by Randall Wood
* * *
Sam sat in the driver’s seat and watched the park. The last cruiser had gone by over twenty minutes ago, and the chatter on the police scanner was normal traffic. The park was clearing out as people went home for dinner, or the kids got tired. Traffic was slowing from its rush hour peak. A couple of homeless sat on one bench while a young couple shared another. The sun was going down behind the buildings.
The police radio took on a change as a new dispatcher took over. Soon cars were calling in with radio checks as they came on duty. This was what Sam was waiting for. The city was at its lowest police presence during shift change, with most units all at their respective stations, punching in or punching out. It was time for Sam to move.
He placed the van in gear and drove it over the curb to the exact spot he had seen the previous one parked at. As casually as he could, he exited and pulled open the rear door to retrieve his tool box. His eyes took in the details as he carried it to the stage. The stage was concrete, about chest high off the ground. The podium, about eight feet from the front edge, had a speaker on both sides. Should be enough to keep the crowd safe he thought as he placed the toolbox carefully on the stage and then pulled himself up.
The strain on his gut set off the pain and Sam sat on his knees fighting it for several seconds. He wiped the sweat from his face as he scanned the park for people. No one seemed to be watching him. With a grunt against the pain, he rose to his feet and walked to the right side speaker.
With the aid of a screwdriver, he quickly removed the back panel. The box held two large speakers that angled up at a forty-five degree angle. Sam measured with his fingers, and found just enough space between the speaker and the bottom of the box for his device. He pulled the tool box closer and removed the shoe box. After a quick look around, he extracted the device and wedged it below the speaker frame and then wedged a small wrench in place to keep the device flat against the upturned inner wall. The charge was aimed right at the top of the podium. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and thumbed it on. Two wire nuts came from his other pocket, and the device was connected to the phone. Sam checked to see if he had the paper with the cell number in his pocket. He couldn’t afford to lose it. Now ready, he replaced the back panel and carefully moved the speaker a few inches to the left to center the aim. From Sam’s viewpoint the majority of the blast was going into the roof, with the top of the podium in the middle of the zone. Perfect.
He carefully repacked his tools, being sure not to leave anything behind. A scan of the park revealed no onlookers. The homeless had moved on, and the lovers were absorbed in each other.
Sam had just pulled the van back onto the road and made it to the first stop light when he was joined by a police car. The deputy played with his on-board computer until the light turned green. Sam let him go, and took a right in the direction of the used car lot. It was time to retrieve his rental car. He was through with the van.
—THIRTY-ONE—
The state of New Mexico holds 6,223 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 4,169 are repeat offenders.
“It’s amazing, just amazing. I think I’ll pay him to teach me how he does it,” Larry remarked.
“He did it so fast, before we even left the runway,” Sydney answered.
They were taking a break from reading and were watching Eric sleep. The boy had climbed aboard a little slowly and fallen into the first captain’s chair. He had then put on his seat belt, kicked the chair back all the way, and started snoring. They marveled at his ability to sleep through the captain’s announcement, the take off, and all the activity and conversation since. Sydney moved to wake him up, but Jack waved her off.
“Strange Teddy bear,” she commented now.
“Kids these days,” was Larry’s answer.
Eric lay twisted in the chair. Normally spiked hair now scrunched to one side. Mouth open with a little drool present. Yet the laptop was gripped tightly in his hands.
“Hey you two, spin around and join us,” Jack called.
Sydney spun her chair, while Larry rose and moved to a bench seat closer to Jack. Jack and Dave had been talking for the last few minutes after Jack’s last phone call.
