by Vince Flynn
Koslowski.
“This is where timing is crucial. These guys know that once Koslowski is killed, they only have twenty to forty minutes before the news spreads all over town. Team Two kills
Koslowski and clears the area. Team Three or Team One, depending on how many assets you have, is now risking exposure. They wait for Downs, knowing that the clock is ticking. The assassin may be the guy these people saw loitering around the park. He waits for Downs while his backup is nearby. Downs shows up and the assassin pumps two rounds into the back of his head. The assassin clears the area, and all the assets are undercover before anyone knows what’s going on. It’s a very smooth job. The only thing I
would have done differently is use a sniper shot on Downs. It makes no sense to expose one of your men like that. Did any of those witnesses get a good look at him?”
“No, not really, their descriptions were pretty vague. Black male, between five feet nine and six feet tall and between one hundred and sixty-five and two hundred pounds.
Approximate age thirty. No one got a real clear look at his face.”
“Well, whoever planned it seemed to do everything else right, so I have to assume he had a reason for killing Downs the way he did. Anyway, what you’ve got here is a minimum of four people and a maximum of maybe ten to fourteen depending on how many backup assets he had available.”
“So you think these guys are commandos?” McMahon asked.
“Well, you can never be sure, but my instincts tell me they are. If they were terrorists, they would have killed that old man, and besides, why would terrorists send a letter stating that we need to start reforming our government or the killing will continue? I
mean, who’s to say who’s a terrorist and who’s a commando? These labels can get real sticky. The IRA for years was considered, and by some people still is considered, a paramilitary group. They achieved that status by attacking only military and government targets. Well, as soon as they started setting off bombs and killing innocent civilians, they became terrorists.
“These people haven’t killed any civilians. They’ve killed three politicians. They even took extra steps not to kill that old man by drugging him. In my book, they’re commandos. They didn’t kill any civilians. One thing is for sure, they’re not terrorists in the Middle Eastern or European sense. Irene is right. When those nuts go after a target, they do it very violently and with no concern for noncombatants.”
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“Then who do you think did it, an American paramilitary group?”
“You mean like those white-supremacist idiots that live out West?”
Mitchell shook his head.
“Those clowns don’t have the skill to run an operation like this. They could have killed one or maybe two of these guys with a rifle shot, but they don’t have the kind of talent to break a man’s neck bare-handed.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to do that with your bare hands?
It’s not like it is in the movies.” McMahon and Kennedy shook their heads.
“Let me tell you a little story.” Mitchell smiled. “I really shouldn’t be laughing about this, but it’s kind of funny. When they train you to be a Delta, they teach you a lot of different things, and one of them, of course, is hand-to-hand combat. Well, most of the shit they teach you, you can’t practice it all the way through, like breaking a guy’s neck for instance. I mean, how in the hell do you practice breaking a neck? Anyway, I’m on one of my first missions and my job is to take out a sentry who’s walking patrol. I’m sitting there with my partner. We’d crawled over a hundred yards to get to this one bush, and we’re waiting for the guard. When the guy passes by, I jump out and grab him. I
execute the move just like my instructors taught me, but nothing happens. Luckily, my partner was right there to finish him off with a knife before he could make any noise. The point of the story is that I was the elite of the elite. I was a Delta Force commando, and I
couldn’t pull it off. Don’t get me wrong, I know several guys who have managed to perfect the move, but they are few and far between. It’s just too difficult to learn. Your typical hit man or assassin would have slit Fitzgerald’s throat or put a bullet in the back of his head.”
Kennedy pondered Mitchell’s comments and then asked, “Based on what you’ve heard, who do you think did it?”
There was a long pause while Mitchell thought about the question. “My gut reaction…” Mitchell stopped and looked out the window. “My gut reaction is that this operation was pulled off by United States Special Forces commandos.”
McMahon took a deep breath and said, “Please elaborate.”
“I was in the Special Forces for almost fifteen years… I’ve worked with Navy SEALs, Green Berets, Rangers, Marine Recons, I’ve met them all. Do you know what the one thing is they all have in common?”
“No.”
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“They all hate politicians. The two professions couldn’t be more fundamentally different. Commandos live by a warrior’s code, honor and integrity above everything. Do what you say and mean what you do.
Politicians just say whatever will keep them in office. Now, where you run into the problem is when you have the unprincipled, honorless politician telling the principled, honorable warrior what to do. The way the relationship works, with the politicians in the position of authority, they’re destined to foster disgust and animosity among the troops. “I
don’t know of a single Special Forces soldier who thinks Washington isn’t run by a bunch of idiots. We’ve had operations exposed because those damn fools don’t know how to keep their mouths shut. We’ve worked for months planning missions, and then had the plug pulled at the last minute because some politician didn’t have the guts to authorize it.
You have to understand the mentality of a commando.
