Jim McGill 03 The K Street Killer

by Joseph Flynn

  If those within the wall held out long enough to exhaust their supplies of food and water, airdrops would be made. Nutritious but unseasoned packets of food would be supplied. Only one kind. Forcing the inmates to eat the same thing endlessly. Water would be the only liquid provided.

  After a month or two, a dedicated TV signal would be opened, strictly for the purpose of advising Godfrey that he and anyone inside over the age of fifteen would be tried on federal charges in absentia. If they were found guilty and refused to surrender, they would serve their sentences in situ.

  Without further communication with the outside world.

  That was the plan that Galia had come up with for a situation such as the one they were facing now. It was the plan to which the president had agreed.

  The president told Galia, “Do it.”

  Ellie Booker was the first one to see the heavy construction equipment arrive, and it chilled her. She was not only the producer of a news show, she was a news junkie. She’d seen clips of this kind of equipment at work before and it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out how it would be used.

  “Jesus Christ,” she said, “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Reverend Godfrey gave the WorldWide News woman a sour look. He didn’t like to hear the Lord’s name taken in vain. It was a sin. Almost as bad was her having the nerve to blaspheme in front of him. Worse still, watching the woman scurry around and pack up her camera and other belongings in a frantic manner scared him.

  He got to his feet and went to the window to see what had frightened Ellie.

  Art Dunston, his public information officer, joined him there.

  “All I see are some bulldozers and such,” Godfrey said. “Nothing that has a bit of firepower.”

  Ellie looked at the preacher like he was a backwoods bumpkin, an expression he didn’t care for and to which he was about to object. But Ellie turned to Dunston and asked, “Are you smart enough to see what’s going to happen?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I believe I am.” Dunston’s voice carried a lot more of the South now.

  Slipping into his evangelist’s role, Ellie thought.

  “Well, tell the reverend, will you?” she asked, getting back to her packing.

  He turned to Godfrey and said, “Those men and their machines, Reverend Godfrey, they mean to lock us in.”

  “With bulldozers and cranes? How’re they going to do that? Dig a moat?”

  “Look over there at that big flatbed truck,” Dunston said, pointing.

  Truck? Ellie hadn’t seen that. She rushed to the window … and there it was.

  Dunston continued his tutorial. “What you see over there, Reverend, is a prefabricated section of concrete wall, pretty much like the State of Israel used to wall itself off from the Palestinians living on the West Bank. What’s gonna happen is the dozers will dig a footing in the earth and the cranes will lower the prefab sections of wall into place. Construction like that can go up right quick.”

  Dunston had it exactly right, Ellie thought, but he didn’t seem at all frightened by the prospect of being imprisoned. He had a peaceful smile on his face. Looked like he didn’t have a worry in the world.

  Ellie said, “I’m outta here.” She hurried to the door but Dunston called out to her.

  “Ms. Booker?” Ellie stopped to see if he was trying to stop her at gunpoint. He wasn’t, but he might as well have been. “What?” she demanded.

  “Firing on that helicopter? That was done against orders. Some of our recruits don’t have all the training and discipline we’d like. You go racing across the campus, someone might mistake your intentions, start shooting again. That happens, the people on the other side might not hold their fire, thinking we’re trying to stop their wall from going up.”

  Goddamnit, Ellie thought, he was right.

  “The crossfire could get intense, Ms. Booker. It’d be a terrible risk to take.”

  For the first time since she’d left her parents’ house of horrors, Ellie Booker was brought to tears. She dropped her gear. Seeing that was a sight that made Burke Godfrey smile. He’d had it with disrespectful, disobedient women.

  “It might take some time, Ms. Booker,” Dunston said, “but we’ll negotiate a release for you, don’t you worry.”

  Dunston didn’t see Godfrey give a small shake of his head but Ellie did.

  That prick meant to hold on to her.

  “What if they won’t let anyone out?” Ellie said.

