by J. A. Faura
To Grady the next three seconds seemed to take an eternity. Within a half a second of hearing the shot, his instincts took over and he began to simultaneously hit the floor, go for his gun and look for the source of the shot. Within that same half a second, everyone around him either dropped or went for cover, all going for their side arms as they did so. As he was going down, Grady had Riche in his line of sight out of the garage and he watched as Riche began to turn his head in the direction of the sound, but within that same half a second Grady saw his head come completely apart, sending blood splatter and brain matter onto everyone and everything within four feet. As his body dropped straight down, the guards behind and in front of him went down to one knee and drew and trained their weapons out in the direction the shot came from. There was only one direction from where the shot could have come, but there was no way to tell from how far or what angle it came from. After Riche was hit and everyone realized there were no other shots or people hit, they went into emergency mode with everyone taking on prearranged duties immediately.
Still within the span of those first three seconds, Grady took stock of his own body and was the first one to speak up, “Is anyone else hit?!”
No one answered, but given that everyone down there was a trained tactical officer, they realized almost immediately that there had been no other shots and that there would most likely not be any more. There was no need to check on Riche and whether he was alive or dead, his head had literally been shot in half. It had been an incredible shot given the space the line of sight allowed from the street into the loading area. The unit commander got on the radio immediately letting everyone know there had been shots fired, that the prisoner was hit and almost certainly dead and that no one had seen nor could otherwise tell what building the shot had come from.
The courthouse went into immediate lockdown and SWAT teams surrounded the building keeping everyone, including the press, away from all entrances and exits. Whoever was in the building would remain there and whoever was on their way in would be kept out until it was determined that it was safe.
Robert Grady got up and walked over to the body of Donald Riche. He holstered his weapon and made his way to the commander of the tactical unit, Charlie Burns, who was also standing over the body. “Jesus Christ, Bob, can you believe this shit? Had to be ex-military, had to be, there’s no way a civilian, even a SWAT sniper, could have gotten that shot through at that angle, no way. Judging by the lag between the sound of the shot and when he was hit, I’m going to say it was about five hundred yards, maybe more because the motherfucker had to be up high, but not too high, angle wouldn’t have been right.”
Grady listened as Burns continued to talk in a manic, nervous way that was obviously fueled by the adrenaline of the moment. Charlie was talking more to himself than to Grady and Grady knew to let him just vent it out. The SWAT units were already around the building and all exits and entrances were secured. Paramedics and a team from the medical examiner were down in the loading bay dealing with the body and the tissue that could be recoverable. It had been three minutes from the time the shot was fired to this point, but those first three seconds would be burned into Detective Bob Grady’s memory forever.
With everything going on around him, with everyone scrambling to do what they thought to be the right thing, Grady was beginning to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was absolutely nothing to indicate who had done this, and given the news coverage that had been given to the case, there were at least 1,000 possible suspects who had the skills, the hardware and the opportunity to do it, but there was only one that Grady could think of with the motivation to do it and the skills to do it like this. It wasn’t some wacko flying into the garage shooting up the place or someone wanting to get their name in the headlines, although most of these guys would think that’s exactly who it was. Grady knew better. He knew this had been carefully and professionally planned, that every detail of how it had gone down had been anticipated and accounted for. Grady knew this because 25 years of police and military experience had served him well; he had spoken to the man that had done this just a couple of days ago. And while he would take a while to admit it to himself, Robert Grady had known that this was exactly what that man was going to do back then.
Steven Loomis had followed the shot all the way in, the way he had been trained to and the way he had always done it. Once he knew he had hit the mark, he allowed himself to inhale once again. He was still in operational mode, functioning on autopilot. There was no joy or sense of revenge, there was just the sense of satisfaction, of having completed the mission successfully without anyone getting hurt. He was well aware of what he had done, and more than ever, he had the clarity of his motive front and center in his mind. He had planned for every contingency and had understood the consequences of his actions from the moment he had made his decision. Over the years, Steven Loomis had struggled with the morality or righteousness of some of the most important operations he had been involved in, and in every instance he had to weigh his own personal views against his operational order and what his country considered to be of vital interest. In every instance, he had understood that doing what his country deemed necessary was what he had signed up for, what he had sworn to be governed by. In some instances, his own personal views happened to coincide with what his country needed him to do, and in every one of those instances he had experienced a clarity of purpose, an unflinching conviction that what he had done was right, not by his standards or by his country’s standards but by human standards. He had never felt that clarity of vision, that unflinching certainty, more than he did at this moment. His tactical skills were as sharp as they had been while he was in the service and he immediately went about closing this end of the operation. He still knew that this was the easy part; the hard part was still to come. The only weapon he would have to use from now on was his brain.
