If he needed the gun, he had only to reach under the sweater and grab it. The leather snap released upon the application of any downward pressure, freeing the weapon. The Smith & Wesson held twelve rounds in the clip with a thirteenth in the chamber ready to go.
Grant didn’t expect any problems on his camping expedition, but he didn’t intend to be out in the field without a weapon. The commando style sweater was a little bulky but did an excellent job of concealing the handgun.
He pulled the sweater over his head, and checked the side-view mirror to make sure that the neckline covered the shoulder holster’s straps. Then he put on his down jacket and slipped his arms into the straps of his pack. Before closing the Jeep’s hatch, Grant clipped the canteen to his belt and put his binocular strap over his head. With everything secure, he headed toward the park.
When he reached the road, Grant looked to see if he could make out the Jeep amongst the trees. From where he stood, the car was nearly invisible. Before crossing 550, he checked for traffic. Since he was carrying a pack and sleeping bag into a park that didn’t allow overnight camping, Grant didn’t want to be seen. When he was certain no cars were coming from either direction, he crossed the road and entered the park.
Once into the trees, Grant headed toward his objective, the fire watchtower. He knew that a dirt road led to the tower, and it was the tower and the road that he wanted to observe. Grant needed to know how frequently the road was used and by whom. There was no rush to get to the tower, and Grant decided that it was better to take things slowly and not chance being seen. That meant he had to avoid the park’s hiking trails. Staying in the thickets and off the trails would slow him down.
Fortunately, when he got to the tower, there were no vehicles in sight. Using his binoculars, he scanned the tower, looking for signs that anyone was in the cabin. The absence of any cars most likely meant that no one was at home–at least for the time being.
Grant pulled back from the edge of the road, and dropped his gear next to a copse of trees. From the pack, he removed his notepad, a small battery-powered radio scanner, and the earphone that would allow him to monitor the scanner without taking any chance of being overheard. Grant inserted the earphone jack into the unit then he made his way back to the edge of the forest, closer to the fire road, where he sat down, his back against a large oak tree. The birds chirped–everything was peaceful and quiet. He had preset the scanner to the ten specific frequencies, each in the range of 164.650 to 169.920 Megahertz, given to Grant by his contact. He set the unit on scan mode, extended its whip antenna, and rested the scanner in his lap.
The Secret Service had switched over to voice privacy equipment a few years ago, but their methods weren’t ultra‑secure. It was there primarily to keep any hacker with access to a Radio Shack store from eavesdropping on their communications. Grant’s special scanner had customized circuitry that decoded the voice messages he was listening for. There was nothing more to do but wait.
The daylight dwindled slowly as Grant sat patiently against the tree. Fall in the Catoctin Mountains came earlier than it did in Baltimore, resulting in cooler temperatures. The evening air chilled Grant, a sign of a colder than normal night. The scanner crackled with occasional static, but not the signals he was waiting to hear.
Just before nightfall, a nondescript Ford station wagon came down the road. Two men dressed in hiking garb got out of the car and began the climb to the top of the fire tower. Through his binoculars, Grant saw that each man had a small flesh colored earphone in his left ear. The men walked along the top of the tower and checked the lock on the door to the cabin. Satisfied that everything was secure, one of the men pressed a push‑to‑talk button on the portable transceiver clipped to his belt. As he did, Grant’s scanner froze on one of the preprogrammed frequencies.
“Cactus, this is Champion One. Tower’s secure. We’re heading back.”
Grant checked the liquid crystal display on the front of the scanner, and marked down the frequency. He also made a record of the time and day the men had checked out the tower. Then he watched as the two Secret Service agents came down the steps, returned to their car, and drove back up the road. Once they were out of sight, Grant turned off the scanner and returned to where he had left his pack.
After a dinner of a sandwich, some potato chips, and water, he unpacked the sleeping bag and tried to get some sleep. He knew the target’s security people would check the tower several times throughout the next day or two, and wanted to be certain he knew when, and how long it was between checks. He dozed lightly, confident that his jungle‑honed senses would wake him if anyone returned.
About six the next morning, another car came down the fire road. Just as before, two men went up the steps and verified that no unwanted visitors had been there between inspections. Unlike the other team, these two unlocked the door to the cabin and went inside. Grant had already turned on the scanner, anticipating the exchange of call signs.
“Cactus, this is Champion Two. We’re in position. Site is secure.” Grant also picked up the transmission from Cactus acknowledging receipt of the tower’s message.
