The Third Coincidence

by David Bishop

  “I just can’t see it that way,” Colin answered. “The assassinations so far have been from coast to coast. Oregon and Cleveland were on two consecutive days.”

  “But the Breens in Oregon were dead a couple of days before they were found,” Rachel said, correcting the impression of what Colin had said. “The findings of the bodies, not the killings themselves, were on consecutive days.”

  Jack put down his coffee cup. “Anyone agree with Colin that there must be more than one killer?”

  “Consider this,” Nora said, taking off her earrings and massaging her earlobes. “In Oregon and Cleveland we have witnesses who gave almost the same description. Is it reasonable to think the members of this so-called militia all have the same physical basics?”

  “That argument relies on the assumption the sightings in Oregon and Cleveland were the killers,” Colin said in defense of his position. “It remains possible all we have is an innocent fellow riding a bike and another guy delivering flowers.”

  “But the local FBI offices,” Rachel said coming back at Colin, “have been unable to find either an Oregon florist with a delivery to the honeymoon cottage, or someone in the Pepper Pike neighborhood of Cleveland who owns a red bicycle and rode it near Taylor’s home. When we rely on the presumption these sightings were the killers, the question becomes do we have several killers or is this LW character working overtime?”

  “We need to decide whether we believe LW has a militia or is a lone wolf,” Jack told them. “Whatever we decide, that decision will remain open to constant reassessment.”

  “Jack!” Frank exclaimed. “Could that be the LW? Lone Wolf! Telling us, he’s operating alone? Is he toying with us? Like he did when he went inside Rachel’s place. Teasing us?”

  “Maybe,” Jack said reflectively. “That could certainly fit a guy who thinks he’s smarter than the rest of the country. Colin, your first priority is to develop a rolling timeline. Find out if it’s possible for one man to have committed all these murders. Be sure to include the times and the locations from which the communiqués were FedExed. I want you to prove your argument that one person couldn’t do it, or find out that one could.”

  “You got it,” Colin said, pushing his chair back from the table.

  “Rachel and Millet, you keep working your lists. Prioritize as you see fit. You know what we’re looking for. We need some passengers whose flights will fit the timeline Colin’s developing, so you three coordinate.”

  “Now, Jack?”

  “Now, Frank. You and Nora get over to the Capitol Arms. Me, I’m going to play a long shot. I’ll fill you in when I get back.”

  Ten minutes later, Jack had FBI Supervisory Agent Rex Smith on the phone, asking him about one house in the report on the canvassing of the neighborhood in which Chief Justice Thomas Evans lived.

  “That house sits directly across from the home of the chief justice,” Agent Smith said. “The neighbors say it’s empty, and the couple next door saw a car there a month or so ago, but not again since. And before you ask, no, they never saw anybody, just the car. The man thought it was a dark-colored SUV.”

  “I know all that, Rex. That’s what the report said. It’s time to play a hunch. Give me the address. Find out who owns that house, and if there’s been any changes in ownership within the past few years, and so on. Contact the owner to get permission for us to enter the house. When you have it, bring an FBI SWAT team. Be sure they include specialized medical advanced response personnel. And get a chopper in the air as near as possible without being heard. I’ll meet you there.”

  Jack poked the end button with his finger, and pressed the accelerator with his foot.

  CHAPTER 33

  Several Federal Reserve governors are reported to be considering resigning.

  —A.P. Wire, June 16

  “Jack. Rex. I’m in the back of the SWAT van. We’re ten to fifteen minutes out. Where are you?”

  “More like fifteen.

  What have you got on the mystery house?”

  “It should be coming on the screen in a moment. I’ve got you on a headset. Here! Here it is. The house is owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Harrelson of New York City. We reached Mrs. Harrelson. They rarely use the home. It’s rented out through a D.C. rental agent. Mrs. Harrelson has authorized us to enter and search the house in whatever manner we deem necessary. We’re still trying to reach the rental agent. I’ll get back to you when more comes through.”