  Dunston shrugged. He looked at Godfrey, who needed a moment to see where Dunston was going, then understood, firmed his jaw and nodded.

  “Worse comes to worse, Ms. Booker,” Dunston said, “we’ll look to the precedent of biblical times. You know about the siege of Masada?”

  Ellie did and she went pale hearing the reference.

  The last Jewish stronghold in the Great Revolt against the Roman Empire was the fortress at Masada. The Romans lay siege to it and when they finally breached the walls, they found that all but seven of the defenders had chosen suicide over submission.

  More than nine hundred people had died by their own hands.

  Masada. The fountainhead for Jonestown, Waco … and now Richmond?

  Ellie’s terror made Burke Godfrey chuckle.

  “Probably won’t be as bad as all that, Ms. Booker,” he said. “Meanwhile, why don’t you just consider yourself an embed?”

  Number One Observatory Circle

  Hearing from Special Agent Latz that Representative Garner had already gotten past the security perimeter almost unhinged SAC Crogher, especially as Thing One with Holly G. and Holmes inside had just arrived. He gestured to an agent to open the door from which the president would exit and crouched so he might address her eye to eye.

  “Madam President, there’s been a breach of security. I don’t know how it happened, but until it can be resolved …”

  Crogher wanted to say he couldn’t allow her to leave the car or even permit Thing One to remain on the premises. She would have to return to the White House until the situation was understood and brought under control. That was what his training told him should be done. That was what would have been done under any other chief executive.

  Patricia Darden Grant, however, was different from her predecessors in any number of ways, both substantive and stylistic.

  Unfazed, the president asked Crogher, “What’s the breach?”

  Crogher had to make a conscious effort not to grind his teeth.

  He was going to be questioned and overruled, he just knew it.

  At least Holmes had the decency to keep quiet for the moment.

  “Congressman Zachary Garner has made his way onto the premises without passing by this checkpoint. As your husband can tell you, this is a matter of no small concern.”

  “Jim?” the president asked.

  “Could be,” McGill said.

  Crogher was grateful for even that token agreement.

  Until the president asked Holmes, “Big chance or small?”

  “Small.”

  “Madam President,” Crogher said, “that’s not the question. I’m not supposed to allow for any chance that you might be endangered.”

  McGill said, “Celsus is right. I feel the same way.”

  SAC Crogher looked at McGill, all but stupefied. The two of them agreed?

  Even two to one, though, they couldn’t outvote the president.

  She said, “Celsus, the way things have been going with Kenny McGill and the damnable politics in this town, I need to see, I need to feel a moment of joy, even if it belongs to someone else. I’m going to watch Kira Fahey marry Welborn Yates, and you’re going to see to it that it’s safe for me to do so.

  “For the moment, you’re going to find a secure location on these grounds for me to wait in relative comfort until you can find Congressman Garner. Then I will sit next to my husband in what I hope will be good seats and we will witness the affirmation of love and hope that is the marriage of two souls. Are we clear on all t
hat, SAC Crogher?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Crogher said.

  Made him think Holly G. had been influenced by her meeting with the Queen of England last year. Sounded like a royal decree to him. Not that presidents couldn’t get imperious all on their own.

  What surprised him was that he didn’t want to argue. The president was right. Whatever she wanted, it was his job to provide.

  The president turned to McGill and said, “See what you can do to help, will you, Jim?”

  Her henchman kissed her and said, “As you wish.”

  Five minutes later, another limousine pulled up to the security checkpoint. Crogher was no longer there, but the special agents were on high alert, having been given the word to detain Zachary Garner should he try to slip out of the security net. They’d also been advised that Speaker Derek Geiger, should he arrive, was to be given a going-over that included everything but a body cavity search.

  If Crogher had been there, after being forced to allow the president entrance, he might have insisted on the cavity search, too.

