Smith's Monthly #22

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  He was going to show that he should never be underestimated again with a stupid trick like this.

  Doc needed to come to this contest with his full game, or not at all.

  Steven calmed himself as he had been trained to do in the service, then rested his rifle on the edge of the wall. He set the sights on the back of Paul Hanson’s head. It was nice of the poor idiot to come so far to die. It saved Steven a planned trip to the East Coast to kill him.

  The wind was calm, the night air thin. And he knew the exact distance within a few feet.

  He adjusted for the fall over the distance.

  He then took a breath and let it out slowly.

  Then he pulled the trigger, keeping his focus completely on his target.

  The side window of the sedan shattered inward.

  The White House Chief of Staff smashed forward into the dash. A large part of the side of his head splattered on the inside of the FBI’s rented car.

  Steven laughed, sighted, took another breath, and fired again.

  Paul’s body jumped under the second impact.

  Steven fired quickly a third time.

  Again the body jerked.

  Then, working steadily, Steven picked up his brass, shouldered his rifle, and went over the edge of the roof, disappearing into the darkness of the trees and the neighborhood before anyone really had time to move.

  That should wake Doc Hill up.

  And just about everyone else in the country as well.

  He was going to be the most wanted man alive.

  God, this was fun.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Las Vegas, Nevada. August 31

  I HEARD THE shots, faint pops, from where I was sitting on one of R.A. Scott’s beautiful leather couches.

  The sounds seemed to be far off in the distance. They could be from blocks and blocks away.

  Annie, Mike, and I were in the living room. About six of Las Vegas’s finest were stationed around the house at the different entrances. Mike was sticking to me and Annie like glue since Annie hadn’t allowed any of his other men to be on the scene.

  He had not been happy with that, but Annie had stood him down, glaring eye-to-eye with him and stating flatly that this was a Las Vegas police sting and she was in charge on scene. Her people would cover the house. Period.

  Mike had finally agreed, and stormed off to set up what he could.

  I watched that confrontation with renewed awareness of how little I really knew about Detective Annie Lott. And how much more I wanted to know. But I knew one thing for certain, she was one tough cop.

  Now, White House Chief of Staff Paul Hanson and FBI agent Heather Voight were outside, along with a few dozen FBI agents and a dozen Las Vegas police.

  I wasn’t sure with this much fire power if Steven would get anywhere near this house, but both Annie and Heather wanted to make sure everything was covered in case he did. The idea was to bring him down. Verne had identified a picture of Steven as the shooter, so at least he was wanted on one charge of attempted murder.

  Annie glanced up at the sounds, waiting, clearly alert, her hand on her gun.

  “Those were shots,” Mike whispered.

  Annie nodded.

  We had had a couple false alarms already in the last two hours. Chances are this was just another.

  Annie, Fleet, and I had spent all afternoon, after my meeting with Heather, doing research on Steven. The more I learned about him, the more I was convinced he wasn’t someone to take lightly.

  When Heather had called back with some basic information I had requested from her, she had told me that she and Paul Hanson would be outside the house, in charge of the FBI detail there. I was stunned that Hanson was here in Las Vegas, but not surprised. Hanson and the President had a real stake in all this. Very real. It was the reason they had sent Heather in the first place.

  “Shots fired,” Annie whispered, motioning me to get down as she dropped to a crouch on the carpet, gun out.

  Mike moved between me and the front door, his gun out as well.

  I slid off the couch and also crouched, ready to move quickly if I needed to. I was carrying a pistol as well, but I kept it holstered for the moment.

  Annie had a communications link with the FBI tucked in her ear and her gun had appeared in her hand faster than a card in a magic trick. I sure wouldn’t want to get into a fast draw contest with her.

  We waited.

  We had the living room lights on, so it felt damn odd hiding in the middle of the floor behind a leather couch in a fully lit room.

  “Oh, shit, no,” Annie said, listening to something coming over the communication link.

  She slowly stood and put her gun away.

  Mike and I both stood and faced her. She looked white, like all the blood had drained from her body.

  “What happened?” Mike asked.

  She shook her head, clearly having trouble saying what had caused her shock.

  I touched her shoulder gently.

  She looked up at me and I knew something really horrible had happened. Her eyes looked almost haunted.

  “Paul Hanson has been killed in a car down the block. Sniper.”

  “Oh, no,” Mike said, turning away.

  All I could do was drop onto the couch and just sit there, thinking about one of the details about Steven we had discovered this afternoon.

  He had been in the Army.

  He was an expert shot and had been trained as a sniper.

  We had been trying to play him, and he had played us like we were beginners.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  White House, Washington, D.C. September 1

  PRESIDENT DOLAN CHASE ripped the phone from the wall and smashed it against the big window in the living room of the residence. The phone bounced, shattering and scattering plastic parts all over the carpet and window ledge.