“I know you’re all wondering why we’re on our way to Memphis. All I can say is an intelligence source gave us credible information that our shooter is en route to Memphis and is targeting someone at some kind of rally. Some research and talk with the locals has identified three rallies in the area. One, a children’s event, one a Nascar event that’s a week away, and the other a Klan demonstration being held tomorrow. I know what you’re thinking. We’re concentrating on the Klan demonstration. It’s a march to a park by the locals, and then a few speeches by some of their leadership. As required, the speakers have been notified of the death threat. I am told by the local sheriff that the count is now in the thirties. The Klan refuses to change the event. They believe the sheriff is making up the death threats in an effort to get them to cancel. Evidently, they are either that stupid or just used to death threats. Anyway, the locals are stepping up security in the surrounding buildings. The police presence is already at the maximum the sheriff can deploy. I’ve added the Bureau’s help. A few dog teams have been added at the entry points, as well as some spare metal detectors from homeland security. I wish we had more information, but if our guy makes a move there, I want us to be on top of him. If we can apply enough pressure during his escape, the more likely he’ll be to make a mistake. That’s all I’ve got. Any questions?”
Larry spoke first, “Just where did we get this information?”
“I’m afraid none of you are cleared for that. Sorry. Don’t bother asking sleeping beauty there either. I had him up all night working on something for me. Let him sleep.”
“What’s the plan when we get there?” Sydney asked.
“I want Larry and Dave to hook up with the local sheriff and the local bureau SAC. Get a game plan on how we can shut off the exits if he tries something. Find out what the manpower looks like, and put together a plan. Get frequencies, maps, and transportation for all of us. Two-man teams. Sydney and I will be on the ground at the rally. I’m gonna play counter-sniper for a change with the local SWAT team. I’ll take Eric with us. Okay?”
He got nods all around. Eric let out a snort and changed positions.
“The kid says okay,” Larry added.
Jack smiled and looked at the GPS display. “Looks like less than an hour out. Everybody be ready to go once we hit the ground. Do phone checks soon as you offload.”
* * *
Sam stood quietly next to the bus stop and surveyed the area. The police presence was larger than he had imagined and he nodded to a deputy on horseback as he rode past. The crowd was getting thicker by the minute. Sam pulled a pair of binoculars from the pocket of his light jacket. He automatically cupped his hands over the lenses. It was an old habit from his military days. By doing so he prevented the sun from reflecting off the lenses and producing a shine that could be seen by his target and give away his position. He remembered to avoid contact with his sunglasses which he did not remove. Sam was dressed as casually as he could with his limited wardrobe. Jeans with a T-shirt, sweatshirt over that, and a light jacket were enough for the mild Memphis winter. A worn pair of boots kept his feet warm on the cold concrete. He scanned the crowd before focusing on the stage. The speaker was right where he had left it next to the podium. A couple of flannel-clad woman were garnishing the stage with rebel flags and Klan posters. A group of police officers conversed in front of the stage with a lot of finger pointing and gesturing. As Sam watched, workman appeared, pushing a cart with some fencing. The officer in charge pointed as he spoke and the barrier was soon set up in front of the stage. From what Sam could see, there was going to be a ten to fifteen foot gap between the stage and the crowd. Good. Sam had worried about people in the crowd getting wounded in the blast. This would increase the odds of avoiding that.
Sam’s v
iew was suddenly blocked by the arriving bus. He returned the binoculars to his pocket, and then felt around his hip to ensure the phone was in place. Pulling the baseball cap down on his forehead, he headed off in the direction of the crowd. He kept to the fringe, and with his height he was able to see over most of the people.
He abruptly stopped when his eye caught something. While standing with his head aimed toward the stage, he scrutinized the man off to his right through the dark sunglasses. The man was also dressed casually, if a little out of the crowd’s price range. A leather jacket that had never seen a Harley. A pair of LL Bean boots. The watch was gold. The sunglasses mirrored. Sam changed course and walked past the man to his opposite side. He watched in his peripheral vision for the man to turn his head, and when he did Sam had a good look at him. His suspicions were correct. The telltale earpiece with the trailing wire was easily seen around the businessman’s haircut. The feds were at the rally. But why? This was not something the feds would deal with, was it? Maybe he was a local undercover cop from the sheriff’s department? Sam looked again. No, this guy was a fed. He had the look. What did this mean? Had the bomb been found sometime last night, and they were looking for him? Would it affect his mission? The more Sam thought about it, the more he ruled out the possibility. The speaker hadn’t been moved. He had placed it carefully with the front edge lining up with two points on the stage. He had checked already, and the alignment was still good. He would continue the mission as planned.