  As is was, the senior special agent at the gate, Russ Chester, nodded to Geiger when he lowered his window. “Good morning, Mister Speaker. May I have the password, please?”

  “O happy man.”

  “That’s correct, sir. Will you please step out of your vehicle?”

  “Step out?”

  “Please, sir. Security conditions have been stepped up.”

  Geiger frowned upon hearing that. “Is something wrong?”

  “I can’t comment, sir.”

  “Should I be concerned for my safety?”

  Special Agent Chester had been instructed by Crogher to turn the speaker around at the gate if an opportunity that wouldn’t cause an uproar presented itself. Senior man that he was, Chester didn’t want to overdo it, make the scare attempt transparent.

  “Mister Speaker, with our mindset, there’s always concern.”

  Chester’s words had the unintended effect of reassuring Geiger.

  Sure, Secret Service guys were paranoid all the time. Came with the job.

  “I’ll risk it,” he said, opening the door and stepping out. “Metal-detecting wand?”

  “Full-airport frisk, I’m afraid, sir.”

  Geiger scowled but stood his ground.

  Chester did the frisk. He stopped when he got to Geiger’s waist.

  “What do you have under your jacket, sir?”

  “A colostomy bag.”

  Chester knew about those things. His grandpa had had one.

  “I’ll need to take a look.”

  “I’m afraid it needs to be emptied.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve seen it before. Just a quick look.”

  Geiger showed him, his own real feces in a semi-transparent plastic bag.

  As far as Special Agent Chester was concerned, he’d gone the extra mile.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience, sir. Enjoy the wedding.”

  Geiger nodded. No hard feelings. He got back into his car and moved on.

  The man who had sold him the plastic gun in Austria had thrown in the colostomy bag at no extra charge. The gun nestled inside a sealed bubble surrounded by the wearer’s actual bodily waste. The gun dealer had told Geiger the bag wasn’t foolproof, but he said there were few people who would want to delve deeply into other people’s shit.

  Geiger thought security people shouldn’t be so squeamish.

  Vice President Mather Wyman found his old friend Representative Zachary Garner in a small room just under the roof of the mansion. It was a holding space for old chairs and other odds and ends of furniture awaiting transport to charitable resale stores. The room looked out a north-facing window to the triangular lawn where the wedding ceremony would be held. Garner sat in an armchair, looking out at the grounds, an unlit Cohiba in his dangling left hand.

  Standing behind Garner, the vice president couldn’t tell if his friend was conscious or even alive. Special Agent Latz stood to Mather Wyman’s right. At the vice president’s request, Latz had been reassigned to accompany him. The special agent moved to interpose himself between the two men.

  Wyman put out a hand to stop him.

  “Zack,” the vice president said, “are you all right?”

  The hand holding the cigar raised its thumb.

  “Still present and accounted for, sir,” Garner said. “Pull up a chair, Mather.”

  The vice president started to move forward, but this time Latz stopped him.

  “Representative Garner, I’m Special Agent August Latz of the Secret Service. May I see your other hand, sir?”

  Garner raised his right hand just above his shoulder. Turned it sideways. It was empty.

  Latz had noticed no movement to set aside a gun or other object.

  “May I ask, sir, how you arrived here today?” Latz said.

  “Two of your colleagues were watching my home this morning, special agent. They were kind enough to provide chauffeur service to me.”

  “The Secret Service brought you here?” Latz found that hard to believe.

  “No, I’m sorry. I meant colleagues in a broader sense. These gentlemen were from the FBI. They arrived before the Secret Service showed up, I was told. I believe your immediate compañeros were told they could stand down.”

  Latz bit back a curse. Fucking feebs. Still, they must have rolled past the Secret Service agents on the gate — before he got there. Somebody was going to catch hell from Crogher. He just hoped the kill radius didn’t extend to him.

  “Did the FBI say why they were watching you, sir?”

  “I asked, but they declined to answer.”

  That, Latz could understand. You didn’t give away the game to a suspect.

