by BJ Bourg
Patrick realized he needed to make contact with London to find out if anything had happened to change the rules of the game. He had just started to slowly remove his left hand from under the butt of the rifle to reach for his satellite phone when something moved to his left. Realizing it could only be one of a couple of things—and none of them good—he eased his hand back in place and froze.
He remained still and shifted only his eyes. Staring off to the side of where he thought the object to be, he concentrated on a dark spot in the distance. The moonlight was greatly filtered thanks to the thick trees overhead, but there was enough of a glow to illuminate the object in his peripheral vision. It was dark against the light-colored rock nearby and there was no mistaking its slithering motion.
Patrick wasn’t certain exactly what types of venomous snakes were native to Arkansas, but there was no doubt in his mind what kind of snake was approaching him when he heard the buzzing from the rattlesnake’s tail. As a sniper, he’d come into close contact with dozens of snakes, but this was the first time a rattlesnake had come knocking on his front door.
Remaining as still as he could, he watched as the snake slithered closer and closer. When it reached his left arm, it raised its head and paused.
I cannot afford to get bit right now! Patrick thought, as he concentrated on making his heartbeat stop. Why are you interested in me, you little shit?
Finally, the snake moved, but it proceeded over and across Patrick’s arms. When it reached the hood of his ghillie suit, it snaked through one of the holes in the burlap and slithered by, brushing against his face as it moved. The light contact made his cheek tickle, but he knew he couldn’t flinch or even blink, because the slightest movement might startle the snake into attacking him.
Patrick could feel the weight of the snake’s body on his arms and knew it was big. He went into a deep and calm place in his mind, working hard to block out the deadly creature in his face. He didn’t even want to breathe on the snake for fear it would whip around and bite him. While he had always known he would probably die a violent death, because it was how he lived, he’d certainly never considered being taken down by a rattlesnake’s venom.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the rattle of the snake’s tail crossed in front of his face and slid off of his right arm. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the snake slithered under the burlap of his ghillie suit and coiled up right beside him. It was at that moment he realized why the snake had sought him out—the air and ground all around him were cool, but he was warm.
While being careful not to move a millimeter, Patrick began cursing silently to himself. Women had always found the warmth of his body appealing and that had worked out well for him over most of his life, but this was a bit much. He wasn’t confident enough in his snake-wrangling abilities to silently dispatch of the snake without revealing his position or getting bit, but he knew he couldn’t take a shot without startling the animal into attacking him.
As he lay there pondering what to do, it occurred to him that his surroundings were starting to gradually take shape. The new day was breaking.
Maybe when the sun rises, he thought, this little bastard will leave and bask on a rock somewhere.
CHAPTER 42
Detective Bureau, Payneville, Louisiana
It was a quarter to eight on Tuesday morning and I found myself sitting in my truck outside the detective bureau. There were half a dozen black Suburbans in the parking lot, all of them from the federal government. I stared at the side entrance to the bureau, knowing what fate awaited me.
While I could control my vitals to the point of nearly stopping my heart, there was no way I could trigger a stressful reaction in response to the questions that required an intentional lie, which were known as control questions. Once they realized what I was up to, I wouldn’t be allowed on the security detail and that would be the end of my ploy to buy time until Patrick could save Dawn.
I dug out my phone and checked it for the umpteenth time that morning, but there was still no word from Patrick. While no news was usually good news in most cases, this was not one of those cases. I needed to know that Patrick was in place and I needed to know when Bruce and his men were put down.
A sudden knock on my window brought my attention to the passenger’s side of my truck. It was Rachael and she was staring at me with a quizzical expression on her face. I shut off the engine and stepped out of my truck, flashing as genuine a fake smile as I could muster.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Fine,” she said slowly, walking around to meet me. “What’s up with you?”
“Not a bunch.” I shrugged. “Just ready to get this finished.”
As we walked toward the entrance, she shot a thumb over her shoulder. “You were talking to yourself back there.”
“Oh, yeah?” I suddenly began to worry she’d heard too much. “What was I saying?”
“I couldn’t hear, but it looked serious.”
I punched in my security code and pulled the door open, moving aside so she could go through first.
“I’m sure it wasn’t important,” I said.
The sheriff was standing in the doorway to the hall when we walked in and he waved me over. There were officers leaning against the wall and they covered the full length of the hallway. Some of them nodded their greetings and others shook my hand. I disguised any feelings of trepidation I was experiencing with regard to Dawn’s wellbeing and went into automatic pilot.
“It looks like everyone showed up,” I said to the sheriff.
He nodded. “This is going to take all day. There are six polygraph examiners and they’re spread out all across the office. Some are in the interview rooms, one is in my office, and two are down the hall in the patrol section.”
“What order are we going in?” I asked.
