The Third Coincidence

by David Bishop

  After making sure that Agent Cawley had understood his instructions, Jack dialed Rex’s number as fast as he could.

  “Rex, Dalton’s after the chief justice who has a dental appointment at two forty-five. The dentist is only a few blocks from the Court, within walking distance of the Hyatt. As soon as I hang up, we’re on our way. Get your guys moving on foot. It looks like another sniper shot. Evans’s dentist is Dr. Jonathan Eberhard. Agent Cawley will have some of her agents walk a stand-in to the dental appointment. Eberhard’s office is on the third floor on S—”

  “Sixth, just north of F Street. Eberhard’s my dentist.”

  “Okay. Great. I’ll call again when we’re on the road. Stay as inconspicuous as possible, but get a feel for the dentist’s building and the nearby area. We don’t have much time for preparation. You’ll need to wing it some.”

  “I got this end, Jack.”

  “Rex! Get an agent in the dentist’s office. Dalton will expect the chief justice to have an FBI escort, so I doubt he’ll be inside. He’ll be watching though, so—”

  “The building lobby has a rear exit to the alley.”

  “Good. That ought to work. We don’t need patients running out of the building. After you confirm Dalton is not in the dentist’s office, keep it under surveillance. Distribute copies of Dalton’s picture to your agents and Cawley’s.”

  “I’ve got copies of the pictures and the parking attendant’s description for everyone,” Rex said. “Get your mind off us, Jack, and get your ass down here.”

  Jack hung up and said, “I wish we had more time to plan.”

  “A good plan today,” Frank said, “is better than a perfect plan tomorrow.”

  Rachel called across the street to the observation post. “Agent Martin, we’re out of here. There’s no time to explain. Count to thirty and have several of your people run out the front door. Hopefully that’ll distract any neighbors looking our way. If Dalton comes back, let him get inside. Then surround the house and call us. Don’t repeat this message to anyone outside your squad at that house.”

  “I don’t know about that last part, Agent Johnstone,” Martin said. “I was told to report potentials for action to my section leader.”

  “We don’t have time for this, Agent Martin,” Rachel snapped. “Do exactly what I’ve told you or you’ll wake up in charge of a new field office in Iceland, with no heat and your balls frozen to the chair.”

  While Rachel had been talking with Agent Martin, Jack had made a call.

  “I’ve got a priority call, Agent Johnstone, please hold.” A moment passed before Agent Martin was back on the line. “Director Hampton has just ordered me to do exactly as you have instructed. I am also to inform you that a supervisory agent is being dispatched to replace me and that he will answer to a different section leader.”

  “Fuck you, Agent Martin.” Rachel said after hanging up. Then she turned to Jack. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  Jack had been standing at the chessboard in Dalton’s secret room. At first glance the configuration of the pieces had looked familiar, but they were more than just familiar. This board was an exact duplicate of the chessboard in his own home. His opponent had been Isaac Dalton, playing as Harry, Isaac’s father’s name.

  Jack moved the black bishop to f–5, his fourth move, the one not yet posted, then he tipped over the white king, grinned and said, “Checkmate, Isaac Dalton.” But Jack knew the real game wasn’t over and wouldn’t be until they had Isaac Dalton in custody. Hopefully, before anyone else died.

  CHAPTER 52

  The FBI receives numerous LW leads. We’re looking into each and every one.

  —Fred Hampton, FBI Director

  JUNE 21, 2:03 P.M.

  A soft breeze stirred Dalton’s hair as he casually strolled through the National Mall leaving red baseball caps on several benches. If he was right, those hats would soon be on the heads of other people. If not, no problem, for by the time he entered the Mall any pursuers would be looking for a man wearing a red cap. They would find either several or none.