They’ve given everything they have to this country, and in return they see those whores selling America down the drain. I don’t mean all of them. There are some good, honest politicians, but they are a rarity.
Most of those guys are lying, misdirected egomaniacs. They think it’s just a game.”
Mitchell paused briefly. “There’s a lot of hate and distrust between the military and
Washington. There always has been, and it’s even worse when you start talking about
Special Forces personnel.”
“So, you think the letter is for real?”
“Who knows?”
Mitchell paused again and looked out the window. “If I had to put money on it, I’d bet it’s for real. Shit, turn on the radio, go to your local bar, people are sick of the way this country is run ….
These murders weren’t committed as part of a plot to derail the Stevens administration. They were committed the morning of the vote because the vote assured the assassins that all of their targets would-be where they wanted them to be. My bet is that these guys are ex-United States Special Forces commandos and they mean everything they said in that letter. Which of course means that unless these idiots start taking their demands seriously, you’re going to have more dead politicians on your hands.”
DIRECTOR ROACH STOOD IN THE KITCHEN OF his SUBURBAN
MARYLAND home. Sunday-morning mass was at eleven-thirty, and they would be leaving shortly, but first he wanted to scan the morning press shows and see what type of lines the administration would be floating.
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Speaker Basset was the featured guest on Inside Washington, a weekly political talk show. Roach was leaning against the counter, looking at the small color TV next to the sink. His youngest child walked into the room and opened the refrigerator door. Roach bent over and kissed the top of her head. “Good morning, Katie.”
“Hi, Dad.” Katie Roach was twelve years old and had not been a planned pregnancy.
Her next closest sibling was eight years her elder. Patty Roach had given birth to the youngest of the four Roach kids at the age of forty. Two of Katie’s brothers were in college, and the old
est boy had already graduated. Roach often caught himself smiling at
Katie and thinking how much his and his wife’s lives had been blessed by this wonderful little girl. The youngest of the Roach clan stood motionless in front of the open refrigerator door, her eyes scanning the shelves, searching for nothing in particular. “Dad, can I have a can of Coke?”
“May I have a can of Coke,” Roach corrected her, and patted her on the head. “Yes, you may have a can of Coke.” Katie snatched the can from the door and scampered out of the kitchen.
A moment later Patty Roach came around the corner. “Brian, I don’t want her drinking a can of soda before mass.”
Without taking his eyes off the TV, Roach replied, “Honey, she’s twelve years old, a little sugar isn’t going to kill her.”
“I’ll try to remember that when she’s bouncing all over the pew in twenty minutes.
Come on, turn off that TV. I don’t want to be late.”
“Hold on, I want to watch this for a minute.”
“Brian, I don’t want to be late again this week.”
“Honey, take Katie and get in the car. Tell the guys to get saddled up, and I’ll be out in a minute.”
The “guys” Roach was referring to were his personal protection detail, more commonly known as his bodyguards. Patty left the room and Roach turned his attention back to the TV. The panel on the show consisted of three reporters, one of whom acted as the host. This morning’s special guest, House Speaker Thomas Basset, and the three reporters sat in a semicircle, around a horseshoe news desk. Roach stepped across the room and turned up the volume. “Speaker Basset, this week was an extremely difficult one for many of us here in the nation’s capital, probably more so for you than most. You were very close to these three men. You have worked with them for most of your adult life not always agreeing, but more often than not finding a common ground. How have the events of the last several days affected you?” Basset shifted in his chair. “They have been, to put it lightly, very difficult …. What most people don’t understand is just how tight of a community we are here in Washington. Our wives all know each other, many of
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our children went to school together, we see each other at the local churches on Sunday, we’re a very tight group. The last three days have been extremely painful.” Basset shook his head and looked away from the camera. “How have you, personally, taken the deaths of your colleagues?”
“I’m grieving right now … there’s a lot of pain. You go to bed one night and wake up the next morning only to find out that three men who you have worked with for over thirty years have all been brutally murdered.
It’s shocking. It’s very painful.”
“I know this week is going to be hard for you, but what are your plans for bringing the House back into legislative session?”
“I will take my time to grieve and remember these great statesmen appropriately, and then we will turn to the President for guidance.
President Stevens is a very strong leader, and with his help we will move forward and get back to the business of governing this country.”
“Mr. Speaker, everyone is very aware of the letter that was sent to the media by the group claiming responsibility for the murders.
There have been some rumors circulating around town regarding the authenticity of this letter. The President even hinted at it in his speech the other night. Can you shed some light on any of these rumors?”
“To the best of our knowledge, the letter was sent by the group that committed the murders. The letter was postmarked the day before the killings and names all three of the deceased. What is in question right now is the actual reason why these murders were committed.” The host leaned forward. “Do you mean to imply that the murders were not committed for the reasons stated in the letter?”
“That is what we are exploring.”