“They’re working off the list you provided, calling the next one in line after they’re done with the last one.”
I stared idly up and down the hall, studying the faces of the men and women Rachael and I had selected for this security detail. They were all relaxed and at ease, most of them joking around with one another. They were the best of the best in our department…the savviest of our older veterans and the brightest of our new recruits. I would happily go into battle with each and every one of them on any given day, but I was not looking forward to this operation. If something went wrong, they might have to take me out, and I would hate myself for putting any of them through that horror.
Not wanting to have to force myself into casual conversations, I told the sheriff I had some work to do and for him to call me when it was my turn.
I then strode to my desk and plopped in my chair, wondering what I should be doing. I noticed the stack of photos I’d printed and I grabbed them and started rifling through them once again. When I came to the photo of Shannon with the other men, I stopped and pulled it close. Would Shannon really come through for me? Or would he simply forget I’d called? What if he knew this Bruce fellow and had called to warn him?
My heart suddenly dropped to my boots. If Shannon knew Bruce and had warned him, Bruce would surely kill Dawn. I rubbed my face, hoping I hadn’t made a critical error in judgment. I was usually a good judge of character and I didn’t peg Shannon as a killer, but one could never know.
I was about to toss the photo aside when something caught my eyes that made the hair on my neck stand up. The man next to Shannon, who wore the dark sunglasses and bandana, had a scar down the center of his left thumb—just like the thumb print I’d recovered from the receipt. This man had to be Bruce!
I snatched up my cell phone and hurried out into the parking lot, calling Shannon as I walked. It went straight to voicemail.
“Damn it!” I called a second time, but met with the same result. This time, I left a message telling him it was critically important that he call me back. I told him I also needed the name of the man with the linear scar on the pad of his left thumb. “Call me b
ack as soon as you get this message,” I urged at the end of the message. “This information could help save some lives.”
I had just ended the call when Rachael burst through the door. “London, they’re calling for you.”
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Here goes nothing,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” Rachael asked.
I just waved her off, but she stopped me.
“Hey, where’s Dawn? I thought she was due back to work yesterday?”
I didn’t want to lie to her, but I couldn’t tell her what was going on, so I just kept my mouth shut and walked past her. This brought a sour expression on her face and I frowned, hoping for a quick resolution so I could explain everything to her. She didn’t deserve the treatment I’d been giving her, but she couldn’t know I was secretly going along with a plot to kill the vice president. She would be required to take action or face legal consequences should anything go wrong. I had to protect her.
I made my way to the short hallway on the far end of the bureau section and was about to enter the interview room when the sheriff hollered for me. I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway that led to the patrol division. He waved for me to follow him.
I glanced at the door to the interview room. The polygraph examiner was bent over his machine. All I could see was his dark suit and the back of his salt-and-pepper head. He didn’t seem to notice I’d approached the door. I shrugged, walked to where the sheriff was standing.
“Someone wants to meet you,” he said. “Come with me for a minute.”
Curious, I followed him through the maze of offices and toward the southern side of the complex, where the major over the criminal department had his office. The sheriff held the door and waved me inside, where a man in an expensive suit stood staring up at the plaques on the wall. He turned when I entered and stuck out his hand.
“Officer Carter,” he said as we shook hands. “I’m Anthony Browning, husband to Vice President Courtney Browning.”
I fought to hide the guilt that threatened to flush across my face. “Very nice to meet you, sir.”
“The pleasure’s mine.” He waved for me to sit with him, and the sheriff left us alone. “My wife is eternally grateful for your decisive action last Monday. She intends to see to it that you receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom for your actions.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I said. “I was only doing my job.”
“While I appreciate your humility, you were not merely doing your job. It is the job of the Secret Service to protect the vice president, and they failed in that endeavor.” He cocked his head sideways. “Have you ever considered going to work for the federal government? If you were so inclined, we would fast-track the application process and see to it that you land on my wife’s security detail. She trusts you above all other people and wants you protecting her—”
Mr. Browning stopped speaking and stared down at his phone, which had begun to ring. It was the largest smart phone I’d ever seen. He nodded to himself and tapped on the screen for a few seconds. He then looked up when the door to the office opened and the sheriff walked in.
“I hate to interrupt,” Sheriff Chiasson said, “but the polygraph examiner is calling for you, London.”
I thanked Mr. Browning and stood to leave. He stood with me and shook my hand again. “Think about my offer.”
CHAPTER 43
The polygraph examiner looked over his round-rimmed glasses and gave a curt nod when I walked through the door to the interview room. His dark wavy hair didn’t budge when he nodded, obviously held in place by too much hairspray. He pointed to a chair. “Please, take a seat here.”