  The special agent gestured to the vice president. He would move a chair next to Garner’s right side, where he could get a good look at the situation. He did so cautiously, without incident. Garner looked at Latz, gave him a wink.

  He didn’t like that, but he didn’t see any threat.

  In fact, if Garner wasn’t about to breath his last, it wouldn’t be long in coming.

  The special agent gestured Wyman forward. The vice president took his seat.

  “Would it be possible to get a sip of water, Mather?” Garner asked.

  “Of course. Right away.” He looked at Latz.

  Who wasn’t going anywhere. “I’ll call for it, sir.”

  He moved behind Garner, taking up a position where he could jump on the man if Garner made — was able to make — a move he didn’t like. He whispered into his wrist-mike, requested the water and brought SAC Crogher up to date on the situation. He was told to stay where he was; another agent would arrive to escort Wyman down to the wedding.

  “Hope you don’t mind about the cigar, Mather,” Garner said.

  “Not at all. Would you like me to light it for you?”

  “I’d love it. But I don’t think the nicotine would agree with my meds, and I’d really like to survive long enough to see Kira and her young man exchange their vows. I don’t think I’ve got much more time than that left. That’s why I came up here, to die out of the way. Not cause a fuss, get wheeled out discreetly.”

  The vice president said, “You stopped in to see Kira one last time.”

  “I did. Took most of my remaining strength to put on a good front. Mather, she’s so lovely. That young man is getting a real treasure.”

  “I know. So does he.”

  “I hope they have a long time together, more than you or I had with our wives.”

  “So do I.”

  Garner turned to his friend with a ghostly grin. “I had to use your office bathroom again. While I was in there washing my hands, I thought to myself: I bet Mather still hides his cigars.”

  The vice president smiled sadly. “You know me too well.”

  Another Secret Service agent appeared. He brought with him a silver tray bearing a glass of water. Latz handed the glass to Garner. Took another look. Saw nothing threatening.
/>   Garner sipped and handed the glass back. “Thank you.”

  “Zack, I have to go,” the vice president said.

  “Of course. You’re giving away the bride.”

  Wyman put a hand on Garner’s shoulder. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “One last request? Yes, there is something. If you can have someone locate him, I believe there’s a guest present by the name of Putnam Shady. He should be with Mister McGill’s friend Margaret Sweeney. Please tell Mister Shady I’d like to have a word with him before I go.”

  The vice president said he would. He kissed his friend’s forehead in farewell.

  Salvation’s Path Church, Richmond, Virginia

  Ellie Booker wanted out now. The thought that the inmates of the church campus might be headed for mass suicide scared her silly. A wave of lunacy like that started to build, nobody in its path was safe. At Jonestown, the people who didn’t want to drink the poisoned Kool-Aid got shot. Survival was not an option. Ellie didn’t intend to be the victim of a failed plea for mercy.

  Leaving Reverend Godfrey’s office, she exited the rear of the administration building. The structure sheltered her from the noise of the construction machinery. To her right she saw a group of ten men in uniform carrying rifles run past. They didn’t notice her. She wondered if they were going to attack the wall builders. If that happened, she was sure the government people would shoot back, and she’d bet they had a damn sight more firepower.

  Ellie took out her cell phone and waited a minute to see if the roar of a firefight would make a conversation impossible. But no gunfire ensued. The defenders must have been intent on seeing that none of the government paramilitaries was infiltrating the campus. Their movement had been defensive, and the government was showing restraint, not racking up a body count that might be criticized by the judiciary or the political right.

  Shit. Patti Grant was playing it smart again. Burke Godfrey wanted to lock her out, fine. She’d lock his ass in. Prison, like home, was where you made it. The president’s underlings would work things out so that any blood that was spilled would be on Godfrey’s hands. Anybody who criticized her then, or tried to defend Godfrey, would be guilty of the worst sin there was these days: losing politics.