincts," Ron Neilson said catching PJ off guard, "His instincts have bailed us out of trouble before. Do we have anything on DeRosso at all?"

  "Not a damn thing. That's another thing I don't like about this. After he got back from Vietnam he just disappeared."

  "Could he be working for one of our government agencies?" one of the agents asked.

  "Always possible. We have done a check through the front door of the other agencies. Maybe it's time for a back door check," Johnson said, "You can do that far more effectively than we can Ron," he added.

  "Right. I'll get to work on it right away."

  "What else do you have?" Johnson asked.

  "The guys we talked to in California think Rafferity lives in Florida and that DeRosso was out of St. Louis. It isn't much but we can start there. No line on Sparks at all."

  "Alright ladies and gentlemen. We have work to do. Find me Sparks, Rafferity and DeRosso.”

  "That's about...."

  The door to the room opened and a courier handed the Director a note.

  "This is from the lab boys. Judge Brooks and the cattle in New Mexico were killed in the same way from what they can tell. It is consistent with the data supplied by the guys at Unitech. People, we need to find this guy and stop his ass cold. Let's move it."

  After the agents had filed out the director said to Sean and PJ, "We have been checking airline bookings against the list of suspects. There was a G. DeRosso that flew from Houston to Santa Fe a few weeks ago. No rental car trace showed up. If it is the same guy, he has help. That smells like trouble to me. PJ, you just may be right about this guy but let’s not get sloppy and overlook the other two. Okay?"

  "Got it."

  "I have us scheduled for a meeting at the White House in about an hour from now. Unfortunately it's with Wilber Wainright. I want you two to formulate a plan of action that we can present. Wainright is one tough prick. You need to be ready."

  "Great. Politics, my strong suit," PJ moaned.

  "Better let Ron handle Wainright," the Director advised.

  During the ride over to the White House the Director informed JP and Sean of two new developments. They had just received word from Cayman Airways that a Z. Tolbert had entered the US. PJ let out a low whistle.

  "Who is Tolbert?" Sean asked.

  "He is believed to be Harmon Wells’s right hand man. He was just a young pup in the 60's but he impressed Wells enough to mentor him along. He was arrested as one of the bums in the train yard in Dallas in 63'. We even got his picture that day, so we know he was there."

  "How did he get away?"

  "Ah. Another one of the great mysteries of that era," Neilson said.

  "So, if he is here, can Wells be far away?" PJ said.

  "Any trace of him after he came in?"

  "Nothing. He flew into Miami. No rental car record that we have been able to turn up so far."

  "What about taxi records?" Sean asked.

  All of them just looked at him.

  "What?"

  "Ever try to get a taxi driver in Miami that speaks English? Let alone convince them they should help the police," the Director said.

  "So he vanished?"

  "Yep. As far as we know. He did use his own name. Got balls, I'll say that."

  "It was a fairly safe bet. He's not a legitimate suspect after all. The Warren Commission made sure of that."

  "Jerks," the Director said.

  "What else? You said there were a couple of things."

  “Tim Sparks. Works for the DEA. Very hush, hush. Whacks the bad guys in Colombia and other places. This does not leave the car, understood?"

  "Understood," Sean and PJ said in unison.

  "I almost got Tolbert once. In '68' or '69', I forget. I had him pegged. Got close enough to actually see him. He is slick, I'll give him that. Ten of us had a tail on him and he got away. Real high point of my career," PJ said dejectedly.

  "Would you recognize him now?" Sean asked.

  "Hell, I don't know. Maybe. It's been a long time, and a lot of bad guys later, but I might. I know I would sure like to get another crack at him," PJ said seriously.

  "We’re here," the Director said as they pulled into the White House compound.

  They were shown into a large room with two Marine sentries stationed outside of the door. They cooled their heels for a full ten minutes before Wilber Wainright stormed into the office. It was a disaster from the start. The Director and Ron Neilson had done all of the talking.

  "Now, let me see if I'm getting this right. You think the same team that killed JFK has been resurrected, stole a weapon called a SILVERADO....."