I did as he asked and immediately began relaxing by performing subtle breathing exercises and positive self-talk. As I lowered my heart rate and relaxed into my mental bubble, I waited patiently while he applied the blood pressure cuff to my arm, and then wrapped the thoracic pneumograph around my chest area and the abdominal pneumograph around my stomach area. He then placed the snap connectors from the EDA cable onto my ring and index fingers. Once he was done and seated behind his laptop, he began his pre-test interview, at which time he went over the control questions and the pertinent ones. The pertinent questions were straightforward and unambiguous, leaving no wiggle room.
I remained perfectly still, keeping my emotions unchanged as he began the actual questioning. Once he had gone through the control questions, he started getting into the pertinent questions.
“Are you currently involved in a plot to assassinate, or otherwise harm, the Vice President of the United States, Courtney Browning?” asked the examiner.
“No.” I remained completely motionless, as though I was out on a sniper mission and didn’t want to be detected. I kept my breathing steady, and remained calm throughout the entire question and through my answer. I was in my bubble and nothing could move me.
“Do you have any knowledge about a plot to assassinate, or otherwise harm, Vice President Courtney Browning?”
“No.”
“Have you been in contact with anyone who seeks to assassinate, or otherwise harm, Vice President Courtney Browning?”
“No.”
As the questioning continued, I maintained the same lack of emotion. When the examiner was done, he looked at me over his glasses. “Are you even alive?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Your heart rate is forty-eight beats per minute and your blood pressure is one-ten over seventy. I’ve never seen vitals that low—especially during a test.”
I didn’t comment. I just watched him remove his equipment from my body, wondering if I’d passed. If I hadn’t, I would be excluded from the security detail and Bruce would no longer need my services. That would render Dawn unnecessary to his cause and he would do to her what he and his men had done to Trace Mullins’ family. If those bastards touch Dawn, I’m going to—
“Okay, Mr. Carter,” said the examiner, gathering up the file with my name on it. “You’re good to go.”
“I am?” My jaw must’ve dropped a little, because the examiner cocked his head to the side.
“Is there a reason you wouldn’t be?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
“No, none at all.” I stood and nodded my thanks, and then hurried out into the hallway. The line was a little thinner than earlier, but there were still quite a few officers awaiting their turns. I walked straight to my desk and retrieved my cell phone from the bottom drawer. I frowned when I checked the display screen…still no word from Patrick, and Shannon hadn’t returned my call. I tried Shannon’s number, but, once again, it went straight to voicemail.
I sank to my chair and leaned as far back as I could. It was only then that I realized how tired I was. I hadn’t eaten anything since last night and I was starting to feel lightheaded. I needed my energy to complete this mission. I stood to my feet and made my way to the bathroom, which was on the opposite side of the complex. It was vacant when I entered and I went straight to one of the sinks and stared into the mirror.
“You look like shit, London,” I said to my reflection, wondering how much longer I could pretend everything was fine, when, in actuality, I was worried sick that Dawn might lose her life. I didn’t know what I would do if something happened to her. The mere thought made my knees weak and my chest ache. I was actually very surprised how well I’d done with the polygraph test, considering the storm of emotions inside of me. I had to credit my years of mental training and my peak physical condition for the way I was handling everything, but everyone has their limits and I felt like I was reaching mine.
Sighing deeply, I turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face. The cold liquid was a shock to my senses, but it was refreshing. After drying off, I left the building and drove to a fast food joint and grabbed a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. I drove to the Payneville Park and stopped my truck near the gazebo on the eastern end of the elongated strip of property and found a s
eat in the shade.
The heat was smothering, but I didn’t care. I wanted to breathe fresh air and I wanted to be alone. Although I didn’t have an appetite, the food did wonders for my mood. I could almost feel my body converting the food to energy and I began to feel more optimistic with each bite. I would be able to pull off the perfect “fake assassination attempt” and Patrick would rescue Dawn in time for dinner tomorrow night.
I had one bite left when my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
“This is London,” I said quickly.
“Why, hello, Mr. Carter.” It was Bruce and his voice seemed strained. “How are you progressing?”
“Considering I had to take a polygraph examination where they asked if I was involved in a plot to assassinate the vice president and I’m still a free man, I guess I’m doing great.”
“You did what?”
“The feds showed up and put all of our people on the box,” I explained. “They’re trying to avoid what happened last time.”
“And you passed?” Bruce let out a guttural laugh. “My God, you’re good! We were right to select you, my friend!” He moved the phone from his mouth and yelled out to someone in the background that I had beaten the polygraph machine. I heard some excited chatter and then he came back on the phone.
“The vice president will be touching down at the New Orleans International Airport around four-thirty in the morning,” he explained. “Her motorcade will arrive in the town of Beacher two hours later and I’ll expect to see breaking news on my television set between about eight and noon. If not…”
He allowed his voice to trail off.
“I want proof of life now,” I said, “and again tomorrow morning.”