From where Grant hunched concealed close to the base of the tower, it was virtually impossible to see the cabin or what the men inside were doing. Likewise the autumn‑hued canopy and the angle from the top of the tower guaranteed his concealment from the men who watched from the top of the fire station. Every hour they made another radio transmission to Cactus. The security team at the tower identified themselves, and sent out an “everything’s secure” message, which Cactus promptly acknowledged. The target’s security had to be top-notch, and to accomplish that level of security meant Secret Service agents would constantly man the tower when the President was at Camp David.
About mid‑afternoon, Grant’s scanner picked up another message. “Champion Two, this is Champion One.” When the tower acknowledged the message, Champion One went on, “Relief’s on the way. ETA is ten minutes. Champion One clear.”
The process of full-time area surveillance and relief teams went on at four‑hour intervals during the balance of the next day and a half. He was operating as he had in Vietnam when his team was in enemy territory–obtaining necessary intelligence while maximizing concealment.
Sunday afternoon at four o’clock, Grant’s scanner came alive again. “Cactus, this is Nighthawk. We’re on the final leg of our approach.” Cactus responded, “Nighthawk, this is Cactus. You are cleared to land.” Grant glanced at his watch.
At five o’clock Grant picked up another message on the scanner. “Signature, this is Cactus. You are cleared for takeoff. Have a good day.” Call sign Signature acknowledged the message, which Grant diaried with the others in his notebook.
A few minutes later, the men who had taken over for Champion One at the tower radioed in. “Cactus, this is Champion Three. We’re coming in now.” Cactus acknowledged their message. Less than five minutes later, the team came down the tower’s steps and left the site. Grant now had the information he needed to complete his mission’s planning.
He packed the sleeping bag, and then policed the site again. Satisfied that he had everything he had brought with him, he took a small branch that had fallen off one of the trees, and swept the area near the roadside as well as his campsite. When he finished, there were no traces that anyone had been there.
As he walked back to the abandoned driveway his mind raced, organizing the myriad of facts and details that would ultimately ensure his mission’s success.
CHAPTER 22
The day seemed to drag on forever. Payton puttered around, trying to make sure everything was ready for their getaway, while seemingly keeping the appearance of a normal weekend. He had already been out to the barn twice–once to check the Jag and a second time to make certain that the pickup was ready to go. He verified that the oil and antifreeze in both were topped off. He even made himself a list of things to do before they left the farm. In spite of his detailed preparations, the gut feelin
g that he’d overlooked something important stayed with him. He had gone over his plans again and again. They were bulletproof. Now he wanted to get on with it. Although Janet tried to hide her anxiety, she was clearly on edge.
Earlier, Payton had carefully checked out the barn, although he didn’t figure that Wingate’s men would have bothered bugging it. Besides, there were no phones to tap, making a bug harder to conceal.
Most of the evening they had communicated by writing cryptic notes. Up to this point, that had worked fine. Payton got up and turned on the television, adjusting the volume louder than normal. He walked over to where Janet was standing and whispered in her ear. “You packed yet?”
Janet nodded.
He leaned over until his lips brushed her ear. “Good. My stuff’s already in the barn.”
The rest of the evening the two of them watched television, bantering back and forth under the assumption that others were listening to everything they said. Around nine, Payton popped a couple of Tylenols. Minutes later, the butterflies in his stomach were playing badminton with them.
Around midnight, they called it a night and went to bed. Neither of them slept. Janet remained introspective, lost in her thoughts, while Steve’s eyes remained glued to the digital display on the front of the clock radio.
Just before three, Payton tapped Janet lightly on the shoulder unsure if she was asleep. Aware of the bug, he was careful not to scare her. Like Payton, she couldn’t sleep either. Janet got up, and quietly left the room. Before she had gone to bed, Janet had taken the clothes that she planned to wear down into the living room. She would dress there, keeping the second floor as quiet as possible.
Payton had been walking around behind her since 3 A.M., careful not to make any sound their watchers might overhear. “Give me your stuff, and we’ll get out of here.”
He took her suitcase along with the case of computer equipment and placed them in the trunk. “We’ll buy whatever else we need.”
It was the last minute details that would make or break his plan. Payton chuckled at the irony. A plan, yes a plan. Payton's new definition was knowing what he was going to do next-not three steps later or four, but what he had to do right now to save their lives.