He packed his rifle and his scope, looked at the map that showed what the likely reach of the net would be by now and plotted his route out of the building. He’d been wearing coveralls with a maintenance company logo on them. He’d been just one more anonymous maintenance worker that came and went without anyone taking any real notice. He took the coveralls off and packed them in the same pack his rile was in. He was wearing a grey pinstriped suit and a purple paisley tie, his hair was neatly combed and he had a briefcase in one hand and his pack on his back.
He walked to the stairs where he had already scouted out a place behind an intersection of pipes and valves where he could place the pack. After dropping off the pack in the stairwell, he went back to the hallway to use the elevator, as using the stairs would be conspicuous and something an amateur would most likely resort to.
Loomis walked to the elevator, pressed the down button, and when the elevator arrived he stepped in. When he stepped into the lobby, he could hear the sirens. He could see the black and whites racing, the uniformed officers setting up a perimeter, and confused and scared pedestrians running from the courts building. As he suspected, they were doing that a full block away from where he stepped out onto the street. He turned to his right, went to the corner and hailed a cab. He would be heading to his office next. He had to talk to the General and he had other arrangements to make. He had to get some files he was going to need from his office and he had to make arrangements to join his family at his in-laws’ house.
Grady was still in shock. He hadn’t even registered that he had brain matter and blood on himself. He was leaning against the transport van, trying to get his bearings, smoking a cigarette, something he didn’t do often, and drinking a Sprite. He watched all the activity around him. Although the crime scene investigation team was scouring the area for any potential evidence, Grady knew that the only evidence was either still lodged in Riche’s body or spread all over the wall or on the people that had been within 10 feet of him. There would be nothing else to be found on him, and if Grady was right about his suspicion, even the ballistics would be of little u
se as he imagined it was most likely an advanced military bullet not accessible to just anyone on the street.
It was hard to figure out what to do next, but after giving the scene commander his statement and having been given the go-ahead, he decided the best place for him would be back at his office. He had a feeling that’s where he would need to be. By now the entire city of New York knew about the incident and there were a million stories about how it had happened, and the media already had people on the scene and were lining up their in-studio analysts and experts. All had their own thoughts about what happened, all of it speculation and all of them promising ‘to keep you informed as more details came in.’ Twitter feeds exploded with the incident and there were second-by-second updates. There had not been any cameras rolling when the shot happened, as most crews were still setting up to get the van coming out of the garage. But there was more news footage and phone-shot video of the aftermath than anyone could possibly watch, even if they had hours to do it.
Grady got in an unmarked car and weaved his way past the barricades, showing his badge to get around. As he was leaving, he noticed that the tactical unit and the SWAT team were already expanding their net and were setting up a perimeter that was going to encompass two full city blocks. Grady knew, however, that the shooter was long gone and if his instincts were right he knew where he would be heading.
Steven Loomis headed straight to the General’s office. He knew the story would have reached him by now. Goodman had three screens in his office, all tuned to various news outlets, so even though the details would be sketchy he would know what had happened by now and he would know exactly who had done it.
Steven walked past the offices and cubicles that lined the hallway to the General’s office. Although he could see nobody was looking or turning their heads, he knew that they would also know something by now and that some of them would also know or strongly suspect his involvement. They were all involved in the security and intelligence industry after all.
Steven got to the General’s office and knocked on the door. From the other side came a simple, gruff “Come in.”
Steven walked into the office. He didn’t know exactly what it was that he wanted to say to the old man, but he figured he would just approach it as an operational report. “I think you’ve probably heard about the situation at the courthouse.”
Goodman’s bright blue eyes were looking intensely at Steven, but he said nothing and just gave him a slight nod.
Steven continued, “Sir, I know you don’t abide by bullshit and I’m not here to give you any. I used the company’s tactical assets to complete my task. Whatever happens, I will always remember what you’ve done for me. If I decide to eventually take responsibility for this, I will let everyone know it was without the knowledge or approval of anyone in the company.
“I want to thank you for all your years of counsel and the lessons you’ve imparted. It has been an honor and a true privilege to work with you and with the rest of the team. I am very sorry if my actions bring unwanted scrutiny and attention to the company. I think under the circumstances I have no real alternative but to resign my position.”
With that Steven handed the General a sealed envelope, which he did not open. The General looked at the envelope and then at Steven. He put the envelope down on his desk without saying anything, stood up and walked to the cabinet where he kept his Scotch and his cigars. He pulled out two cigars and poured two stiff Scotches and went back to his desk holding a glass out to Steven.
Steven went to speak, “Sir, thank you, but I don’t think I should…”
The General waved him off, “Nonsense, I think this is precisely when you should.”
He walked over and put the cigar and the drink in front of Steven and went back behind his desk. They lit their cigars and drank their Scotch in silence with the television screens turned to a low volume in the background, one of them giving minute-by-minute updates of the situation downtown.
