That was where the goals of Lardner and O’Connell merged into one. O’Connell saw the strength of the movement and wanted to take advantage of it. Lardner, on the other hand, was a true believer. He wanted everyone to carry a gun, wanted no woman to be allowed an abortion, hated Obamacare, wanted Christian values taught in schools, tougher immigration laws and fought for government to come from statehouses not Washington. He was a power to be reckoned with by anyone, Republican or Democrat. He attended the event because he knew that big money would be in the room. He wasn’t sure that he even needed O’Connell to raise money, and had expressed that opinion on more than one occasion. Still, tonight he was making nice with everyone. O’Connell was not quite as smitten with the ultra-right; only, he was a practical politician and figured at least for now the Tea Party was forging to the lead among Republicans. He needed to be in the front of that parade, baton in hand, like Professor Harold Hill in The Music Man.
Governor Lardner was dressed in a full Lone Ranger outfit: White hat, black mask, gray long-sleeve pullover shirt and matching pants, a bandana tied around his neck, black boots, and two six-shooters strapped to his waist. Susan played the part of a bar maid, looking like Miss Kitty in Gunsmoke, only with a red mask. When the doors opened, the detail allowed the governor to momentarily stand in the center, waving both hands to the crowd before they closed around him. Walt took point with Ryan and Jeff on either side of the couple. Walt looked at the crowd and suddenly felt tightness in his chest. His breath became rapid and shallow. Am I having a heart attack? He couldn’t force his legs to move. Wyatt took his position at the back of the ballroom, nodding to Jack as he did so. Finally, Jeff said, “Walt, you okay? We need to get to the stage?”
Walt looked at Jeff and at the crowd as the panic attack dissipated. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go.”
They started moving deliberately through the crowd, having to pause frequently when the governor stopped to shake hands and make small talk with potential donors. Walt glanced at the balcony, pleased to see no one but the two Fort Worth policemen who had taken their place. The third was at the front, scanning the partiers as they entered. It took a half hour to traverse the one hundred feet of the ballroom. Walt’s breathing had returned to normal. The three detail escorts scoured the room as the governor walked through the crowd, praying that they would get him and Petal through the freaks, unharmed. While Walt looked ahead, he also was watching the hands of everyone who came close to Lardner. After many years on the detail, he had learned that hand movement was the potential tell, not the eyes.
Miriam Van Zandt had taken a late afternoon nap. When she awakened, she made coffee in the percolator in her room. No food on her stomach until the mission was complete. She showered and laid out her costume and checked the Glock one last time. When she was satisfied, she dressed in the costume with a green T-shirt over the top. She slipped on her Nikes and placed the slippers, the sequin-topped stockings, her Glock, the holster and cat mask in her fanny pack. At the last minute she remembered a pocket knife that she also put into the holster. After she inserted the black contact lenses, she checked herself in the mirror and pronounced herself ready for the party. She thought through potential contingencies. She always had an extra sweatshirt and pants in the back seat. She checked everything off in her mind and left the room.
She drove to the side street beside the mall and duct taped the front and rear licenses just in case her truck was spotted on surveillance cameras. Maybe it was belt and suspenders, but she was successful in her avocation because she was meticulous. Satisfied with the job, she went to her chosen space. There were no cars parked within fifty yards. She strapped on the fanny pack and traced her steps in a slow jog down Alta Mere to Roaring Springs and through the fairways. She already knew that getting through the woods with the brushes and brambles was going to be difficult. Clouds filled the sky. With virtually no light, it was going to make the trek through the woods even more precarious. She waited until her eyes were as accustomed as possible to the dark and took her time walking to the back of the mansion. Once there, she identified a live oak tree she knew she could spot from the other side. She changed from her running shoes and removed the T-shirt, buckled on the holster with the Glock and the knife, and folded the shoes and shirt into the fanny pack which she placed at the base of the tree. Taking a last look around, she scaled the wall until she could peek over to get the lay of the land. One guard was sitting in a chair, texting someone. He would have to be eliminated. The cat burglar dropped silently to the other side and eased over the patio stones to the guard. She had her knife in her hand. With one slice across the neck, both his carotid arteries were severed. She walked to the last door on the left to retrieve the key from the pot. It wasn’t there.