  Jack tossed his agency cell phone on the passenger seat and focused on making up the minutes he was behind Rex. A dark sedan in his rearview mirror drew his attention as it moved behind him three cars back. He changed lanes. The sedan changed lanes. When he cut between cars and switched back to the left lane, his tail passed another vehicle using the lane to its right, holding its position three car lengths behind.

  Jack grabbed his CIA cell, then put it down and used his personal cell phone to dial the direct line the president had given him to reach FBI Director Hampton. “Director. Jack McCall. I’m on my way to meet Agent Smith. Someone’s pinned a tail on me. Tell me it wasn’t you.”

  “The president countermanded your refusal of protection.”

  When his CIA phone on the seat started ringing, Jack had no choice but to hang up on Hampton.

  “We spoke to the rental agent,” Rex said right away. “It’s scrolling now. He rented the house sixty days ago to a Barry Jones. The rental was arranged by phone and Jones paid in advance by wire transfer for six months and requested the agent send the key to an Arlington PO box. The wire transfer came from a cash transaction by Barry Jones at the counter in a small bank branch—one with no video. The bank told us wire transfers at the counter from noncustomers are rare. So far that’s—wait. Something else is coming. The street address Jones gave the rental agent in a suburb of Chicago is an empty lot.”

  “What else?”

  “The phone company shows no active number at the Harrelson house. The electric company shows usage at maintenance levels for a vacancy. We’re six minutes out. What’s your ETA?”

  “I’m still a minute or so behind you,” Jack said. “Call back if you need to talk.”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. The tail car had not broken off.

  After attaching the velcro straps on an aramid fiber vest, Jack took a position beside Rex Smith at the front door of the Harrelson house. Jack knocked. Four members of an FBI SWAT team were with them. The SWAT agents took up positions near the door, and after Rex checked and found no outside trips or alarms, Jack knocked hard. Again.

  “Stop!” Jack shouted when two members of the SWAT team swung back a battering ram to take down the door. “Pick the lock. We want everything here to look as normal as possible in case he returns.”

  Rex picked the lock, drew his 9-mm Sig Sauer from his belt and stepped back, standard procedure dictating that the SWAT team enters first. The four in the lead held either a Springfield semiautomatic handgun or an HK MP 5/10 machine gun. Once inside the squad took line-of-sight positions to cover all interior doorways, fanned out, and went into every room.

  “Mr. McCall. Agent Smith,” one of them called, “upstairs, the first bedroom on your right.”

  Jack and Rex took the stairs two at a time. An AM-180 machine gun bolted to the floor, loaded with a full magazine, quietly aimed through the window directly at the chief justice’s white colonial across the street. From that position the 180 could rip through a small crowd like a scythe cutting down spring wheat.

  Jack let out a low whistle. “Get your top forensic guys in here, Rex. This is the one place we’ve found where LW has been. I want every conceivable test run on this gun, the room, the toilets, showers, sinks, faucets, knobs, window sliders, the contents of the drains, everything in the kitchen. And don’t miss the trash.”

  “They know what to do,” Rex said.

  “Mr. McCall,” another agent called out. “There’s a note taped behind the door. Your name’s on it.”

  Jack holster
ed his Sig Sauer, pulled on latex gloves, and carefully peeled the note off the door. It had been composed, like the note left at Jack’s house with Rachel’s bra, using words cut from magazines and newspapers. Before reading, he turned to Rex.

  “LW could be watching us right now. Call in the chopper to search the neighborhood. Assign your squad for ground support.”

  Before leaving, Rex told one of the SWAT guys to stay with Jack.

  Jack read the note twice.

  Dear Jack:

  It’s good to know you’re hard at work. I have eliminated the chief justice. It appears you continue to be a day late and a dollar short. I took extreme care to prevent leaving any forensic evidence. I doubt you’ll find anything useful. I never used the toilet or the kitchen. I wore gloves when I assembled the gun and I sprayed it to dissolve any traces that may have somehow slipped by my careful attention.