  "SILVER-2"

  "SILVER-2, SILVERADO, whatever, and is now back to kill the current President. You don't know for sure if it's Wells, or the same Tolbert, or if they even have the damn weapon. Is that about it? Oh yes, and you want me to waltz in to the President and tell him to keep his butt locked inside the White House. Anything else?"

  "Well sir...."

  "Well sir, my ass. You morons expect me to buy this bullshit story without one piece of evidence. Why in God’s name would this guy Wells, if it even was him involved in 63', want to drag his tired ol' ass back to this country and kill the President? Hell, the man is popular."

  "So was JFK," PJ said.

  "Don't be a smart ass. Who the hell is this guy anyway?" Wainright shot at the Director.

  "Paul Watts, OPS3."

  "Well, Paul Watts, OPS3, I'll let you know when I'm asking you something, other than that, keep your smart assed answers to yourself."

  He didn't wait for an answer.

  "Director, I expected more out of you. Give me one thing that I can hang my hat on and I'll reconsider my position."

  "Well Sir. We know the weapon was stolen. We now know it has been used. Once on some cattle in New Mexico and we now know it was used on Judge Brooks."

  "What? You're sure of that? I haven't heard anything like that. How do you know?"

  "Our lab and the Unitech Lab, where the weapon was invented, confirmed it, Sir."

  "Son of a bitch," he said thinking for a second.

  "Well, all that proves is that someone has the weapon and it's still in the US, or was. That doesn't mean the President is a target."

  "No Sir, it doesn't, but with the involvement of Wells and Tolbert it all starts to add up. We know, or are reasonably sure, that Tolbert is back in the US. That means Wells is involved. He is called the 'Fixer' in the assassination business. He makes all the arrangements and has others do the actual work. We think he has been hired to fix another assassination."

  "But no proof. Right?"

  "Yes Sir. Not in the legal sense if that's what your mean."

  "Or physical."

  "Yes Sir."

  "Well gentlemen," he said leaning back in his chair and looking around the room at each one seated, "I suggest that you get off your asses and get something that proves what you’re selling. So far I don't see anything that I'm willing to take down the hall. For all I know he whacked some other asshole and is headed back to from wherever he came."

  "That's not his style...Sir," PJ said.

  "Great. An assassin with style. What will they think of next?"

  "Sir, we had a duty to inform you that our combined agencies feel this may be a threat to the President. We are hereby formally notifying you of that concern."


  Wainright stood up slowly and said, "And I hereby formally notify you that you don't have shit."

  With that he stormed out of the room like he had entered. No one moved for a second.

  Terry Logsdon, head of White House Security spoke at last, "Nice job boys. You won his ol' heart that time."

  "Guess we won't be invited to the Christmas Party at his house this year.....again," the Director said.

  "Terry I know you were listening. It’s more than just a gut feeling. This is real, and it isn't going to go away because that blowhard wants it too."

  "I know guys. He is a 14carrot prick no doubt about it. Look I'll go to a higher level of security. Just one step for now. If you get more, you make damned sure I get it first. Deal?"

  “Deal.”

  "Wainright will have all of our balls for lunch if he finds out that we're going to you first," Ron said.

  "It's worth the risk isn't it?"

  "It is. Just a reminder of who were dealing with."

  "I had rather take this risk than wait for a gunshot," Terry said.

  "No gunshot this time. Just the smell of burnt meat," PJ added.

  With that grim reminder, they all got up to leave.

  When they got back to the F.B.I. building a message was waiting for Sean and PJ. They had located Ted Rafferity in Jacksonville, Florida.

  The Delta flight to Jacksonville was uneventful. It was exactly the kind that they both wanted. Two local F.B.I. agents met them at the gate. Both looked like the kind you see on television. Over six feet tall, two hundred plus pounds, short hair and square jawed. They took themselves far too serious. After introductions they went to track down Rafferity.

  "How far is it?" PJ asked.

  "About an hour, hour and fifteen minutes," one of the agents replied.

  "We stopping or something? I mean just how big can Jacksonville be?" PJ asked.

  "Hey man, Jacksonville is the largest city in the United States, ya' know?"

  "Whose chain you trying to pull?" PJ said.

  "No kidding. Largest city in the US. In square miles. No Joke."