by Bob Blink
"You will be a first, at least in a long time," the agent said. "A number of the previous presidents would shoot skeet at Camp David, but I don't remember any of them being active handgunners. Are you any good?"
"I used to be a fair shot," the President replied, glancing over at the agent. "Considerably better than average, but far short of being any kind of an expert."
".45 ACP I'm told."
The President nodded, thinking of the pair of new, Bill Wilson custom pistols sitting in a velvet lined case in his office. They had a gold inscribed portrait of himself on one side of the slide, and the gold letters 'POTUS' on the other.
"You guys use a faster, magnum-like round, don't you?" he asked. "Will they be safe on this range?"
"We use the .357 Sig, but it's considerably short of the revolver cartridge performance," the agent explained.
"Not a common round," the President observed. "I think Jeff Cooper got it right. The .45 ACP is probably a better choice."
The agent shrugged. "Not my decision to make," he replied. "As for the range itself, it was designed the you could safely fire one of Smith & Wesson's .500 Magnums without worry. If it weren’t, somewhere along the line someone would try out something that would result in a major issue for someone. Why do you ask? Are you looking for a little contest?"
The President smiled. "Maybe so," he admitted. "But I'll need a few sessions to practice up first. I haven't shot a handgun of any sort since coming to the White House."
"It's too bad that Chris won't be here for the opening," the agent said. "This was sort of his special project for you."
The President hesitated, then he asked, "Do you know when he is due back?"
"I've heard a couple of weeks. He's coordinating the buildup of the team that will be guarding Mrs. Craig, the Democratic leader. I don't think he really wanted the assignment, but we go where ordered."
The President knew he wouldn't have much of a chance to use the fancy range if something wasn't done about the opposition that CC was now guarding. After the last debate and the ever-worsening polls, he was painfully aware that his time as President was over this November unless his people acted.
While he detested most of those in the opposition party running against him, he couldn't lie to himself that the items Craig had promised to make the cornerstone of her administration wouldn't wreck the country, as would some of the items her fellows supported. A number of the items on her platform were insightful, and while he disagreed with a number of elements of her campaign, he also knew that an election promise didn't make a proposal a done deal. He'd learned that from bitter experience. A candidate's stated goals were simply that, goals at best, and promises meant to be broken in many cases. A President had to get his visions through both houses, often a simple impossibility. Executive Orders only went so far, and could be as easily undone as they'd been to implement in the beginning.
He'd watched the debate the day before. Craig was becoming more polished and electable with each outing. Debating wasn't one of his own strong suits, and he could envision how he'd look against her if it came to that. No, his only chance was for her to be eliminated from the contest. He admitted to himself that she might be a better president, but he couldn't accept losing. A character flaw, but in addition to wanting his policies to reach maturity, if he didn't complete a second term, he would always look back on his presidency as a failure, and he didn't like failing at anything. This was mostly about him, with really very little to do with what might or might not be best for the country.
His mind drifted back to Earl's early morning call. His first thought when he'd realized who was calling was that they'd pulled it off, and his old friend was calling to inform him that they'd triggered the accident, and his problems were behind him. But no, it had all turned sour unexpectedly. Simple timing, but what had seemed so easily implemented, was no longer an option. But ever resourceful, Earl had explained the alternative they had come up with. The body count was growing, and the implementation more risky, but the initial scouting the team had completed made it appear viable. It was ironic. If this was the way they moved forward, a shooting, which they had eliminated early on, would be the way out. A more complicated shooting, but still. . .
He liked the wrinkle that would having the press, always his enemy, immediately jump to the conclusion that Craig had been targeted, only to be made to look wrong when the domestic dispute aspect was revealed. It was ironic that they would have been right all along, but wouldn't know that.
There was also an advantage that the death would take place later in time and in a different location from where Earl's son had spotted Bo. CC may not have recognized him, but hopefully any connection would be lost by the change in plan. He probably shouldn't have asked about CC, but he'd been unable to help himself, and at least had a time frame he could pass to Earl so their action would take place after CC had returned to Washington.
He'd approved the revised plan during the earlier call, but decided he'd call Earl back when he returned to his quarters upstairs. Earl should know about the likelihood that CC would be on the candidate's protection detail only a short time, which would eliminate one area of risk.
The new plan entailed much more risk than before, and therefore more chance of something going wrong and those involved getting indentified and caught. Fortunately only Earl knew that he was the one who had initiated the killing, and he knew that Earl would go down without giving him up if it came to that. CC, however, was a complication, and he knew he couldn't count on him to do the same as his father. And CC was the one who'd arranged for the secret phones, so should he connect the action to spotting Bo in an unlikely spot such as the Clement Hotel, or should his father be identified as one of those involved, then he could potentially become a problem. He'd need a way of taking CC out should it become necessary, but at the moment he couldn't see a way for that to happen. The matter deserved more thought, but at least he should have some time before things started happening.