Finally the General broke the silence, “Max Zeidler.”
Steven hadn’t heard what he had said, “Excuse me?”
Goodman puffed on his cigar, “He’s represented a few people here on some pretty dicey situations and he is the best there is. He’s on retainer to help us with whatever we need.”
Steven froze, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “Sir, I can’t allow the company to pay for my…”
The older man interrupted, waving his hands, “Steven, before all of this I told you all of us had to make hard decisions, life and death decisions. We made them on the battlefield and we have to make them in what we do. When your little girl went missing and you found out who had done it, a decision had to be made – you would either let the law handle it or you would handle it.
“I think I’ve told you that more than once, whatever else you had to think about, it would always come back to that deciding question: Do I let it go or do I do something?”
Steven stood listening, sipping on his Scotch and smoking his cigar. The old man had been right. This is precisely when a Scotch and a cigar could soothe the nerves.
“I’ve known you for years, Steven. I know what kind of father and husband you are and what kind of man you are, and believe it or not this is precisely what I thought you would decide.” The two sat in silence for a few seconds.
“I also told you we always take care of our own, out in the field and here at home. For what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision. Some things that need to be done can only be done by those that have the skills and the motivation to do them, and this needed to be done.
“I don’t know what comes next for you, what you are planning on doing, but whatever that is, people will understand. Now I’m going to put this letter in my safe and we’ll see what the future brings.
“In the meantime, you’ll take a short leave of absence and go join your family; that is where you need to be. We’ll backstop you here if the need for it arises.”
That let Steven know that the old man had thought he might do something like this and had already established a plan for whatever contingency came up, the police, FBI, anything.
Steven had put down the drink and the cigar and had only one more thing he needed to talk about with the General, “Sir, Marybeth and the kids are at her parents’ house, I was thinking of tapping into my 401(k) to…”
Again he was interrupted, “Don’t worry about that. If the time comes, we will take care of Beth and the kids through some of our international operations. They will be fine.”
At that point Steven finally let loose of all of his emotions, of the stress and tension that he had been operating under for the last couple of days. He put his head in his hands and began to cry softly, partly because the adrenaline was wearing off and everything was starting to come crashing down at once and partly out of immense grief. The realization of what he had done, of its consequences and of the effect it would have on his family, was placing its full weight on his shoulders and he finally let go. He was also enormously grateful to have worked for this man, a man for whom the human side of what they did was just as important as everything else.
Goodman stood from behind his desk, walked over to him and simply put his hand on his back. They stayed like that for some minutes and then the silence was broken, “Steven, take care of whatever you have to take care of. Go to your family and if you need to, call Zeidler. He’ll know what do.”
Steven nodded, wiped his face, stood up and took the General’s hand, “Sir, I can’t begin to thank you and…”
Goodman waved him off with a small smile, “Enough of that crap, just remember to call Zeidler if the time comes. He’s on retainer and he’s the best.”
Steven went to his office and picked up all the research he’d printed out and all of the files Carl Gilliam had put together for him and put them in his briefcase. As he was thinking of what he would need, he remembered and came back to pick up the number that Leonard had given him, Dr.
Jim Scoma’s number.
Robert Grady got to the precinct and went immediately to his office. He closed the door behind him, went to his desk and pulled out a bottle of Maker’s Mark from the bottom drawer of his desk. He emptied the bit of cold coffee from the paper cup sitting on his desk and poured himself a healthy shot, something he hadn’t done in some time. He leaned back and turned to face the window. He went back to his desk, picked up the phone and made the call he knew he had to make.
After he picked up Scoma’s number, Steven Loomis was going through the little notes Steph always left on his desk at the end of the day with the little details that all of the files of his deals were most likely missing. There were quite a few. As he was looking through the notes, he came across a sealed envelope from the General’s office. He read the note inside and once he was finished burned it and put the ashes in the trash. Just as he’d thought, the General had already developed a plan. He looked around his office and was getting ready to leave when his phone rang. Everyone in the office knew about his situation, so he knew it wouldn’t be anyone from GIC, and every one of his clients was being handled so he knew it wouldn’t be any of them. It had to be the General or someone in his family.
He came around the desk and picked up the phone, “Hello?” He recognized the voice on the other end of the phone immediately.
“You really didn’t trust us to take care of it? You think we are incompetent, I guess.”
Steven sat down, “Hello, Detective Grady. I’m surprised to hear from you.”
Grady wasn’t going to let it go, “Seriously, this is how you want to handle this?”
Loomis didn’t have a plan formulated for whatever would come next, but now, having this conversation with Grady, he realized he would have to have a conversation with the man eventually. He was incredibly thankful that he’d opened the note from Goodman before the phone rang.