  Chase couldn’t believe that the bastard Steven had double-crossed him.

  And killed Paul.

  Paul couldn’t be dead. Paul had been at his side for thirty-five years.

  “Oh, God, what have I done?”

  He dropped into a chair and just sat, staring at the floor, not seeing anything but all the good years with his best friend.

  What had he done?

  He wanted to be sick.

  He wanted to cry.

  But instead all he did was sit and stare at the floor and think of Paul.

  Everything was over. All the dreams and goals he and Paul had were now done.

  Paul was dead.

  He couldn’t do this alone. He wouldn’t even survive the questions about this alone.

  Penny came out of the bedroom, pulling her bathrobe tight around her.

  He looked up as she glanced at the shattered phone, then moved over to him. She sat on the edge of the chair and put her arm gently around his shoulders.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  All he could think to tell her was, “I killed Paul.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  Las Vegas, Nevada. September 3

  THE LAST TWO days were two of the longest I had ever remembered living through. Most of the press ignored me, thankfully, as they focused on the cover story of a serial killer named Steven Harrison murdering old friends of the President.

  The fact that Carson’s plane crash wasn’t an accident came out, and the fact that the President had known about the threat had also come out as part of the cover story. It explained nicely why the FBI was working on the trap to catch Steven Harrison the night Paul was killed.

  There were a ton of questions as to why such a high-ranking government official was there, why he wasn’t in a bullet proof car, things like that. Then it came out that Paul had been dating Heather for the past year, and his presence there that night with her suddenly made sense to everyone.

  So now, after two days, the press and public’s reaction was anger at this insane Steven Harrison.

  And anger at the police and FBI for not catching him
.

  Verne Adkins had refused interviews and been put in protective custody by the Las Vegas police. And after a couple times with the press about my father, I refused any more as well.

  The focus of everyone, including me, was on finding Steven Harrison.

  But Steven Harrison had vanished.

  Outside of Carson’s home, the FBI had disappeared as well, but I had Mike and his hired people double the security. I had no doubt Steven was coming for Carson’s key. It was only a matter of time now.

  I just wanted to beat him to the play, because if he came at me, he would have the control. I hated that, both at the poker table and in real life. I wanted to be the one in control of the situation, and I wasn’t going to get that control back by sitting around.

  Today, the news was focusing on Paul’s funeral and the grieving President. I was tired of it. The President had told Steven where we would be, what we were doing, and was totally responsible for his best friend’s death. I had no sympathy for the man.

  None.

  So, instead of watching any more news, I turned off the television and turned on a light jazz station on the radio. I called and invited Annie over to help Fleet and me search for Steven.

  My mother, who was doing a great job of staying away from me in Carson’s house, had curled up with a book in the master bedroom, and Ace headed in a protected limousine to the Bellagio to play in some ring games. Fleet’s family were still well protected up in Idaho at a retreat and Mike had layers of protection around the house.

  Fleet had amassed boxes and boxes of old records about Steven Harrison and his father through varied sources before Paul was killed. Most of what he had gotten was financial records, records from the bankruptcy of Nyland’s construction company, court records from Steven’s trial, parole records.

  Tons of paperwork with mind-numbing details in it. But somewhere in those piles of boxes stacked against one wall of the dining room, Steven had to have left a trace as to where he was hiding.

  I knew he had money. I knew he had to have shelter somewhere. And no one, no matter how smart, could manage to not leave at least a slight footprint in this information-filled society. The key was finding it.

  Annie looked tired and a little haunted when she arrived, although I had to admit, I had missed her and her wonderful smile. Mike had been keeping me up on what she was doing, since he had a half dozen security people on her and around her house. Except for a little sleep, she seemed to have spent most of her time answering questions and in front of a police review board.

  “Paul’s death wasn’t your fault,” I said to her as she stood in the kitchen watching me as I got ice-filled glasses of water for both of us.

  “I know,” she said. “But it was my idea to try to lure Steven out that way.”

  “I have no doubt that Steven was going to kill Paul one way or another,” I said. “And given enough time, he will kill the President as well if not stopped.”

  Annie looked at me, clearly shocked that I would suggest such a thing.

  “The game,” I said. “Think of a poker tournament with only one person left standing at the end. He took Taylor’s spot at the table, when he killed Carson and didn’t get the key, I took Carson’s spot.”

  “So the keys don’t matter to him?” Annie asked.

  “I doubt they do beyond being the bait that lures the President out into the open, causes him to make mistakes. They are important, sure, like chips, but only for the power they hold.”

  “So you think he was actually working for the President?”

  “I do,” I said. “But I doubt the President expected Steven to kill everyone. I figure that at first Steven contacted the President and offered to round up all the keys, including Taylor’s.”

  “For a price, of course,” Annie said.