  You cannot stop my militia. We will restore representative government in America.

  Commander LW

  “Damn,” Jack muttered, handing the note to Rex, who had just came back.

  “With your permission,” Rex said, “I’ll let the ERT read the note. I want them to see that this asshole is thumbing his nose at them.”

  Jack glared at Rex, his face still tight. “Do it. But remember, other than that the content, even the existence of this note is a secret.”

  “I’ll get back to you after they’re finished,” Rex said. “May I make another suggestion?”

  Jack took a deep breath and eased it out. He had never been sure which was emotionally harder, an assault that became a firefight or one that turned out to be a dry hole.

  “I need all the ideas I can get,” he said.

  “We ought to stake this place out,” Rex said. “LW has a reason to come back.”

  “Do it.” Jack said with enough emphasis to add some of his saliva to the crime scene. “I want agents set up with line of sight. Get ’em within a block. Don’t use the chief justice’s house. LW will be watching that one. Maybe one of the neighbors has a garage we can use. Use a cover story so they won’t connect this to LW. Coordinate the effort with the protective detail moving with the chief justice. Let me know as soon as it’s up and running.”

  Rex turned to go. Jack grabbed his shoulder.

  “Leave this place like we found it. Order your squad to not speak of this to anyone. You make the report. Give it only to Director Hampton. Tell him I want it held, not filed in accordance with normal procedure.”

  On the way back to the CIA, Jack found himself falling into a funk. Rex would challenge the FBI’s forensics experts, but what had an hour before appeared to be a trove of leads, now had the cold feel of a damp, dead-end alley.

  CHAPTER 34

  McCall is hanging by his chinny chin chin.

  He will be replaced if the LW case is not

  solved within seventy-two hours.

  —Washington Web Rumors, June 16

  Jack had just gotten got back to the Bullpen when he received a call from Director Hampton. Jack started to explain why he had hung up on him earlier, but Hampton interrupted him.

  “Listen,” Hampton said, “I just got a call from the producer of D.C. Talk. They’ve received another communiqué from LW and Carsten’s people want him to read it on the air. I’ve faxed you a copy. It should be there. I’m having the original picked up.”

  “Rachel just brought it to me,” Jack said. “Give me a minute.” Rachel read over his shoulder. “I don’t see a problem. Let them read it.”

  “I agree. We want to keep this bastard talking,” Hampton said, “and that if MSNBC doesn’t read them, LW will just find an alternative messenger—maybe one of those—”

  “You just recapped why I want it read,” Jack said. “The communiqués are becoming more frequent. We’ve got to keep him talking. He’s going to slip up and tell us something that will nail him.”

  “Jack. I agree, except that I doubt Justice Budson wants a threat to her family reported on national television.”

  Jack exhaled slowly. “I see your point. How about we approve Carsten reading all but the part about Budson’s family?” With that agreed, they both hung up.

  Fred had been right, Jack realized. He wouldn’t want the details for his sister’s family to be read on television.

  Rachel laid the LW communiqué in the center of the table and read the message aloud.

  A Communiqué from the American Militia to Restore Representative Government:

  During his press conference McCall attempted to bait me into coming after him. Did you get that idea from a movie, Jack? No dice. I didn’t like your nasty comments, but I understand what you were attempting to do, so I forgive you. In your press conference you said you had a great father. I wish you’d met mine so you’d realize that your father could not have measured up.

  Let me take this opportunity to say good night to Justices Budson, Huckaby, and Sanders, as well as Mr. Chief Justice Thomas Evans, also Federal Reserve Governors Nelson, Powers, Capone, Jones, and Busch.

