by Mark Nolan
The media was going wild over the possibility that if the couple won the election, there would be a baby born in the White House. Today the reporters and photographers were in full attendance. She saw some now-familiar faces of journalists and cameramen that followed Daniel around, plus some local news teams.
As she waited, her hands rested on her swollen belly and she let her eyes roam over the spectacle before her. It was a madhouse, just as it usually was when she and her husband appeared in public. Fame was turning out to be a royal pain in the neck, but there was no way to regain her privacy now. Those days were over. Anonymity was like virginity, once you lost it you never got it back. Today the media circus appeared to be the same as usual except she had an odd sense that one detail was out of place. What was it?
Looking around she noticed a cameraman talking to himself and grinning like he’d won the lottery. There were some eccentric, creative types of people in the media, she knew that. But this man was more than eccentric; he seemed… strange. Katherine had a funny feeling about him. Although she was sure she’d seen him at other public appearances, he’d never acted in this strange way before. Maybe he was simply high on back pain medication or something similar. Still, no one was allowed near a candidate if they were under the influence of any substance. She decided to ask a Secret Service Agent to take a closer look.
In Washington D.C., a top-ranking Secret Service Agent named Shannon McKay was at work in one of the situation rooms located beneath the White House in a maze of tunnels aptly nicknamed The Catacombs. This situation room resembled the inside of an air-traffic control tower, but instead of large windows it had six large flat screen television monitors.
Agent McKay watched the far away Literacy for the World ceremony on the various monitors, and she cycled through a variety of viewpoints from cameras mounted in strategic locations. There was a similar situation room full of monitors and agents very near to the scene, right there in San Francisco’s Moscone Center. McKay was providing them with an extra pair of seasoned eyes on the situation, whether they liked it or not. She had a high level of authority, and she was also curious about this new candidate, Congressman Anderson.
McKay’s eyes flicked from TV screen to TV screen. Everything seemed to be going fine, except that Katherine had looked for a long moment at one television cameraman in particular and then she’d looked directly at a secret service agent and waved her hand to get the agent’s attention. McKay sat up straight and studied the cameraman. Why was he grinning like that? The more she studied him, the more she got a funny feeling in her stomach. There was just something odd about that guy. McKay didn’t like odd, she didn’t do odd, and she would not tolerate odd anywhere near the protected people that she was responsible for.
You could scoff all you want at so-called women’s intuition, but some women had it. That was a fact. Besides, McKay knew that Katherine was a former prosecuting attorney. Katherine just knew things about people that the general public could never know. McKay respected that wisdom and experience. And McKay had been trained to look for anything that seemed out of place or suspicious in any way. That was all it took to make her take action, and now she didn’t hesitate. She would protect “Kat and The Big Guy,” as she called the couple, with the same zeal as she protected the current President and First Lady. She hurriedly typed commands on her computer keyboard.
First, she alerted the Agent closest to Katherine that the woman wanted to get his attention, and he should go to her and see what she had to say. The man was wearing a small earbud speaker, with a thin wire leading down into his collar. He turned and began walking toward Katherine.
Next, by McKay’s request, her view on TV screen number three changed as the live feed from one of the remote-controlled Secret Service surveillance cameras came under her direct control. She focused it on the odd cameraman’s face. His smile was very strange indeed, and in the magnified close up his skin complexion appeared very pale and pasty. Was he wearing some kind of TV makeup? It took only a few seconds to run the man’s facial image through the computer’s FRP; the Facial Recognition Process that matched it against the faces of hundreds of thousands known terrorists, criminals and a group called persons of interest. There was no match.
The computer also checked the approved media list and guest list, and it came up with the identification of Jacob “Jake” Wolfe. Details of his life began to scroll across one of the TV screens. Jake had served in the Marines, and he was currently working as a photojournalist for one of the local television stations there in the San Francisco Bay area. Previous to that job he’d worked as a freelance photographer, and shot news photos for Associated Press, National Geographic and many of the top-visited news websites.