Van Zandt fished around in the dirt. Nothing. She moved to the next pot. Again nothing. She tried two doors. Both locked. She looked around the patio and considered aborting the mission. Only she didn’t want to lose her hundred grand. It was to be her biggest payday and she could already picture that land above Alpine with kids playing in the front yard. And, she didn’t want to disappoint her dad. She considered alternate plans and walked to the back of the ballroom to the delivery entrance she had spotted on the satellite photo. She rounded the corner and found it not only unlocked, but the doors were open. She straightened her shoulders as if she belonged there and approached the doorway.
“Ma’am, you can’t be out here. All of the guests must remain indoors.”
She turned to see a man in a dark suit, leaning up against a Suburban. He obviously thought she was a guest and hadn’t noticed that she had come from the side of the house. She considered approaching him and again using her knife, but thought better of it. The element of surprise was gone.
“It was a little stuffy in there. I just stepped out to get a breath of air. I’m okay now.”
She turned and walked through the doors. When she stepped into the ballroom, she looked as if she belonged. A mask with feline ears covered the top of her head and her nose. Black eyes peered through the mask. The contact lenses concealed their natural color. She wore what appeared to be calf-length sequined boots with her Glock 26 strapped to the right calf. She slipped through the crowd and took a position beside a bar in front of the third patio door, no more than twenty feet from the microphone in the center of the stage.
Governor Lardner bounded up the stage steps, intending to convey the message that he was much younger than his sixty-four years. He shook hands with the Hale brothers, Kevin O’Connell, Senator Sinclair and Congressman Sanchez. After hugging each of their wives, he turned and raised both hands in the air when he approached the microphone. Walt discreetly took a place a few feet to the governor’s right. Ryan was in a similar position on the left. Jeff, the body agent, stood directly behind the governor next to the curtains. Wyatt and Jack remained in the back of the room, on the lookout for the slightest awkward movement. Walt breathed a sigh of relief that they had made it through the crowd to the stage without incident.
When the governor raised his hands, the crowd roared, Annie Oakley fired her gun and several balloons were popped in greeting. When that happened, Walt suddenly no longer saw the Republicans, but, instead, the carnage at the barracks in Saudi Arabia. He heard the sound of the Scud whining through the air and then crashing through the ceiling. Bodies were everywhere; the roof collapsed, men were crying and screaming. “Incoming,” he said under his breath. He turned to run when Jeff quietly approached and grabbed his elbow.
“Walt, are you all right?”
Walt blinked, looked at Jeff and Governor Lardner and then out to the audience of Republicans. “Yeah, I’m fine. Get back to your position.”
Then he did what he would usually do when the governor was speaking. He surveyed the crowd, looking for anything out of the ordinary. As he did, he thought that everything was out of the ordinary. If there was an assassin somewhere out there, what kind of tell would he give in a sea of two hundred assorted
freaks. Nothing in his training had prepared him for this. He spoke quietly into his microphone when the crowd started to settle. “Anything?”
He got a chorus of “nothing” from his detail and Jack.
Lardner motioned with his hands for quiet, and the crowd did as he requested. The other guests on stage moved a few feet to the rear to sit on high-backed, ornately carved stools made of Texas oak.
“My fellow Texans, fellow Republicans and fellow Tea Party members, first Susan and I want to thank Oscar Hale for hosting this event and thank Oscar and his lovely wife, Ellen, for sharing their home. We can consider this magnificent ballroom as one tent big enough for all of us.”
That brought boos from the Tea Partiers. The barracks flashed before Walt who, this time, was able to blink the apparition away.