Sam left the FBI man behind and circled the crowd. He saw two more feds, and more and more cops. After eyeballing the gap between the barrier and the stage, he had seen enough. He returned to his corner bus stop and took a seat on the bench. Picking up a left behind newspaper, he settled in to wait. He scanned the crowd over the top of the paper.
* * *
On the other side of the crowd, Jack, Sydney, and Eric arrived and were now doing the same thing. They had landed a half hour ago, and already the crowd had doubled in size. So far the counter-protestors seemed to outweigh the Klansman three to one. Rebel flags were popular, as were anti-Klan protest signs. The cops had formed a loose line at the barrier and so far the crowd was cooperating. Jack had talked to the local sheriff, and knew that two blocks away, in a parking garage, multiple officers in riot gear assembled with supporting vehicles and plenty of tear gas. They had already jailed a few skinheads that had arrived last night and started a fight in a bar. Jack was sure there were empty cells standing by.
“Dad said you would show me some interesting things. This is my first Klan rally,” Eric commented. “Can’t wait to tell Mom.”
“If it’s any help, it’s my first too,” Sydney answered.
“So what are we looking for?” Eric asked.
Jack answered that one without stopping his scan. “First, look at the buildings. A sniper in an urban environment usually looks for an elevated position to keep things out of his line of fire. Since the stage is elevated, also, this helps him, but with all the signs and flags he could still have obstructions, so he needs a minimal elevation of one story. So we look for positions that offer such a line of fire. Next, we look for permanent obstructions. Trees, buildings, traffic is always changing, but to a sniper it’s permanent. Look at the sun. The angle of the sun can cause a glare in his optics. A shooter prefers that the sun be in the target’s eyes. The stage faces south, so that aids the sniper as it gives him more choices. Consider the range. This man has already shown he can hit the V-ring at over seven-hundred meters. That’s good. So you can’t rule out those buildings down the street. What’s his weapon of choice? The Remington he’s been using can reach about a thousand meters with accuracy for this size target, but there are rifles out there that can reach over double that. So, what are we looking for you asked? All of that and more. The locals will have to watch the crowd up close in case he tries a John Hinckley. I don’t see that happening. This guy has a list he’s working on and plans on getting away. He’ll do it from a distance.”
Eric and Sydney were silent as they now looked at the area through Jack’s eyes. As they scanned the buildings and the surrounding area, they realized the enormity of the situation.
“Let’s take a walk before the parade shows up,” Jack said.
* * *
Danny caught sight of Jack just before he descended the stairs from the building and entered the crowd. He had been tempted to walk over, but Jack had two other agents with him, so he backed off. At least he was at the right rally. Jack must think the shooter had a target here. It made sense. The white supremacists had led their little army of skinheads to commit countless crimes and hardly ever been held accountable. Danny was a big free speech supporter, but even he frowned on the hate being pushed by this group. He could see why they would be targeted by the man committing the shootings. He tried to follow Jack’s progress through the crowd, but soon lost him. He gave up and pulled out the camera to get a few shots before the parade arrived and he got crowded out.
* * *
Danny was not the only one watching Jack. Sam had completed a trip down the right side of the crowded park to double check the clearance of his bomb. Mentally measuring distances, he failed to see Jack approach from his right. Sam was almost shocked into inaction, but recovered enough to turn away and enter the crowd. Once parallel with Jack and his entourage, he stole a look in their direction. They all seemed to be observing the buildings in the area.
“Looking for me, Jack?” he asked himself. “How did you know?”
