The plan was simple and had been executed perfectly thus far. A week ago, Sheila and Roger visited Disneyland like any tourist couple. They dressed casually, spent time in the shops, rode the rides, and videotaped everything—especially the uniforms and costumes. It was a simple matter to have the maintenance uniforms replicated. Returning to Disneyland yesterday, they spent the day as any visitor would, but shortly before the park closed they quickly changed into the uniforms. The equipment they brought—the two surveillance cameras, and two 9mm Uzi automatic weapons—fit nicely into a small backpack carried by Sheila. When the park closed, they had worked their way against the human tide of visitors leaving the park and walked to the Small World ride. They avoided the ornate front of the building and made their way to one of the side entrances. Although it was dark outside, it only took a moment for Roger to pick the lock. Once inside they separated, with Roger carefully crossing over the water-filled channel, being cautious not to disturb the robotic dolls that made up the visual aspect of the ride. He took his position underneath the staging upon which the little automatons continuously danced. Roger and Sheila set up a surveillance camera and waited for the sun to rise and the park to open.
There were more comfortable places in the Small World to hide, but the ride, like all the rides in Disneyland, had strategically placed cameras that were constantly monitored by the park’s staff. Any movement outside the ride area would alert park security. That’s why the next part of the plan had to be done perfectly.
“Tell me again, why do we have to keep surveillance if we’re going to be signaled when they arrive?” Sheila said softly into her microphone.
“Redundancy. Things can go wrong,” Roger whispered. “Besides, the electronics in here might interfere with reception.” Unconsciously, he fingered the pager attached to his belt. The pager was set to vibrate instead of beep.
“How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait?”
“Can’t tell. Who knows what they’re doing out there.” Roger knew that Sheila’s questions were not the results of nerves. He had worked with her many times and had found her exceptionally capable whether she was making coffee for A.J. or pushing someone out of a helicopter. “Are you okay?”
“It’s the music,” Sheila replied bitterly. “I’ll be hearing this song long after I’m dead.”
Hopefully, Roger thought, that won’t be today.
Gasping for breath, David struggled to keep up with Timmy as they walked quickly toward the Small World ride. “Hurry, David, or we’ll miss A.J.”
“Timmy, we’re not supposed to ride with them, remember?” David said breathlessly. “A.J. has important business.”
“But he promised he would go on one ride with me, and this is our last ride. There they are!” Timmy broke into a jog, with David close behind him. “A.J.! A.J.!” The group turned to see Timmy waving both arms over his head as he ran. Puzzled, DeWitt looked at A.J., and the three closest Secret Service agents stepped toward Timmy. A.J. waved them off.
“What’s the matter, Timmy?” A.J. asked with concern.
“You said … you said …” Timmy struggled to catch his breath. “You said I could go on one ride with you.”
“But, Timmy, we were just about to go on this one.”
Timmy grinned. “That’s okay, this one looks neat.” Timmy glanced at the gold-and-white facade with its giant clock with the crooked hands. Just then, the clock began to chime and doors in the facade opened. Toy soldiers dressed in red marched around as the Small World tune began to play. “See, it’ll be fun.”
“But Timmy …”
“You said you would. I wanna ride a ride with you.” Timmy leaped forward and hugged A.J. “Please, please, let me ride with you.”
Breaking free from Timmy’s grasp, A.J. said firmly, “I know what I said, but it would be better if …”
“Nonsense,” DeWitt interrupted. “Let the boy come along. We’ve got room on the boat.”
Unconsciously, A.J. fingered the small transmitter in his pocket. The transmitter looked like those used to activate or deactivate car alarms and was attached to his key chain. The device felt familiar in his hand. He had just pressed its button a moment before. “Timmy, I …”
“I’m sorry, A.J.,” David said. “I’ll try to explain it to him.”
“But, A.J., you promised,” Timmy protested. “You told me to never break a promise.”
“Come on, son,” DeWitt said jovially. “You can sit with me.”
“No,” A.J. exclaimed. “Sit with David. Sit in the back. David, please.”