For now, Lardner chose to sidestep the gap that was growing between mainstream Republicans and the Tea Party. He hadn’t given up on the idea of raising money from the mainstream Republicans. “I know that we can have honest differences of opinion, but we must all remain true to our core values. Consider Texas. Standing alone, our great state would have one of the largest and strongest economies in the world. Businesses are flocking to Texas, making our unemployment rate the envy of nearly every state in the union. No matter which wing of our party you’re in, I know you want smaller government.”
Cheers.
“No matter which wing of our party you’re in, I know you want Washington to get the hell out of our lives.”
Cheers.
Someone popped a balloon. Walt jolted and almost jumped in front of the governor before he realized what it was. He caught himself just in time and managed to avoid embarrassing Lardner.
“No matter which wing of our party you’re in, I know you want to stop the flood of illegal immigrants streaming across the border from Mexico.”
Cheers with more balloons popping. Sweat appeared on Walt’s face. He wanted to wipe his brow but didn’t know how to do so without showing his nervousness. From the back of the room Jack saw what was happening on stage. He was probably the only one in the room who knew that Walt had suffered from PTSD. Still, all he could do was observe the stage and particularly Walt.
“Tonight we’re going to take another step down the road to righting what is wrong with our country. In just a minute I’m going to turn this microphone over to Kevin O’Connell, the absolute best political strategist and fund raiser in the country. He’s going to ask you to dig deep into your pockets, deeper than ever before. To win the White House along with the senate and congress, it’s going to take billions of dollars. Let me repeat that. I said billions of dollars, more money than has ever been spent in national elections. In fact, we may find that we will have spent more in this one election cycle than in all of the national elections up to this one, combined. I’m confident that Kevin can get it done. Only, we need your help. The oil industry has once again been good to us and we need to spread that wealth around. You remember those old bumper stickers from the eighties, the ones that said, Lord, just give us one more oil boom, and this time we promise not to piss it away. Well, the Lord answered our prayer. Now, we’ve got to make sure that we spend our money wisely and seize control of our country. Here’s Kevin O’Connell.”
The crowd cheered their governor once more as O’Connell stepped to the microphone. Lardner moved slightly to his right but continued to stand with him. Walt maintained a posture almost like he was at attention with his arms hanging loosely at his side. The detail knew that a transition like this could be potential trouble. They scanned the costumed crowd and could not detect a problem.
Kevin O’Connell smiled through his clown face. “Wow, this is great. Let me explain what is about to happen. You know that we’re going to ask you for donations to a social welfare commitee. It’s a very special one I set up under section 501 (c)(4) of the Revenue Code. It’s called Stepper Official Strategies, SOS for short. The Stepper motto is Washington is no hill for a stepper.”
More cheers.
“And here’s the most beautiful thing about it. All of your donations are confidential. No one and I mean no one will know who contributed and how much because it’s for social welfare.” He paused while the crowd laughed and clapped.
“It’s so-called dark money. We can spend the money from it to support candidates, to oppose candidates, to support positions like pro-life or oppose positions like immigration. You contribute. Your corporation can contribute. As long as we don’t coordinate with the candidates, it’s all legal, thanks to our Supreme Court and decisions like Citizens United and McCutcheon. In fact, that’s the reason we decided to have this fund raiser as a costume ball. You all get the symbolism. No one can look behind your mask to see who made a pledge. Further, I can assure you that the wait staff, valet attendants, cooks and security guards all had to pass through metal detectors and turn over any cell phones, iPads, cameras or other recording devices. The media has been barred from this room. In short, what happens in Westover Hills stays in Westover Hills. Now, I’m going to ask our host, Oscar Hale, to step forward to get things rolling.”
Hale rose and moved to the microphone. He was a short man, a little dumpy with a fringe of white hair now covered by a black wig with long black sideburns, looking like an old Elvis, but he moved with the power of forty billion dollars. “Thank you, Kevin.” He reached into a pocket in his sequined jacket. “We have a job to do. I want to do my part. I have here a check for ten million dollars from Oscar and Ellen Hale. Who’s going to match it?”
The crowd roared, applauded and stomped their feet. Walt’s eyes flickered nervously around the room. At one point Jack saw him put his right hand on the butt of his pistol. Annie Oakley fired her gun into the air. That caused a short panic among the detail. Walt was about to pull his weapon until Wyatt said, “It’s just Annie. No problem.”