Wolfe looked okay so far, but McKay wasn’t through yet. She ran a quick criminal background check, and a news story search via a special software program on her computer. She was glad to see that Wolfe had no criminal conviction record. That was reassuring. But wait a minute, what were these two arrest records about? One for possession of a controlled substance, and a later one for setting off some kind of… explosion?
On the Moscone Center stage in San Francisco, Congressman Anderson was finishing up his speech. Below and to the right of the stage, Zhukov licked his lips in anticipation and checked the time on his phone to be sure everything was running on schedule. He was feeling quite manic at the moment. If only the big oaf would get his speech over with. But it wouldn’t be long now until Katherine stepped into his weapon’s target zone.
The Congressman ended his speech by saying, “And now let me introduce the real heart and soul behind this ambitious project. The face you’ve seen on the news. My wife and best friend. Soon to be the mother of our child. And with your support, the next First Lady of the United States… Katherine Anderson!”
Katherine was about to talk to a Secret Service Agent about the strange cameraman, but now she had to walk out onto the stage. She appeared right on cue and was greeted by thunderous applause and a standing ovation. The polls said Katherine was even more popular than her Congressman husband. She smiled and nodded left and right while waving “the princess wave,” as she’d been taught by the publicists and modeling coaches.
As she smiled for the crowd and the media, Zhukov was smiling too, and he focused his special camera-weapon on the “Future First Lady’s” forehead, right between the eyes.
Whenever Katherine and Daniel shared the stage they typically traded some witty banter at the podium, and today the Congressman was in a rare mood. The prospect of Katherine having a baby after all these years had him both elated and flustered. Katherine wanted to tell him to relax; he wasn’t the one with a baby growing inside of him. Instead, she just smiled the false, calm smile of someone who is living with the stress of life in the media spotlight, knowing that your every move is being recorded and broadcast so the restless crowd can judge you and criticize you.
Daniel put his hands on Katherine’s upper arms, held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes.
“Promise me Katherine, no more of these speeches and meetings until after you have the baby.”
“Just this one last speech,” Katherine said sweetly. “And then, well, there is that fundraising dinner with the major donors next week.”
She couldn’t help pushing his buttons. It was too easy. She tried not to laugh while anticipating the result. Daniel dropped his hands to his sides in exasperation, but he made an effort to keep his voice calm.
“I thought we agreed you were going to let the Governor fill in for you on that luncheon so you could stay home and get some rest,” he said.
Katherine smiled and reached out her right hand, grabbed the lapel of his suit jacket, and then slowly pulled him closer to her; well aware that the media was recording and broadcasting her every move.
“No, handsome, you’re mistaken. We agreed I’d think it over. I did and I decided on doing it myself. It’s my project, my idea, and my hard work. I’m doing it, so ple
ase get used to the idea… Mister Congressman.”
Daniel scowled like a judge, squinted one eye and exhaled loudly, shaking his head. Katherine loved the way he was so uncomplicated yet powerful. In the back of her mind she thought of how he could be charmingly old-fashioned. Meanwhile, she was totally current with the modern world and the latest ideas and trends. She knew the Congressman valued her opinion of what his voters were thinking. And his total love for her was one of the few things in life she could count on unconditionally. He was her anchor in the storm. He was a rock.
“All right,” Daniel said, with his voice rising. “One final lunch of rubber chicken and then you will go home and follow your doctor’s orders to the letter. Agreed?”
“Agreed, of course, darling,” Katherine said, smiling cheerfully after her victory.
“And just so we’re absolutely clear on this. You agree you’ll do exactly what your doctor says. Not that you’ll think it over.”
“My goodness, I’ll sit by the window and knit baby booties if it will help you calm down big guy. Of course, I’ll also run the Literacy for the World campaign from my home office. That means I’ll need an assistant or two, and phones and computers.”