“Sure,” David replied. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” A.J. smiled weakly, clearly concerned about this unexpected change in plans. “Just sit in the back.”
“Timmy’s with them,” Sheila whispered seriously.
“Yeah, Kristen and David too,” Roger said. “That’s not part of the plan. I told you, things go wrong,”
“So do we proceed?”
“We got the signal from A.J., so we go. If Mahli gets back to Somalia, we’ll never catch him. And if we don’t stop him now, all our work over there will be lost.” Roger looked at his monitor. “They’re sending the empty boats now. Let’s pack up and move. Don’t shoot the kid.”
The Secret Service agents watched as boatload after boatload of people came out of the ride and exited their little crafts. Soon only empty boats were exiting the expansive structure. “The building is empty now; we can go.”
Dutifully they boarded the tiny blue boats that rocked only mildly to the side. Two Secret Service agents rode in the first of the four rows available. Mahli, bracketed by his two guards, sat in the second row. Behind them sat DeWitt with one agent and A.J. The back row was occupied by David, Kristen, and Timmy. The boat was moved from its loading area by a broad belt under the water. A second later the boat was floating in the canal, propelled only by the constantly moving current. The craft full of dignitaries cruised slowly along the little aqueduct, passing topiaries of an elephant doing a handstand and a grinning hippopotamus. Growing up in San Diego, which was less than two hours away, David had been to Disneyland many times as a child, an adolescent, and an adult. He knew what awaited them before the boat sailed into the cavernous structure that housed the Small World feature.
Warnings in English, Spanish, and Japanese reminded the occupants to remain seated at all times and to keep their hands in the boat. The warnings were soon replaced with the music.
As the craft entered the building, the travelers saw hundreds of cherub-faced dolls dressed in costumes from all over the world dancing and singing the song. As they moved, the clicking of the servos could be heard mildly echoing off the elaborate backdrops of plywood flowers and mountains.
The music was punctuated by giggles from Timmy. “Oh, look!” he cried. “Look up at the ceiling. There’s a doll riding a bicycle on a tightrope. I hope he doesn’t fall on us.” David patted his leg and motioned for him to calm himself—a task, David decided, akin to trapping a hurricane in a bottle.
DeWitt turned around and smiled at Timmy, then he turned to A.J. and said, “He’s a fine young man, Mr. Barringston, a fine young man. He reminds me of my youngest grandson, his behavior, I mean.” A.J. offered a limp smile and nodded. “Are you all right? You look pale. Surely you’re not seasick on this little bit of water.”
“No, I’m fine,” A.J. replied. “Lunch didn’t sit well with me.”
“Me either,” DeWitt said, patting his stomach.
A.J. had stopped listening. He turned back to look at Kristen, David, and Timmy. Kristen and Timmy were smiling, David’s face showed concern. He cocked his head in a silent question that asked about A.J.’s noticeable nervousness. A.J. winked and smiled to show he was all right. “Still a pretty impressive display, wouldn’t you say, David?”
“Always been one of my favorites.”
“Oh, A.J., this is great,” interjected Timmy. “Thanks for bringing me.”
David detected something different in A
.J.’s eyes, something he had never seen in his friend—profound fear.
27
IT SEEMED AMAZING TO ROGER HOW CIRCUMSTANCES could change one’s view of a situation. When A.J. first proposed killing Mahli at Disneyland, and after he laid out the basic plan, Roger felt the idea was gutsy, bold, and daring. Now, as he was about to burst through an access panel from underneath the staging, he wondered if the plan wasn’t just plain stupid.
It wasn’t the killing that made the scheme difficult, it was the not killing. Roger knew that A.J. had no hesitancy about murdering killers, but innocents were another matter. If all Roger had to do was kill everyone in the boat, then the job would have been easy and could have been accomplished with a spray of bullets or even a well-placed remotely controlled bomb. But the situation was different. Mingled with the targets were nontargets like the Secret Service agents, Secretary DeWitt, A.J., and now Kristen, Timmy, and David. This was going to have to be a surgical killing, the most difficult kind of assassination. For the first time in his life, he had doubts that the innocents could get away unscathed.
