“So, do you still know nothing about it, Mr. Russell?” asked Jason.
David sat still for a long moment, staring at the table. His face pale, his scraggly red beard standing out like a sore thumb. He twiddled his fingers.
“Nothing?” Ethan asked. “David, we know you are aware of some plot to harm Congressman Burr. We need your help to stop it.”
Ethan slowed his voice, almost pleading with the man, “You tried to warn him, he didn’t listen. Let us help you. Let us stop this from happening.”
“If the Congressman is killed, Mr. Russell, you will be held at the very least as an accessory to murder, if not more. Domestic terrorist, perhaps,” Jason informed him. “Combined with your other indiscretions here, that pretty much adds up to the rest of your life in jail. Considering we’re talking about a United States Congressman, your chances of parole are very low.”
Ethan interjected, “But if you help us, we can help you. We can provide you with protection, reduce your charges.”
David looked back up at Ethan, staring him in the eyes. “You can’t protect me. Not from them.”
Ethan sensed a sincerity in the man’s voice which unnerved him, but before he could respond, David started to talk.
“You’re probably too late already. They plan to snipe him off when he leaves that damn liberal Party’s meeting today,” David admitted, his drawl heavy, his speech quieter. He was scared, but not of Ethan and Jason.
Ethan took a quick look at his watch. 10:05 am. He turned to Jason; both understood they had little time.
“You said they would use a sniper. Right?” Ethan urged him.
“Yeah, they planned to do it from a distance.”
“Which building?”
“I don’t know, they only had me recruit more people. They didn’t tell me much, I swear.”
Ethan believed him; something in his voice and eyes said he was telling the truth. Ethan wanted to stay to question him more, find out who the sniper was, but that would have to fall on Detective Haskins. He stood up and made his way for the door, Jason following.
“Detective, get some officers down to the World Congress Center ASAP and secure the perimeter of the complex.” Ethan requested. “And find out who the sniper is from Mr. Russell. Let me know as soon as you find out.”
“Yes, sir.” The Detective jogged out of the room and down the hall with them, radioing in as he ran. The doors opened quickly ahead of them as they rushed out.
Ethan’s heart pumped rapidly as he focused on the need to secure the Congressman. The buzzing of passing doors receded from his awareness.
This is not a drill, he thought. This is real.
CHAPTER 14
January 29 at 10:15 a.m. EST
Atlanta, Georgia
Jason sped the sedan through morning traffic. He and Ethan had suited up in Kevlar vests emblazoned with “F.B.I.” in large white letters across the front and back. Earpieces were secured in place.
Ethan had alerted the Atlanta Field Office to the threat before they stormed out of the Detention Center. If they were not too late, they could secure the Congressman and sweep the area for the suspect. Jason threw the car's weight onto the front passenger wheel as he pulled onto Andrew Young International Boulevard.
The Atlanta Police were already cordoning off the area and stopping traffic from entering or exiting. Jason screeched the sedan to a stop at the blockade. Ethan waved his badge out the window and the officer waved them through while holding back other traffic.
They hurried by rows of immaculately landscaped shrubbery and small trees. The Omni high-rise hotel towered overhead. Jason caught sight of the World Congress Center ahead. Its glass and concrete structure jutted out toward the boulevard where more police cars sat. Jason mounted the curb, earning an ear-splitting metal-against-concrete screech from the sedan’s undercarriage. He brought the car to a stop next to several black SUVs and he and Ethan jumped out.
“Agents Phelps and Shaw?” a man called to them by one of the SUVs. He was tall, dressed in a suit and tie. He jogged over to meet them, his thick brown hair refused to move even the slightest bit in the wind. The darkness of his tanned skin set off his pale icy blue eyes. He looked more like an actor or model than an Agent.
“Special Agent Sean Abrams. We spoke on the phone.” They shook hands and exchanged the usual greetings.
Ethan recognized Agent Abrams’ gruff voice from his phone conversation. He suddenly felt he recognized his face from somewhere too—that he had seen the man before. “Have we met before?” he ventured.