Daniel held his hands out by his sides with palms up, and looked heavenward for help that didn’t appear. The audience chuckled and commented to one another. Dozens of news cameras captured the couple’s chemistry and camaraderie on television, websites and publications. People all across America and the world would be smiling and laughing and nodding their heads at this now familiar peppery banter between the popular duo.
But there was one individual in the media area that had other ideas about the couple’s future. Zhukov stood behind the TV camera and watched Katherine on the display screen. He wished the rich attorney would stand still and begin her speech so he could shoot her and get it over with. Some mafia criminals and wealthy business oligarchs in his home country had caused his beloved Tatiana to suffer. And now with this act he would send a message to his former colleagues in Russia: “Someday I’ll come for your loved ones too. Nobody is safe from me.”
As he looked at the former prosecutor, he whispered to himself, “Ah the beloved Madonna and child.” Then, with a start, he sucked in his breath and whispered, “Of course, the child. She’s got a little bun in the oven, as they say. But that’s even better.”
He moved the cross hairs of his camera-weapon away from Katherine’s face and lowered it to focus on her rounded belly. His heart began to beat faster in anticipation of what he was about to do. He watched Katherine as she continued bantering with her husband. And then Daniel bent at the waist and placed his ear on the top of her pregnant belly, hamming it up for the cameras as he often did.
It was the perfect shot. Zhukov had to take it. Aiming at Katherine’s stomach, right under the Congressman’s nose, a thrill ran up his spine as he reached into his coat pocket and placed his fingers on his smartphone. Daniel moved forward, and now his face was temporarily blocking the assassin’s aim.
“Oh come on you kopoba, you cow,” the assassin whispered to himself. “Move your fat head up and back… just a little higher… just a touch more… almost there.”
Chapter 65
Agent Shannon McKay typed more commands on her computer keyboard as she brought up the arrest record files of Jake Wolfe. Her fingers flew over the keys, and she had data appearing on three of the six flat-screen monitors in front of her. She was a speed reader and a well-trained expert at lightning-fast intelligence gathering and analysis.
A quick look showed her that neither arrest had ended in a conviction. In the arrest for possession of a controlled substance, the record said he’d been a passenger in a car, and the driver had been stopped by law enforcement. The driver was found to be in possession of drugs, but Wolfe had not been in possession or under the influence. However, the Sheriff had arrested Wolfe simply for being a passenger in the car, along with his close friend named Dylan. That was ridiculous, but it happened every day. Many of the women who were in prison now had ended up there only because they’d been riding in a car when their boyfriend had been arrested. But soon after Jake’s arrest, the charges had been dropped by the prosecutor. Dylan, however, had spent hard time in prison.
Wolfe’s second arrest had occurred several years later, after his military service. It was for allegedly detonating an “improvised chemical explosive device” on the Fourth of July. A cop named Denton had arrested him, but he’d gone to court and been found innocent by a jury. The so-called explosive device had been a soda pop bottle filled with vinegar and baking soda that caused it to burst. A teenage boy had popped the bottle as part of a science experiment that he’d seen on YouTube. Wolfe hadn’t participated, he’d only seen it happening and had supervised, to make sure no kids got hurt.
“Innocent or not, how did this guy get on the approved media list,” McKay said to herself. “And is he dangerous, or just an irresponsible man who likes to make loud noises on Independence Day?”
McKay used her security clearance to quickly tap into Jake Wolfe’s military service file. He’d served in the Marine Corps as an Infantry Rifleman and then had volunteered for IED detector dog handler training. He’d gone through a five-week training course. And upon graduation, he'd become what is called an improvised explosive device detector dog handler. He’d been paired with a trained IED detector dog named Duke.