  2:10

  “Mr. McCall. Agent Beth Cawley. The chief justice is safe in his office. Three men are with him. Special Agent Ira Bullock is standing in for Evans. He’s wearing body armor, but we both know that won’t help if Dalton uses a head shot like he did to kill Capone in Dallas, so let’s get this bastard before he fires. We’re about to leave for the dentist. As you ordered, we’ll arrive a few minutes late.”

  2:19

  Dalton walked out of a Starbucks in the three-hundred block on Seventh Street, NW carrying a venti, nonfat, no-whip mocha, busily playing the role of a rubbernecking tourist.

  2:38

  Dalton sat atop one of the cement pylons along the F Street sidewalk adjacent to the Oriental Building Association building. He wrestled with his impatience for a full minute before taking the final gulp of his mocha. Then he casually stepped over the pylon and entered the empty lot that filled the area on the west and south sides of the OBA.

  He crushed the cup in his hand and jammed it into his back pocket. After looking both ways and seeing no one, he ducked inside the air duct and scurried up the rope ladder onto the OBA’s fifthfloor rooftop. A strong wind was blowing across the top of the building. He tugged the red cap tight on his head and stayed low, crossing to the northeast corner where he took off his backpack and leaned it against the equipment shed. A moment later, he looked over the edge while staying back far enough to prevent anyone from seeing him who might look up from the street.

  2:45

  There he was. Evans. His appointment is at two forty-five and he’s not yet in the building. There’s three, no four agents with him. He also expected a tail car, and spotted it when the car pulled to the curb near the Metro Transit building.

  Mr. Chief Justice, you’ll never again make anyone wait.

  2:50

  “McCall, Agent Cawley here. When Dr. Eberhard didn’t see Chief Justice Evans we had to brief him. Eberhard will stay with Agent Bullock for the time appropriate to the scheduled treatment. Then we’ll leave. Give us three minutes to get to the street. We should be exiting the building about three thirty. Special Agent Rex Smith is with me. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Jack, what’s your ETA?”

  “Frank tells me three fifteen.”

  “Have him drive to Seventh and Pennsylvania Avenue. I’ll meet you there.”

  Frank floored the accelerator, throwing Jack hard against the back of his seat, and pulled onto the right shoulder to get past side-by-side cars clogging the lanes.

  Rex slapped his cell phone closed and turned to face Agent Cawley. “Call me before you leave the dentist’s office to be sure we’re set.”

  He went down the elevator into the lobby and out the rear door to the alley behind the dentist’s building where several more agents awaited his orders.

  “The stand-in for Chief Justice Evans should be coming out at three thirty, give or take a few minutes,” he told them. “Cawley’s detail will take the lead if Dalton goes after Evans up close. I want two of you at the first corner in each direction from this building. That’s E and Sixth to the south, and half a block to the north at G Street. Curtis, Bradley, get on top of the OBA building at Sixth and F. We didn’t have time to get you up there before Evans arrived, but I want you there to cover his return. The OBA’s boarded up and it’s too old to have an elevator. There should be a fire escape on the back side. Break in if you have to and use the inside stairs. And you four,” he ordered, pointing at the remaining agents who had not yet received their assignments, “two each at Seventh and E and F.”

  If they were going to stop Dalton without another murder, today had to be the day and Rex was right where he wanted to be, in the middle of it all. He wondered what he was missing. As the last of his agents neared the end of the alley, it hit him.

  “Stop!” he hollered. “Don’t all of you go out the same end of the alley, a few out each end, and when you get t
o the sidewalk turn away from Sixth and circle around. Move casually. We’ve got time before Cawley brings the stand-in out of the building. Agent Curtis, you and Bradley need time to set up on the OBA so go back through the lobby out onto Sixth. Draw some attention to yourselves as you go. Agents wouldn’t do that, so don’t act like agents. You’re heading back to your office, carrying your attaché cases in plain sight. Kid around a little. Take off your tie, Agent Curtis. Bradley, hang your purse back over your shoulder. Let it dangle from your fingers. Clown around some. Giggle. Then get on top of that building. Oh, and before any of you leave, if nothing happens, Agent Cawley will escort the stand-in all the way back to the courthouse. In that event everybody moves with them, keeping your spacing.