  You should all follow the lead of Justice Dunlin and resign. When you do, I will take your name off the list for elimination. If you don’t care about your safety, think of your families. I know everything about each of you. An example. Penelope Budson: You have three children, from oldest to youngest, Martha, Bradley, and David. Martha, thirty-two, is married to John Coleman, and they reside on Olive Street in Detroit, together with Budson’s grandchildren, Erin and Sharon, ages seven and four. The government cannot indefinitely protect you. They cannot even protect you tomorrow and the next day. The best solution for all of you is to immediately stand down and support representative government.

  Commander LW

  “Notice that he again used the term, ‘stand down,’” Colin said, poking the page.

  Millet poked the copy as had Colin. “He’s saying his daddy can beat up Jack’s daddy, as if they were schoolkids. That’s what this jerkoff is doing.”

  “What strikes you about this, Rachel?” Jack asked.

  “He’s finding the protective surveillance difficult.” She wrinkled her brow. “Sure, he’s bragging like a schoolboy. But, more important, he’s ratcheting up the level of fear and terror, hoping to bully a few into early retirement.”

  “I’m not done with the timeline yet,” Colin said after stopping Jack on the way back to his desk. “But it is looking like one person could be doing it all. I’ll know pretty soon.”

  Before sunrise the next morning, LW was sitting on the ground leaning against the back of his father’s headstone, the dark sky pocked with stars. More stars than all the gravestones in all the cemeteries in this great country. Despite the chill from the stone, he always felt safe when he was here. He stared at his black tennis shoes, bit his fingernails, and listened to the crickets. After a while, he spoke aloud to his father.

  “The protection around these aristocrats is tight. Late yesterday I walked by the house I’d set up across from Chief Justice Evans. I’d taken a dog I bought at a pet store for a walk on a leash, then turned it loose after it provided my cover. Just as I got there, the FBI was pulling away from the curb. I had planned to save the chief justice for last. I admit that was foolish and melodramatic. It won’t happen again, sir.”

  He ripped out some of the scraggly strands of grass that were growing over the gravestone at an angle that kept them below the blades of the lawnmower.

  “Perhaps, we should lie low for six months, Father. They can’t keep up around-the-clock protection forever. On the other hand, by then they’ll have the vacancies filled, our surveillance would need updating, and they’ll have new security procedures in place.

  “Their moves. Our countermoves. This is very much like the chess you taught me. I still play you know. I entered the Golden Knights’ correspondence tournament you used to play in. I’m into my sixth match. My opponent is really quite good, but not as good as you, Father. Without being under a threat, I recently used the king-side castle move
you taught me to reposition my opponent’s focus. I expect to win with a few more moves. The victory points from this match will qualify me for the finals.”

  He sat there another hour, without speaking further. After a while his eyes began tracking the large branches of one of the old gnarly trees whose roots he imagined snaked down into the very coffins. Then he stood and moved around to face his father’s name. “You’re right, Father. I will stay the course. Like you always taught me, if it goes bad, stand up straight and don’t cry.”

  Colin pinned his completed timeline and map next to their paper graveyard. The squad gathered around.

  “It fits!” Colin declared. “These red pins are the sites of the murders. The yellow ones are the locations where LW sent his communiqués.”

  “Okay,” Jack said. “Colin’s timeline proves one person could have done it, not that one person did. Should we assume we’re looking for only one person? That LW has no militia?”

  Frank massaged his chin thoughtfully. “Ever since Nora and I went to Oregon and Cleveland, my instincts have said that LW’s a loner. The timing of the killings in Oregon and Cleveland allowed for one person to travel between them, and the descriptions we’ve gotten are too similar. Ringo’s timeline removes any doubts I had.”

  “In the note LW left at the Harrelson house and in his most recent communiqué, he spoke in the singular,” Jack observed. “Saying ‘I,’ not ‘we,’ took care to avoid leaving forensic evidence. ‘I,’ not ‘we’ have this kind of detail on all the justices. If he had a militia, at least one member would’ve been with him to help set up that big AM-180, yet he spoke of the assembly in the first person.”