“No, not that I’m aware of,” Abrams answered, more affably than when Ethan had spoken to him the day before. None of the man's frustration was present now. “So far we’ve closed off Andrew Young Boulevard between Marietta and Centennial Olympic—”
“What about the Congressman?” Ethan asked, cutting him off.
“We have two Agents in the Congress Center,” Abrams rebounded, “ready to secure the Congressman as soon as his speech is over. Police are stationed throughout the building. We also have several Agents scouting out the interior of the Phillips Arena and the closest surrounding buildings.”
Abrams paused briefly, “Sorry for being so short with you on the phone yesterday. It just seemed awful far-fetched. On the phone, you asked where the most strategic sniper roost in the area would be. From what they are telling me, it would be somewhere in the Phillips Arena or the CNN Center.” He pointed to the building across the street down at the edge of the police blockade. “I’ve got one team going through the CNN Center as we speak, and another three in the Arena, since it’s closer. It seems to be the more likely choice.”
The more likely choice, thought Ethan. That can’t be it.
Looking from building to building, Ethan took in his surroundings. Some of the buildings were tall and covered in glass. Others squatted low, layered in concrete. He noted the direction of the wind.
Where would I take the shot?
Ethan’s eyes darted to Jason “The CNN Center. That’s where I’d take the shot” It was a gut feeling, assuming the shooter knew what he was doing. It could be either of the closer buildings, but the glass stretching from one end of the building to the other struck him. Jason agreed without hesitation, and they took off at a jog to the CNN Center with Abrams on their heels. They had only minutes before the Congressman would be finished with his speech, and not a second to lose.
“Where are your men in the CNN Center?” Jason asked Abrams as they ran down the street.
“Third and eighth floors.”
“We’ll take the fifth floor then, work down from there,” Ethan said.
They barreled in through the glass front doors of the CNN Center, the iconic letters stamped in white on the glass. As they entered, Ethan eyed a reception desk off to the side.
“FBI, where are the stairs?”
The receptionists looked confused and almost panicked by the suddenness of their entrance. Finally, a woman behind the counter pointed toward the hallway just ahead, “About half way down the hall.”
They bolted forward, shoved through the stairway door, and took the steps by twos. The staircase was brightly lit, the stairs painted a bright red, lined in white. Large black numbers labeled the current level by each exit door. They passed the second and third floor exits.
Out of the corner of his eye Ethan noticed a red printed sign hanging on the fourth floor exit door. He stopped, and Jason almost ran into him.
“What is it?” Jason asked, puzzled.
Do Not Enter – Remodeling
“This floor should be relatively empty, shouldn’t it?” Ethan asked, not expecting an answer, pointing to the sign. The lights behind the door were off, unlike the other doors they had passed. “Let’s start here.”
“Are you sure? Wouldn't it make sense up higher?” Sean Abrams reasoned, urging them to take the next floor.
“Four stories up is plenty of clearance,” Ethan assured Sean, unholstering his Glock .
40.
Sean shook his head and nodded forward at the door.
“It’s empty too I imagine. It’s the perfect place.”
Ethan paused, hoping he was right. They did not have time to waste. “Alright, stick to the exterior rooms. Let’s each take a separate room and continue down the hall.”
Jason and Sean readied their pistols, keeping them low but ready. As quietly as he could, Ethan pressed the door open. He heard a faint metallic click as the latch opened and the door moved forward.
The hallway extended the full length of the complex. It would have been pitch black if not for the flashing of a few multi-colored lights accompanying a tangle of wiring along the skeletal right wall. The sheet rock was missing. The wiring was exposed, branching from the ceiling and entwining between metal supports like kudzu.
The rooms to their left bordered the exterior wall. The remodeling crews must have started with the perimeter rooms first. Their walls were fully covered in unpainted sheet rock. The doors were new. Factory labels still adhered to the heavy wooden slabs, vacant round holes sat where doorknobs would soon go.