The core idea of the plan was brilliant. Roger and Sheila would suddenly appear in the ride area and begin shooting, targeting the area around Secretary DeWitt and shouting several Arabic phrases. To investigators who would come later it would appear that two Arab terrorists had set out to assassinate DeWitt for his involvement in the Middle East.
What A.J. had insisted on, and what they had practiced a hundred times over the last few weeks, was that DeWitt come through the attack unharmed. It took a great deal of practice to learn to shoot an automatic weapon like the Uzi and miss. In the bedlam of the attack, Mahli and his guards would be killed. If the scheme went as planned, they would be the only ones dead. Roger and Sheila would then race from the building. The Secret Service agents in the boat were tasked with the protection of their charges and would not give chase. They would be occupied with the wounded and with getting DeWitt out of immediate danger. This would allow several minutes for Roger and Sheila to egress out of the building through one of the emergency exits, dash through a hole cut in the chain-link fence at the perimeter of the park, and make their getaway in a van parked near the fence. From there they would travel Interstate 5 to Interstate 10 toward Arizona, changing clothes once and cars five times. Once in Phoenix they would fly back to San Diego. If everything went right.
The time for second-guessing was gone. Roger whispered breathlessly into his microphone, “Mask.” Then he removed his headset and wrapped a bandanna around his lower face, leaving everything above the bridge of his nose exposed so that witnesses could describe a dark-haired, dark-skinned attacker. He knew that Sheila was doing the same thing. The masks were meant to hide their identity, not only from the Secret Service agents who would be called upon to give a description to a police artist, but now from David, Kristen, and Timmy as well. Roger replaced his headset. “Ready?” he asked.
“Ready,” Sheila replied evenly.
“On my mark, go. Three, two, one, and go!” Roger rolled out from under the staging and walked quickly along the service passageway behind the stage scenery; Sheila did the same on the other side of the building.
Outside, standing next to the Disney employee who operated the Small World ride, Agent Woody Summers leaned back against the thickly painted tubular rail and scanned the waiting crowd again. Although a federal agent, he was not part of the official protection detail of the Secret Service. Instead, he was there to watch the warlord Mahli and A.J. Barringston interact. He didn’t know what he expected to see. At this point he was grasping at straws. Over the months, he had been unable to get even a simple search warrant to investigate the computer rooms of Barringston Relief or to recruit David O’Neal to help. He was getting no breaks.
He pushed aside his frustration and returned his gaze to the six video monitors neatly tucked into the employee’s console. Normally, a Secret Service agent would be stationed at the monitors, but Woody, bored and frustrated, persuaded the agent in charge to relinquish the job to him, allowing one more agent to be stationed at the ride’s perimeter.
All of the boats in the building were empty, just as they were supposed to be, except Sugar Bear’s boat. Sugar Bear was the code name for Secretary DeWitt. Mahli had been given the generic code name Guest One, and his two guards, Guest Two and Guest Three. Code names were a tradition in the service and were used here as part of standard protocol. Woody listened to the Secret Service agents’ brief, no-nonsense radio communications through an earpiece, which was the same issue as used by the Secret Service agents.
As he gazed at the monitors, he first saw the boat with his charges in it and the young man Timmy pointing excitedly about. Then he noticed something unusual. “What’s that?” he asked, squinting at the faded image on one of the monitors.
“What’s what?” the employee asked.
“Here,” Woody pointed at the screen with his finger. “Right here.”
The employee, a nineteen-year-old male college student, leaned forward and studied the screen. “Looks like a couple of maintenance workers,” he said nonchalantly.
“Maintenance? Did you call them?”