With his thoughts finally settling down, Mark turned and indicated he was heading back upstairs. As he walked he thought about the funeral that would follow the killing. It would be a big deal, but it didn't seem appropriate for him to attend. She'd been on a path to take away his presidency after all. It would be better that he send his VP. Somehow the fact Toshiko was a doctor made that even more appropriate. Also, in the back of his mind, would his presence somehow trigger someone's intuition about what had really happened to Craig? He was a bit superstitious about such things. He was even getting a bit concerned that his girlfriend might somehow pick up a sense of abnormality. Maybe he should send her away for a while.
Chapter 15
Southern California
Mid June 2024
"It's time to go operational," Jason yelled as he crossed into the large living room of the suite they had rented. "Abe says the Marshall dame just showed up at the Craig house."
It had been several weeks since they'd closed on the plan. A depressing, rainy couple of weeks, but now the skies were clear again and everyone's optimism had returned. They had a shifted watch on the residence since there was nothing to be done unless Craig's personal secretary was present at the residence, which had happened for a few hours each day since they had returned to California, but none of the visits had provided a satisfactory certain opportunity for Bo to make a killing shot. Seeing as it was late in the afternoon it was likely the woman would be staying at the house for dinner, along with political planning discussions before or afterwards.
The announcement kicked everyone into action. Time was running out for their plan and they couldn't afford to miss any opportunity. The listening devices they'd placed on several windows had been recovered before Nancy Craig returned for fear the Secret Service might discover them, and now they used a laser system that Earl had acquired somewhere and brought back from Texas with him to monitor conversations within the house. That was how they'd learned that Nancy was planning on leaving in a few days,
once her husband's brother arrived to stay with him. The Secret Service had a hand in determining their shooting spot, as the patio was never used, most likely because they'd been told it was too exposed, especially in light of the violence against Eric, which they admitted probably was unrelated, but why take chances. That meant Bo would have to take a shot through the living room glass in order the make the kill.
Earl had also brought back a variety of other items with him when he returned from Texas, their personal handguns which they shouldn't need but which all wanted handy as they initiated the illegal actions against the candidate, a pair of AR style rifles, and some drugs that Abe had specified that would be useful in controlling Bud once they took him. That would happen after Bo made his shot. All of these items would have been difficult to bring on a commercial flight, but Earl had flown his own plane, which was currently parked in Torrance.
The plan had gone as hoped, at least up to now. Once they were organized, and CC had returned to Washington eliminating the chance of his spotting one of them, they'd initiated events by the planned mugging of Eric Craig as he left one of his writer's meetings one evening. Using a tire iron from Bud's garage, they'd snuck up on the man, smashed his left arm and rendered him unconscious, then taken his wallet. All of this was accomplished without allowing him a chance to get a look at his attacker, or attackers. He'd admitted to his wife and the police who took the report he didn't know how many there had been.
As expected, the assault against her husband had modified the woman's plans, and she'd taken a break from her politicking and had flown immediately back to California. Her campaign manager stayed in the Midwest to manage her absence, but as hoped, Carol Marshall had made the trip back as well, and had been a daily visitor at the house.
The group was still staying in the long-term residences in El Segundo, close to Bud's residence, but also had acquired a small cabin out in the desert near Beaumont where they would hold Bud until his part in the plan materialized. They'd had to gamble a bit in order to have access to Bud's rifle, but the weeks of monitoring the man, including spending one day at the range near Santa Clarita not too far from the man, shooting Earl's ARs for show, as he completed his weekly shooting out at the desert range, which had given them a good idea of his habits. He was as good a shot as they'd believed, at least with the bolt-action rifle which he brought with him every outing, but a bit less so with the AR, which appeared to be a more recent acquisition. He'd return home, clean his gear, and lock it away, where it appeared to sit unnoticed until the next shooting trip.
That had allowed them to sneak in last Monday morning after Bud had headed off to work and grab the AR from its protective case, which they left in the storage box in case he happened to look inside. Bo kept the rifle handy in one of the cases for the AR's that Earl had provided, leaving it stored in the trunk of the rental car parked out front. They also had Bud's ammo. Bo had taken the ammo out of several boxes from the bottom on Bud's ammo can, making it look like nothing was missing. After the shooting, they'd dispose of the empty boxes, but for now, it was a hedge against Bud noticing an unexpected depletion of his ammo stores. They'd also spent time at a different range, this one in Burro Canyon, where Bo carefully calibrated Bud's rifle for his own use. The sight settings that worked for Bud couldn't be guaranteed to be best for another shooter. Bo had to make some minute adjustments in the settings to get the rifle properly configured for the 260-yard range he'd be shooting at, which he recorded then dialed back out when he returned the rifle on weekends. He'd reset the optics each time he "borrowed" the rifle. The AR was one of the better brands and performed more than adequately for the task at hand.
"Let's move," Earl directed, slipping his sidearm into the waistband of his pants. He had an old, very worn S&W Model 39 9mm. The wooden grips had been exposed to so much oil in the fields over the years that the grips appeared almost black. He would be heading toward Bud's neighborhood where he'd meet with Abe as he made his way back to El Segundo from Palos Verdes. They needed to be in place to grab Bud when he returned if Bo had his chance to make the shot.