Ethan took the first room. Jason and Sean each moved on to their own in sequence. Ethan pressed his back against the wall and placed his hand against the door. He took a deep breath and gently pressed the door forward. He kept his pistol low and ready as he slung the door open, sweeping over the room with his eyes and pistol.
It was empty aside from a few steel beams running from floor to ceiling and a bundle of cords on the floor waiting to be installed. Expansive glass windows spanned the wall from floor to ceiling from one end of the room to the other. Outside he could see the World Congress Center from his perch, but no suspect.
One down, who knows how many more to go.
Ethan rushed back to the hallway and jogged quietly to the next room. Jason exited the next door, followed shortly by Sean at the next door. They both gave the all clear. Ethan took the lead, moving down the hall again, continuing the search.
“We’ve secured the Package, ready to extract,” came a voice over Ethan’s earpiece.
“No, not yet. Hold your position until the perimeter is cleared,” Ethan whispered the command. He knew they only had one chance at getting the Congressman out alive. They could not afford to be careless.
Ethan turned the corner into the next room. It was as bare as the previous. He back-tracked to the hall and took his next station by the second to last door. He pressed the door open and swept the room.
This room was as deserted as the others. Ethan spotted some discarded food wrappers and metal drink cans on the floor. Near the large windows to his right was something the other rooms did not have: a second door. Ethan imagined it must lead to some high dollar executive’s future office. He was probably standing in the secretary’s office right now.
Ethan stopped. He thought he heard movement in the next room. He listened, waiting for more. Nothing. He progressed forward carefully, slowly moving toward the door.
Crackle. Ethan jerked his foot back as the noise echoed through the silence. He lifted his foot carefully, trying to elicit as little noise as possible from the cheese crackers under his foot.
Dammit!
In the next room he heard more movement, a voice and then the light thumping of footsteps on the concrete floor. Ethan let his heart settle and advanced deliberately toward the door. He froze as the door opened before he reached it, his Glock aimed at chest level, waiting.
Abrams stepped through and immediately saw Ethan. He swung his hands up, “It’s just me.”
Ethan relaxed faintly, only marginally lowering his pistol, “Who were you talking to?”
“Who was I talking to?” Sean asked. “No one. I was just cursing my luck. It would be on my watch that something shitty like this comes up.” As an afterthought Sean added, “It’s clear though, and it’s the last room on this level facing the Congress Center.”
Ethan acknowledged Abrams, attempting a quick look around Sean as the door latched shut. Nothing. Satisfied Ethan followed Sean out into the hallway where Jason met them.
“All’s clear Ethan. All the others teams have reported in and are moving back to the Congress Center.”
Ethan was both relieved and disappointed at the same time. They had been had by a drunk. Or whoever was behind that synthesized voice had moved a step ahead. Either way the Congressman was all right.
He wanted to catch a break in the case so badly. Maybe he had let his heart get in the way. What am I missing?
”My teams do their job,” Sean told Ethan, his aggravation unmasked. Placing his hand to his ear, Sean gave the green light. “All clear, move the Package.”
Turning to Jason and Ethan, he asserted his jurisdiction, “Let’s get down there and make sure everything goes smoothly from here on out. We’re done here.”
Ethan held back his objection. Sean had been right about the floor. It was clear. Maybe it was time he trusted him.
As Jason reached the door he looked back at Ethan. “Maybe it was just a false alarm. Maybe Russell really was just drunk.”
“Or they’re…”
Without warning a gunshot bellowed through the hollow space. A high caliber rifle, a sniper. Ethan froze in place.
“The Package has been hit! I repeat: the package has been hit,” the agent in command on the ground shouted into the radio.
“That came from down the hall,” Jason asserted, bewildered.
CHAPTER 15
January 29 at 10:40 a.m. EST
Atlanta, Georgia – CNN Center
Ethan’s pulse jumped. How had they missed the shooter? There had not been time between the shot and their sweep of the floor for the shooter to move into position.