  “Now go. Go! Now!”

  With his squad dispersed, Rex headed toward Pennsylvania and Seventh to meet Jack and his team. On the way he called Special Agent Crenshaw.

  “Crenshaw, are your agents spread out in the Mall south of Constitution Avenue from Fourteenth to First Streets?”

  “We’re set.”

  “If the suspect gets in the Mall,” Rex said, “I’m guessing he’ll exit near the Taft Memorial and then work his way back to the Hyatt for his car. Keep an agent near any motorcycles in the area. Get a couple of agents on the tourist trolley the next time it stops at Constitution and Twelfth. Don’t worry about Dalton’s Explorer. There are agents in the Hyatt’s underground parking.”

  “I’ve already got two agents on the trolley,” Agent Crenshaw replied. “They have orders to stay put unless in hot pursuit.”

  Rex picked up his pace as he talked his way across the intersection of Seventh and D Street. “Crenshaw, your guys are dressed casually. If pursuit begins, get your FBI hats on. We don’t want our squads shooting one another.”

  “Gee, Mom, I didn’t know you cared.”

  Rex looked at his phone, grinned, and jammed it in his pocket.

  They were set for action. As set as they could be. He would soon know if it would be enough.

  CHAPTER 53

  California State Court justice shot. The FBI says this one’s not LW.

  —Marian Little, NewsCentral 7

  JUNE 21, 3:08 P.M.

  After finishing the assembly of the Israeli sniping rifle, Dalton settled into the narrow space between the back of the equipment shed and the edge of the OBA’s roof. The Galil had not ranked particularly high in his shot group test. But in the end, he had chosen the Galil because with its folding stock it fit into his backpack.

  He could not have used the less-precise Galil for the surgical shot he made on Capone in Dallas, but it would be adequate for this much closer elimination of Chief Justice Evans. The cement wall of the Metro building on the northeast corner of Sixth and F would be a perfect shooting backdrop.

  3:14

  Dalton heard a clanking sound. The wind’s blowing hard. The sound could be carrying from a distance, he thought. He strained to hear it again. He didn’t need any surprises at this juncture. Then he heard it again. Clank. No. That’s not a clank. Its a grating sound. No. Rubbing. Yes. Rubbing. Metal rubbing and a clank. Yes, a clank, too.

  He noticed the metal pipes along the side of the fire escape where they curved up and over the edge. They were loose and rattling.

  Someone’s coming onto the roof.

  Then a woman came over the top. She turned and looked back toward the fire escape.

  More? How many more?

  A man’s head appeared. He handed the woman an attaché case, then a second case. The man and woman looked in Dalton’s direction, but it was clear from their lack of expression that they hadn’t seen him. That they hadn’t really expected to see anyone.

  Dalton leaned back for a count of ten, then inched his head forward at an angle until he could see them with one eye. The couple appeared to be satisfied they were alone on the rooftop. From where the two stood, the equipment shed he was behind appeared to butt against the roof cap.

  The man and woman knelt over their cases. Black cases.

  Rifles. They’re starting to assemble rifles. Of course, they’re FBI snipers. They’re up here to cover Evans on his way back. They should have been here for his arrival. They ran me off and kept these incompetents. Sloppy. No wonder the country’s falling apart.

  Dalton pulled the Glock from his waistband and screwed on the noise suppressor. After a quick peek confirmed the agents were still assembling their rigs, he leaned out from behind the shed and fired twice.

  They had died without knowing they had gotten closer to LW than had any member of McCall’s squad.

  We all hope to learn from our mistakes, but these two just flunked their final exam.