“What leads you to believe the letter is not what it appears to be?”
“Well, the FBI is very suspicious of the timing of these murders.”
“Why?” Basset hesitated for a moment. “They are uncertain that the murders were committed solely for the reasons stated in the letter.”
The host became visibly excited as he asked his next question. “What facts have they discovered to back this up?”
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“The FBI is being very tight-lipped about this, as I’m sure you can understand. All I
know right now is that they have received some information that has led them to believe the murders were committed for reasons other than those stated in the letter.”
Roach looked at the TV and shook his head. “What in the hell are these guys up to?”
The host continued, “What type of information?” Basset frowned. “I can’t go into it right now.” One of the other reporters jumped in. “If you can’t tell us what the FBI has learned, can you tell us what they are speculating the real motive to be?” Basset shifted uneasily in his seat. Garret and the President had briefed him on the plan. He found the possibility of the murders being committed for the purpose of toppling the Stevens administration and the party to be plausible. At this point, in this town, anything could be possible. What he felt uncomfortable doing was intentionally lying about what the FBI
believed to be the reason for the murders. But Basset had learned long ago not to probe too deep. It was easier on his conscience to ponder his actions lightly. With no visible guilt or awkwardness Basset uttered his preplanned response. “The FBI thinks the murders were committed to try and stop the President’s budget from being passed.”
Roach tried to stay calm as he pinched the bridge of his nose tighter and tighter. The program broke away for a commercial and he turned off the TV. As he walked to the door, he asked himself once again, “What in the hell are they up to?”
Eleven miles away, Michael O’Rourke sat in his living room with Liz and Seamus.
Seamus had arrived earlier that morning. Michael and Seamus watched the broadcast with irritation while Liz was busy pecking notes into her laptop. She had a column that was supposed to be on her editor’s desk by 5 P.M. The program came back on the air, and the one woman on the panel started to ask questions. “Mr. Speaker, I know this must be a very difficult time for you and your colleagues, and I would not for a moment want you to think that I am condoning these murders, but the assassinations have thrust into the spotlight some reforms that the American people have endorsed for quite some time. The idea of term limits has an approval rating of almost ninety percent, and a balanced-budget amendment has an approval rating of close to eighty percent. Everyone agrees the national debt needs to be reduced and this letter brings up a point that no one in
Washington is willing to address, and that is, cuts in Social Security and Medicare. It is a horrible tragedy that three of our country’s elder statesmen have been assassinated, but maybe some good can come of it, if it forces you and the rest of your colleagues to make some overdue and needed reforms.” Basset took a deep breath.
They had anticipated a question along these lines, and Garret had helped prepare an answer.
Basset paused for a moment and stared at the reporter. “I would like you to try and tell the wives, children, and grandchildren of those three men what good could possibly come from this.” Basset shook his head in a disgusted manner. “Mr. Speaker, I am not saying that this isn’t a horrible tragedy for the families of these men. What I am asking is, what is it going to take for the leaders of this country to implement the reforms that the
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American people want? I mean, if these horrible murders are not going to move you to action, what will?”
“We do not even know if these demands are sincere. As I have told you, the FBI
believes the intent of that letter to be bogus. and besides, I resent the fact that we have not even had time to bury these honorable men, and you are talking about kowtowing to the demands of their murderers.”
“Mr. Speaker, I am not talking abo
ut kowtowing to anyone. I am only asking if you plan to implement certain reforms that the American people want.”
“I can answer absolutely and emphatically, no! The government of the United States of America has never, and will never, negotiate with terrorists.”
“No one is asking you to negotiate with terrorists, Mr. Speaker. We are talking about making several simple, long-overdue reforms.” Basset started to shake his head back and forth. “The key word in that sentence was simple. Running this country is a very complex and difficult task. A couple of ‘simple reforms’ as you phrased it will not even solve some of the minor problems our country has.” Basset turned to the host. “And I would like to add, things are not as dire as some would lead us to think. The President has been doing a fine job. The economy is strong, and we have been reporting smaller budget deficits than the previous administration.” The reporter was not to be deterred by simple political rhetoric. “So you plan on doing nothing, Mr. Speaker?”
“No. I plan on bringing the House back into session as soon as we are done paying respect to our fallen colleagues, and then we will pass the President’s budget. A budget that, I might add, the American people want.”
O’Rourke got off the couch and tossed the remote control on Liz’s lap. “What’s it going to take for these guys to learn? Seamus, do you want to go for a walk?” Michael’s grandfather nodded and got out of his chair. Michael left the room and appeared in the doorway a moment later with two coats and Duke’s leash. He handed one of the coats to
Seamus and bent down to snap the leash onto Duke’s collar. He stood and looked over at
Liz, who was focused on the TV. “Honey, we’ll be back in an hour or so.” Without looking up, she replied, “I’ll be here. You two have a nice time.”