Sam continued through the crowd until he was out the other side and then moved off in the opposite direction from Jack. He found an area with a few low trees, and chose a spot next to some other curious observers. The noise of the parade was fast approaching and those seated rose to their feet. The flags were seen first along with the pointed tops of the Klan hoods. More arrived on horseback, followed by a semi-organized group of skinheads. The parade broke apart, and the skinheads pushed their way to the front of the crowd, while the senior Klansmen took the stage. A White Power chant was taken up by the skinheads, and the counter-protesters soon drowned them out. One Klansman approached the podium and tapped the microphone. The squeal of feedback silenced both parties. They would save their breath for later.
The man at the podium removed his hood and a cheer went up from the crowd. Sam recognized him as Curtis’s son. The Future of the Klan, some articles had labeled him. Not quite as intelligent as his father, he was long on rhetoric and short everywhere else. If he was indeed the Klan’s new leader then the Klan was in trouble. He proceeded to get the crowd riled up with a short but fiery speech. After fifteen minutes of hate, he turned and pointed to his father.
The elder Curtis rose, removed his hood, and walked forward to the cheers of the skinheads. He waved and smiled while being simultaneously praised and demonized. He didn’t acknowledge either until he launched into his own speech of hate. The counter-protesters had saved their wind for this man, and now gave him all they had. The skinheads put their backs to the barrier and closed ranks to protect their leader. The police watched nervously from the sidelines.
Sam reached into his pocket for the phone.
* * *
Jack, Sydney, and Eric had found a perch on the concrete steps of a building across from the park. Twice they had been approached by police officers to move them off the steps. Jack had waved the first one away with his badge, and Eric had beat them to the second one. He couldn’t help but smile at Sydney afterward.
“It’s my first FBI badge,” he explained.
Jack ignored them both and continued to scan the buildings. All he saw were curious onlookers and uniformed police officers. SWAT team members could be seen on the roof tops, scanning the surrounding windows. So far they had seen two false alarms and then nothing.
“Think our boy’s gonna show?” Sydney asked.
“Maybe,” was his reply.
Sydney turned her binoculars to the podium. She had jus
t focused them on the red-faced speaker when he disappeared in a flash of light. She felt the concussion of the blast in the hair on her forearms before she was tackled to the ground by Jack. Her elbow hit the steps hard, and a sharp pain shot up to her shoulder. Then the weight was off her and Jack could be seen running into the fleeing crowd. He made little progress despite the weapon in his hand. The panicking crowd just wanted to get away.
“Are you all right?” Eric asked. She turned to see him on the steps next to her. Some blood running out of his hairline.
“I’m okay, you?”
“Yeah, bumped my head when Jack took us down. It hurts.”
“Come on. Let’s find him.”
Jack fought his way forward until he was near the stage. Several skinheads lay bleeding on the grass, but no one looked dead. One was screaming but couldn’t hear himself due to the blood coming from both ears. One rose to get in Jack’s way until he saw the gun. Jack pushed him aside and vaulted up on the stage. As he approached the body lying behind the podium, he found himself stepping around roofing nails. Curtis Jr. cradled his father in his arms and cursed every minority his brain could produce. He looked up at Jack and, seeing the gun in one hand and the badge in the other, cursed him too. Jack dismissed him and walked to the other speaker. The blast had torn a panel off the side, and Jack was able to see into the box. Just a speaker. He stood and pulled the radio from his belt to call for the dogs to sweep the area for secondary devices. As he finished the call, he looked down to see Curtis Sr. give a forceful cough. A few labored breaths followed. Curtis was still alive.
Jack added an ambulance to his call.
* * *
Danny ran out of standard film and switched to the digital camera. He fought his way close to the stage, and got some good shots of Jack standing over the father and son with his gun drawn. He now slowed down and took the occasional shot as they loaded the Klansman into the ambulance. Once they were gone, he returned to the stage and watched the police tape it off. Soon the crime scene investigators showed up. They waited quietly while the men with the dogs swept the area. He snapped a couple more until he looked up and saw Jack watching him. They shared a look across the distance, and Jack held up his phone. Danny nodded in return.