  He dragged the agents’ bodies over next to a tarp partially covering a jumble of whole and broken roof tiles. The man’s credentials from his pocket gave his name as Ben Curtis. Dalton kept the credential and put Curtis’s radio in his pocket and the earpiece in his own ear. After pulling the tarp over to cover the two agents, he anchored it against the wind with some roof debris. If the FBI sent a chopper into the area, the two agents would be hidden from view. Dalton then took one of their FBI caps to put on in the event he needed to look over the rooftop.

  They’ll expect someone to be up here, Dad. If I’m seen wearing the FBI hat—well, I’ll go over it all with you later.

  An idea came in a flash. He liked its poetic justice. He would finish assembling the FBI rifle, then use it instead of the Galil. He would enjoy watching the media ask McCall how he could bungle the job so badly as to let Commander LW use an FBI rifle to eliminate the chief justice of the United States.

  Agent Curtis’s radio crackled: “This is Agent Cawley,” the voice said. “It’s three thirty. We’ll be exiting the building in a minute or two.”

  Damn! No time. I’ll have to use the Galil.

  After the shot he would take the rope ladder to the ground. Fast. Unseen. He’d leave the scene carrying his hand gun so that bystanders would report seeing a man carrying a gun, wearing long pants, a sweatshirt, and a red baseball cap. Headed that way!

  I’m way ahead of you jerkoffs.

  The radio squawked again, “Cawley here. Agent Curtis, are you and Bradley in position?”

  Dalton put on the FBI hat, turned the radio so that the wind gusting on the roof would slam against the mouthpiece, and raised up to peer over the edge of the building. “Yes,” he answered. The fewer words the better. Things were moving too rapidly for Cawley to focus on his reply as Agent Curtis.

  Daddy, your birthday present should be here in a few minutes.

  CHAPTER 54

  A CD was received at a San Francisco radio station: “I’m

  an LW recruit. I killed the state court judge to protest the

  failures of the courts in California to stand up against the

  Federal government’s repeated encroachments of

  state’s rights.” An unnamed FBI source, said,

  “Different case. Different nut.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle

  JUNE 21, 3:20 P.M.

  Jack opened the van’s side door as Frank skidded the van to a stop at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Seventh. Agent Rex Smith jumped in.

  “Agent Bullock, the stand-in for Evans will be leaving the dentist in about ten minutes,” Rex said. “There are two snipers on top of the building at the nearest intersection. I’ve positioned agents at each corner in all directions. Agents are at all the entrances to the metro system within five blocks. Hopefully, we have enough vehicles in the area to block off the exit from any underground parking garage. Agent Crenshaw’s squad is positioned in the National Mall. Other agents are scattered along as many possible escape routes as we could identify and staff in the time available.”

  “The concentration of agents should be south of the dentist,” Jack said. “How is it set up?”

  “That way,” Rex answered. “I agree. South is Dalton’s more likely route, given the location of his car. Only four a
gents are north of the dentist. If Dalton heads north, the agents positioned south will follow turning the pursuit into a large floating box. Agents are staking out any observed motorcycles. We have two agents on the trolley and two more near the Union Station Plaza. I’ll radio to get the agents moving should we learn he’s heading that way. More agents are watching the entrances to the Metro Rail System inside Union Station. A chopper’s holding at the bureau on Pennsylvania and Tenth. It can be over this area in a few minutes. We should be able to corral Dalton once he shows himself. In the event of foot pursuit, agents will put on FBI hats.”

  Rex handed Jack and his squad FBI hats. “If that happens, get these on your heads.”

  Jack grabbed the front of Millet’s shirt. “Stay in this van. Keep the doors locked. Like you said, ‘You’re no secret agent man.’ You are not to participate in any pursuit or get out of the van for any reason.”

  Jack thought briefly about ordering Rachel to stay in the van as well, but she had a job to do and he knew she was good at her job.

  “Where do you think Dalton will head?” he asked Rex.

  “The Mall. It’s got trees and shrubs and pedestrians at all hours.”