Jason and Bo were already out the door, climbing into the rental Toyota. Once they arrived, they'd park near the patch of open ground and make their way to the spot that offered a clear view of the front of Craig's house. Jason would act as spotter and to watch for anyone in the area that might be paying attention to them. Seeing as it was a Thursday afternoon and the spot they'd selected was a goodly distance from the closest house, they didn't expect any trouble in that regard. Jason would bring one of the AR's in addition to the small S&W Shield 9mm he wore concealed on his belt. Bo had a .45 Sig, but had simply kept it in the case with the borrowed rifle.
Less than half an hour later they were in place, the rental parked discretely in the shade back in the faux canyon a hundred feet away. Bo was prone on a small blanket in the small flat that served as his sniper's nest, while Jason was crouched in the cluster of rocks he'd followed up to the edge of the shooting area. The rocks would ensure that the investigators, of which there would be many, would be unable to tell there had been more than one person. They communicated by short-range walkie-talkies with ear buds. Jason wished they could have had Bud's pickup instead of the rental, but that wasn't feasible since they didn't know if and when the shot would be made. He could see one individual in the distance, but his scan through the binoculars suggested that person wasn't interested in anything in their direction. The steep ravines and limited flat space that had made this place unbuildable also made it of little interest to the majority of the residents.
Bo settled the AR on the installed bipod, slid in place behind the weapon and prepared to scan the windows of the house below. Despite the generally rocky landscape, this small patch was sandy and soft, allowing his elbows and knees to sink in for a comfortable rest. There was no hurry. Jason would have warned him if the women were visible. He was a little uncomfortable with the whole situation. This was the fourth time they'd come here to make the shot, and that didn't count the scouting visit they'd made a couple of weeks earlier. That was too many. One of these days someone was going to notice something. The fact they had to stay in place for long periods didn't sit well with him either.
While no one appeared to pay attention, he wondered what the two shots he would fire would do. That might draw enough attention that someone would see that there were two shooters and not one, which was the narrative they wished to sell. It would have to be exactly two. One shot to break the window glass, and the second to make the kill. More would be suspicious in that one accidental bullet into the wrong target would be believable, but several wouldn't make sense. He had decided that if he blew it, he was going to fire a barrage and take out both women. It wasn't the tale they wanted to tell, but if he flubbed the shot, the whole thing was bust anyway.
He also was a bit uneasy with the equipment, even though he'd shot it and it was quality gear and performed well enough. But it wasn't the configuration and scope he would have chosen, nor was the bullet Bud had selected the optimum for the task at hand. But it was Bud's gear, and that also was important.
"Movement," Jason said. "They are upstairs in the office again."
Damn! The angle wasn't as good, nor was the window through which he'd have to shoot anywhere near as large. The two women had developed a pattern of meeting there. If the past was any example, they'd settle in and stay.
"What about the husband?" he asked.
"He's downstairs talking with the Secret Service guy," Jason said.
That located the rest of the people in the house. Fortunately they only assigned one agent while everyone was secure in the house, bringing up reinforcements when someone planned to venture into town.
Bo adjusted his position slightly so the study window filled the scope. Sure enough, they were settled in place around the desk, their heads no more that a couple of feet apart. At least the sun wasn't on the window this time, and he had a pretty clear view. More importantly, they had fo
rgotten to close the binds like the other times. Usually they did so after being in the office for a few minutes. After a moment's hesitation he said, "I'm going to take the shot."
"You said you didn't like the office," Jason protested. "Maybe they will move downstairs."
"They haven't before, and from what we learned yesterday, they will be leaving tomorrow afternoon. This might be the last chance, and they might close off the view at any time if they remember as their Secret Service guy must have warned them to do."
"It's your call," Jason said. "Do you think you can make the kill?" Clearly he was uncomfortable with the change in plans.
"We'll know soon enough," Bo said, his mind already focusing on the task he'd set. "You watch and tell me what happens."
Now it was automatic. Bo's breathing started to settle as his eyes and hands moved automatically preparing for the shots. Twice, he subconsciously reminded himself. It wouldn't be a single shot into a distant target. He focused on the spot he'd place the first bullet, just enough off track it would affect his real target, but not so much he had to move the rifle more than a few degrees. Shoot, rotate, acquire the target, and shoot again. He burned the sequence into his mind.
Relaxed, he was now confident as he prepared to do something he was supremely skilled at. All except the fact his target was human, and that tickled at the back of his mind at bit, but he pushed the feeling aside.
Now, something told him. The first shot broke the silence of the afternoon, although not as loud as some would have expected. Although illegal in California, Bud had somehow come up with a suppressor for the AR, which Bo had installed, and used when he test fired the weapon. It hadn't hurt the accuracy, and the reduction in sound was more important than the loss in velocity.