  “A price that the President and Paul would expect to have to pay, yes. Then, once Steven started killing people, the President sent out Paul’s girlfriend to have the FBI try to stop him.”

  “But you think the intent for Steven was to kill everyone in that game right from the start?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure of it. And he underestimated me originally, and we underestimated him the other day.”

  “That we did,” Annie said.

  “Trust me,” I said. “That won’t happen again. On either side.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Las Vegas, Nevada. September 3

  SIX HOURS AND a dinner break later, Fleet glanced up from a pile of legal paperwork from Nyland’s bankruptcy hearings. “I might have something here.”

  “What?” Annie asked, rubbing her eyes, both of which had turned slightly red a few hours before. She needed a good night’s rest, but I doubted any of us were going to get one until this was all over.

  I was at the point where I had paperwork blur, and everything was looking the same. I had slowed my reading down so much, I was staring at each line on each piece of paper, making sure I understood it before moving on.

  This entire idea had seemed stupid about three hours ago. Now it felt just foolhardy and a complete waste of time. We only had one more box of paper to go. We’d get through that, but I wasn’t sure how.

  “What did you find?” Annie asked.

  “I think I might know where he lives,” Fleet said.

  Now that was enough to get me excited. Both Annie and I sprang to our feet to join Fleet where he sat on one couch.

  I had started to assume that Steven lived like I did, with no real base. But unlike me, Steven owned no property or companies, rented no suites that could be traced, had no bank accounts under anything close to his real name, and used no credit cards, at least under any name any of us could find.

  The guy acted like a complete ghost. He had disappeared completely from all records the moment his parole ended last year.

  Annie sat on one side of Fleet, I took the other.

  Fleet pointed to a section of a document he had been reading. It was one of the final judgments on the bankruptcy.

  “Nyland reserved a small parcel of land near the dam site, you know, the dam that collapsed in 1995.”

  “Why?” Annie asked.

  Fleet shrugged. “He claimed it was for long-term study of the dam failure. The court allowed it. It might only be that, but it’s the first odd thing I’ve found in all this.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” I said.

  “Let’s see what happened next with that property,” Annie said, standing and moving toward the secured computer Mike had set up in the living room.

  “Wait!” I shouted.

  I had promised myself I would start treating Steven with the respect of someone with a mind. He had completely out thought all of us so far. And more than likely, if Steven was half as smart as he seemed, he was going to know when someone went snooping at that property’s records, especially if he actually was living on it.

  “Why?” Annie asked, glancing back at me, but not sitting down.

  “I’m going to call Mike and get him to make the search without footprints or tripping alarms along the way.”

  Annie nodded, then smiled. “Good thinking. We don’t want to alert Steven.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Sometimes, I love the computer age, sometimes I hate it,” Fleet said.

  “Which is it today?” I asked as I picked up the phone.

  “I’m not sure.”

  It took Mike a half hour to join us.

  We kept working on the rest of the paperwork while we waited, and when he arrived, Fleet showed him the document and what we wanted him to do.

  After twenty minutes of intense work on the computer, his big frame hunched over like a kid playing a video game, Mike finally glanced up at the rest of us, smiling.

  “What?” I asked as we gathered behind him to look at the screen over his shoulder.

  “You were right to call me,” Mike said. “There’s an alert on the information that would have sent out an automatic signal, called a ping,
to the person who set it up.”

  “Did you get around it?” Fleet asked.

  Mike looked almost insulted. “Sure did. No one knows we are looking at this.”

  Mike pushed his chair back and stood to stretch, letting me at the computer to take his place.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Mike said. “Just read.”

  I put my hands on my lap and read. And I really liked what I was reading.

  Mike had pulled up a simple building permit, permission to put up a three bedroom manufactured home on the property reserved out of the bankruptcy.

  Property that overlooked the remains of the old dam Steven had built and gone to prison for after it collapsed.

  The owner’s name on the permit was Steven Harrison.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Las Vegas, Nevada. September 3

  “THE BEST WAY is for me to go in alone first,” I said.

  Annie and I were standing in Carson’s living room, face-to-face, arguing about how to approach and take down Steven Harrison in his remote home. So far I had stopped her from alerting anyone to what we had found, but not by much. Twice she had had her phone in her hands. Twice I had talked her down like a cop talked a man off a high ledge.

  And so far we had only shouted at each other once.

  Mike was still sitting at the computer, watching the argument with a smile on his face. Fleet was back on the couch pretending to study more of the paperwork.

  “Not going to happen,” Annie said, shaking her head. “Sorry.”

  Without a doubt, Annie was the smartest and strongest woman I had ever met. And the most stubborn, a great trait to have playing poker, but annoying as hell at the moment.

  “Annie, think,” I said, looking directly into her eyes. “Think about who our opponent is and what he’s managed to accomplish so far.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” she said. “That’s why this isn’t up for debate. You are not going in there alone. You are a poker player, remember?”