Ethan drew his Glock and ran to the first door, with Jason and Sean right behind him. As before, the room was empty.
“The last room,” Ethan said as they rapidly scanned each door they passed. He quickened his pace, keeping his eyes alert and his firearm ready.
Only one left.
It had come from this floor; he knew it had. Jason took up a position at the left of the door, Sean took post on the opposite side. Ethan nodded to them, kicked the door open, and ran in.
As he leapt forward a bullet pinged the wall just above his head. He ducked by instinct even though the shot was well off its mark. Ethan caught sight of the shooter by the large glass windowpane and fired a round. The man wrenched back as the bullet grazed his arm, dropping his pistol and grabbing his shoulder in pain.
“Freeze! FBI,” Ethan shouted. He could not register any detail in the man’s figure, a silhouette against the bright sun coming in through the window pane. Without resistance, the shooter raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Get on the ground, face down with your hands behind your head, now!” Ethan bellowed. Daring a glance away from the assassin, Ethan noted a large blue duffel bag lying open just next to the shooter. Haphazardly jutting from the bag he caught sight of the half disassembled murder weapon.
Jason entered the room with Sean on his six and took position alongside Ethan, cutting off the exits.
“I swear I checked this room,” Sean asserted in disbelief.
“We’ll deal with that later, dammit,” Ethan said, maintaining his focus on the shooter, trying to overlook Sean’s mistake.
Over the earpiece, an agent confirmed what they had hoped not to hear: the Congressman was dead. The sting of failure pierced Ethan’s body.
The sniper cocked his head. Though his features were obscured in shadows, he seemed to smile. Ethan thought he detected a foreign accent— perhaps Asian— in the man’s harsh voice, but could not quite place it.
“Sounds like you failed.”
How did he hear that? Ethan thought. Suddenly a realization flooded into Ethan’s mind. They had been led astray and to the slaughter. How had he been so blind?
Before Ethan could utter another word a shot rang out behind Ethan, then another. He swung around, catching Jason
’s shocked eyes. He stared back at Ethan in pain. Blood seeped between Jason's fingers as he clutched his chest.
In that instant, time slowed. The fear that had surged through Ethan was supplanted by anguish. He brought his Glock up and placed Sean in his sights, and pulled the trigger.
Sean jerked out of the way in the nick of time. Sean retrained his aim. Adrenaline pumping, Ethan ducked and rolled, diving behind one of the large steel support beams. Taking a chance he leaned around the beam and caught Jason’s brown eyes. Inside Ethan was torn apart as Jason’s eyes pleaded with him for more time.
“Etha… Eth… Ethan…” Jason tried between blood filled coughs. Ethan reached out to him. Jason’s eyes fluttered in confusion, his breathing came in spasms. One last breath escaped his lips and Jason’s eyes went cold. His body thudded to the concrete.
No!
A ping rang off the metal support beams, then another. Ethan’s body quaked, but he held back the tears and let the anger hold him up.
Jason!
Ethan pulled himself together and took inventory. He still had his weapon and a full magazine. He dared a glance around the beam, nearly taking a bullet to the face. The assassin was knelt down by his bag. He was packing his rifle with expert speed, almost mechanized. The sweat trickling down his face was the only sign he knew of the surrounding chaos. A patch of sunlight hovered over the man. As Ethan took aim, a round skimmed his arm. He reeled back, pulling his arm close, cradling it.
“Come on man, get out of here. I have to call this in and you can’t be here.” Sean’s voice, imploring his cohort, was coming from somewhere out of sight behind Ethan. “I’ll deal with this.”
Ethan took a deep breath and tried to ascertain where Sean was standing. Judging by the trajectory of the last few bullets that zipped past his head, he was on Ethan's six. A few moments that seemed like hours passed.
“Ethan, you should have just taken my advice and started up higher,” Sean admonished, attempting to antagonize Ethan into giving up his cover. “Everything would have been okay. Your poor friend here would still be alive.” He paused. “Now I have to kill both of you.”
They'll Call It Treason Page 7