“We’re having our staff members make their way through the crowd. They have a pad of pledge cards and are waving a gold Montblanc pen with the Stepper slogan. You sign the pledge card and you can keep the pen.”
“Oscar, over here,” a voice in the front hollered. It came from Darth Vader. “I’ll match your ten million and raise you five million.”
Oscar recognized the voice as coming from Tom Keith, another newly minted fracking billionaire. “Thanks, Tom. Who’s next?”
Hands were raised so fast that the staff had trouble keeping up. A screen dropped from the ceiling and a spread sheet appeared. As each pledge was announced, the total changed. The number was approaching $100M when it happened.
7
Governor Lardner and Oscar Hale were standing together at the microphone. O’Connell had a hand-held microphone and was dancing from one side of the stage to the other as more and more people were signing pledge cards. His eyes were gleaming at the prospect of what he could do with the $100M.
Walt received a call, then spoke to Jack. “Jack, there’s some kind of ruckus at the front of the house, a gate crasher who claims he forgot his invitation; only, he’s not on the guest list. Our Fort Worth cop who was there has now moved up to the balcony. This guy is getting out of hand. Can you go up there and get the situation under control?”
“Roger, Walt. On my way.” Jack nodded to Wyatt and disappeared through one of the doors to the house.
The cat burglar watched for her opportunity and seized it as the noise from the crowd became an almost constant roar of shouts and applause. She reached down to the holster on her right leg and pulled her gun. Before anyone could see what she was doing, she fired. Walt heard the shot. Time froze as he tried to determine if it was a popping champagne cork, a pop gun, balloon or the real thing. In that split second a bullet hit Lardner in the left lower chest. Walt spoke rapidly into his microphone. “Wolf’s hit. Repeat, Wolf’s hit. Everyone over here. Let’s get him and Petal to safety.” Then the scene changed suddenly, and he saw Jack lying on the floor in the barracks. He threw his body on top of the governor, hollering, “Incoming,” o
nly no one could hear him above the screams coming from the stage and the floor below.
“I see the shooter, Walt,” Wyatt said. He pulled his revolver and aimed at Miriam. She ducked behind the bar as Wyatt fired several shots over her head before heading for the Suburban. The bartender fled his post. As calm an assassin as one could ever imagine, she watched for another opportunity. If someone had taken her pulse, it would have been no more than sixty. Her blood pressure would have been steady at 110/70. At first the revelers didn’t know what had happened. Then, there was panic as some dove for the floor, some headed for the back doors of the ballroom and some tried unlocking the doors to the patio. Some of the guests had pulled weapons and were also shooting toward Miriam with most of their shots wildly missing the mark and even going in the direction of the stage. Someone in the crowd screamed, grazed by a stray bullet. Oscar Hale was standing at the microphone, trying to convince people to remain calm as the detail pulled the governor down. Ryan ran to the governor’s wife and pulled her from her stool to the floor, dragging her across to the stage steps.
Jeff had to pull Walt from his position over the governor’s body. “Walt, what the shit are you doing? We’ve got to get him out of here.” Now Walt’s mind returned to the reality of what had happened. He jumped to his feet and helped Jeff carry the unconscious body of the Governor down the three steps from the stage, shielding him with their own bodies. Ryan hurried Petal across the stage and down the steps, again making sure that he was between her and what he perceived was the line of fire.
Miriam rose behind the bar and fired twice more. The first hit Edward Hale in the head as he was attempting to follow the detail behind the governor. The second wounded Kevin O’Connell in the arm. Miriam smiled when she saw the results of the two shots. Just as planned. When the policemen in the balcony realized what was happening, they radioed for backup and started shooting in the direction of the bar. By then, Miriam was racing toward the delivery entrance, beating the governor’s detail by several seconds. When she stepped out, she saw that the engine in the Suburban was now running and its lights were on. The same male voice shouted, “Stop, lady.”
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