Her eyebrows went up when she noted that he’d been wounded by the enemy in battle and had almost bled to death. He’d been awarded a Purple Heart medal, and he’d also received a Bronze Star Medal for acts of heroism. Duke, his faithful dog, had not survived. The psychologist said that Jake had never gotten over the loss of his four-footed friend. He was carrying anger and resentment on his shoulders, and always looking for some criminal to take it out on. McKay had great admiration and respect for our troops and their war dogs… and that made her sorry for what she felt she had to do now.
“The rule is, better safe than sorry,” McKay recited from her training. She hit keys on the computer and alerted the Secret Service to quietly but immediately pull Jake Wolfe aside to answer questions in private. If he resisted at all, he was to be arrested and subdued with any force deemed necessary. This was a serious accusation, and McKay vowed that if Wolfe proved to be innocent, she would not just forget about him and leave him in the hands of the local law enforcement.
Two Secret Service agents nodded at her command and started to walk purposefully toward the camera crews where Wolfe was working. To be thorough, McKay also notified a Secret Service sniper named Adams who was secretly located in the lighting area above the stage. Her orders were for him to focus a weapon on Jake Wolfe and keep him in the crosshairs until he was detained. She would give the order to have Wolfe shot with a tranquilizer dart if he made the slightest move that she didn’t like. And if he looked like he was a real threat, she would have him shot without hesitation.
She typed a command that made her phone system begin calling all known phone numbers for Wolfe. At the same time, she ran a computer program to try a little-known technology that used thermal imaging to scan someone’s entire body through their clothing. This was just to eliminate the chance that the cameraman was wearing a disguise or hiding a weapon. It was experimental technology, and it might make the person being scanned feel sick for an hour or so. But she was willing to make a photojournalist vomit if that’s what it would take to protect the people she was responsible for.
While the computer was scanning, one of the phone calls was answered.
“Hey, this is Jake,” a man said.
The man McKay was watching on the TV screen was not answering a phone.
“Hello,” Jake said again, “Can you hear me?”
The voice recognition software quickly compared the voice of the man who answered the phone with the voice records in a secret NSA computer file of every voice in America that had ever spoken on a mobile phone in recent history. The NSA also had a copy of e
very driver’s license photo in their facial recognition database. And an image of almost every car license plate; photographed by license plate reader cameras mounted on police cars and installed next to highways and streets.
The software made an exact match; this was the real Jacob T. Wolfe on the phone. If the technology was working correctly, McKay was listening to Wolfe. And if so, the person manning the camera at the speech was someone else in disguise. Her skin crawled as she saw the grinning man at the scene mumbling to himself. This new technology had a few false positives, but her stomach lurched. The potential imposter had to be dealt with immediately.
“Jake Wolfe?” McKay said. “This is Shannon McKay, I’m a federal agent. This is a very important call, standby one moment.”
McKay typed an emergency alert message that would be read immediately on the smartphone of every agent in the vicinity of the Congressman. She also sent a message that gave the sniper the go ahead, for any reason he felt necessary, to shoot cameraman Jake Wolfe with a tranquilizer dart, or a bullet in the heart, at his discretion. Adams was armed with both a tranquilizer “tranc” gun and a sniper rifle with a suppressor. He could use either one, depending on his discernment of the threat level or whether innocent bystanders were nearby that might be at risk as collateral damage.
McKay spoke into her phone, “Jake, this is Agent Shannon McKay of the United States Secret Service calling from the White House in Washington D.C.”
“Oh sure, of course you are,” Jake said. “You telemarketers are really getting creative.”
“Listen to me Jake. Right now I’m looking at a man with your exact same facial features and I.D. At this moment he is manning a TV camera at a Congressman’s press conference. The computer has checked your voice as we are speaking and it seems to match your records. Where are you right now exactly?”
“You sound like you’re full of BS, but if you must know I’m at a giant lawn by the San Francisco Bay known as the Marina Green. It’s about seventy acres of grass, and it has a great view of the water and boats and the Golden Gate Bridge. I’m taking photos for a lifestyle piece that will be seen on the news.”