“No, but it could be routine. They often—”
“Move,” Woody commanded, pushing the young man aside. Squinting, he studied the blurry movement of two people walking quickly along the perimeter of the building. As he looked closely, he saw that they were wearing masks. Allowing his eyes to carefully trace down the body of one of them he saw a familiar shape—a shape he had been trained to recognize in a second. “Oh, God,” he said. In one fluid motion he brought the flesh-colored handheld microphone up to his mouth and shouted into it, “Intruder, intruder. One right side behind staging; one left side. Gun! Gun! Gun!” Turning to the employee he ordered, “Stop all the boats. I don’t want any more boats in there.” As he spoke, he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and raced toward the opening to the building, leaping into the canal when the path was too narrow for him to pass. Stephanie Cooper, who had stationed herself at the ride’s exit to observe A.J. and Mahli as they left the ride, watched as Woody ran to the ride’s entrance and disappeared into the tunnel. A second later she charged in through the exit.
David flinched at the sound of gunfire.
The reaction inside was immediate: The agents at the front of the boat stood and drew their weapons, taking, as best they could in the confines of the boat, a shooter’s stance. Behind them, Mahli’s guards stood, too, in reaction to the agents in front of them, causing the boat to rock. Before DeWitt could speak, the agent sitting next to him pushed him to the bottom of the boat, causing DeWitt to hit his head on the metal grab bar on the back of the seat before him.
The first burst of gunfire came from Sheila, who strafed the stage area to the left of DeWitt, firing over the hunched figures of the secretary of state and his bodyguard. A.J. leaped from his position in the middle of the boat to the back row, yelling at Timmy, “Get down, get down.” Before Timmy could react, David pushed him down, and A.J. covered Timmy with his body. David, a half-second later, grabbed Kristen behind the head and forced her down into his lap, then lay over her.
Roger popped out from behind a plywood facade of a Swiss mountain town and aimed his weapon on Mahli’s row. From his position to the left of the little craft, he had an unobstructed shot at his targets. Roger shouted the Arabic phrase he had rehearsed—“Death to sympathizers!”—and applied a steady pressure to the trigger until the Uzi came alive. The weapon’s report reverberated off the walls and backdrops, obliterating for a moment the ubiquitous theme music.
One of the agents in the front seat saw Roger and quickly drew a bead. He fired three shots from his 9mm. The first two shots struck Roger in the chest, but the Kevlar vest did its job. The impact of the bullets staggered him, however, causing him to step back. The impact also drove the air from his lungs. He had expected this and continued firing. What he had not expected was that the third bullet would strike
him in the neck, severing his right carotid artery. Roger grabbed his neck, then pulled his hand away; his hand was coated in thick blood. He knew he would be dead before help could arrive.
As Roger slipped from consciousness, he let another burst of bullets fly, but he was too shocked, too weak to control the weapon. The gun fired endlessly as he fell to the ground, its bullets screaming through the air and destroying dancing dolls and scenery. As he fell, the weapon’s aim moved forward from the middle of the boat where Roger had been firing to the front. Four rounds struck and killed the nearest Secret Service agent. The man spun on his feet and fell backward over the front of the ride and splashed into the water. The current moved him along the channel in front of the boat.
“Agent down! Agent down!” his partner cried into his microphone. He spun to his right in time to see Roger fall face forward onto the staging, taking several of the robotic dolls with him. Spinning back the other way he saw Sheila—a tall masked assailant with one of the deadliest automatic weapons in the world. He leveled his weapon at her chest and squeezed off a series of rounds. After each shot he quickly adjusted for the recoil and the movement of the boat and fired again.
Sheila had seen Roger fire at Mahli. She saw the closest guard take several hits and watched as he fell backward over Mahli. The other Somali guard had been hit, too, and fell sideways over the left side of the boat before slumping backward over the bodies of his companions. She wasn’t sure if Mahli had been killed. So intent was she on her aim that she saw neither Roger nor the Secret Service agents killed, nor did she see the remaining agent take aim at her.
Snapping her weapon around, she took aim at Mahli’s position in the boat. Her rounds never fired.
The first round from the Secret Service agent struck her under her left arm, an area unprotected by the bulletproof vest. The impact drove the breath out of her; it also pierced her aorta. The next round caught her in the ear. She died as she fell to the ground.
Terminal Justice Page 30