When Payton prepared a case for trial, he mapped out every possibility. If the other side could request a delay, Payton had an answer in mind that would be the basis of his response to their motion. If there were case law precedents, Payton had them all synopsized and ready to go. If he needed to locate witnesses or take depositions, he handled those tasks deftly. In short, he planned out his whole case from the first step to the last.
Now he faced his biggest challenge, and he wasn’t close to being prepared. He didn’t have any idea how they were going to get safely out of the country. Worse, he didn’t know for how long he’d be able to keep the tentacles of the Wingate organization from wrapping themselves around the both of them.
Over the course of the evening, the fall wind had grown stronger. Now, early in the morning, it whistled through the rafters, creating an eerie noise.
“What’s left?”
“Nothing that I can think of except giving you a quick run‑down on the car,” Steve said, guiding Janet over to the Jaguar.
“The headlight switch is the round one on the left side of the dash. Turning it up to the first position turns on the parking lights. The next is the headlights. Remember, keep the headlights off until you’re on the road,” Steve said praying that the men in the surveillance car wouldn’t spot the Jag’s parking lights.
Janet and Payton stood outside the car. There wasn’t anything else to say. “Be careful, but whatever you do, don’t panic. I’ll keep them from coming after you. Remember you have enough horsepower to outrun anything in Pine Lakes. As long as the road behind you is dark, everything’s fine.”
Janet threw her arms around Payton. “But what about you?” she asked, worried that Steve was trading his safety for hers.
“I’ll be okay.” He hoped that he was right. “We’d better get going. When you get to the end of the drive and are ready to go, tap your brakes twice,” he reminded her.
Payton kissed her with an urgency that told her that they needed to get going. Janet slid into the driver’s seat, and then turned on the ignition. The Jaguar’s engine came to life, and in a few seconds the idle decreased as it settled into its usual purr.
With Payton in the pickup behind her, she left the barn using only the parking lights to make her way up the drive. Although the trip took only seconds, to Payton it seemed like hours until Janet stopped at the end of the driveway. Behind her, Payton saw the car perched in the shadows cast by the trees. The surveillance team must have had a small map light on, since he could just about make out the shapes of two men, both sitting in the front seat of the surveillance car.
Janet tapped the brake pedal twice, and then turned on the high beams. Payton watched the scramble inside the surveillance car. It took Wingate’s men a good ten seconds to wake up to what was happening, get the car started and the lights on, and begin their pursuit of the fleeing Jaguar.
As he waited for the other car to approach the intersection, his right foot pressed the accelerator halfway to the floor, while his left controlled the clutch. Payton's leg quivered, half from the anticipation of finally striking a blow against Wingate, half from nerves. When the car got within fifty feet of where he sat waiting, Payton popped the clutch and flipped on the headlights.
The pickup’s wheels sprayed stones and loose gravel. For a moment, Payton thought that the other car would make it past the driveway before he could get out onto the main road, but then the truck’s rear tires got traction, and it lurched out of the driveway. Payton had timed his entrance perfectly, pulling out into the road only a second or two before the sedan crossed the intersection.
The driver of the surveillance car, unaware of Payton's presence, caught only a glimpse of the pickup truck now targeting his right fender. Payton switched his high beams on, flooding the road with light. Blinded and desperate to avoid the impending collision, Wingate’s man swung the steering wheel hard to the left sending the car careening out of control.
The road’s shoulder was only a few feet wide, not nearly enough to allow the driver room to steer around the pickup. To his misfortune, the driver also didn’t see the drainage ditch that ran alongside the road. It would be his last mistake for the night. The car’s front wheels, unable to traverse the ditch, pitched the nose of the car down, driving it into the side of the hill. With one front tire blown and the steering arms bent, the chase was over.
Payton, in spite of his attempt at ramming the chase car, managed to maintain control of the truck. Satisfied that Wingate’s men wouldn’t be following Janet, he continued toward the interstate.
When he reached the road near the exit ramp, Payton pulled the pickup truck off into the bushes. As he emerged from the underbrush, Janet flashed the high beams.
“Thank God you’re all right,” she said as she got out of the car. “I was so afraid.” Janet threw her arms around him, and pulled him tightly to her. Instead of being serious, Steve’s face formed a smirk.
“There are a couple of real pissed off guys back there,” Steve said, gesturing toward the farm. “It seems that they just became one with the local scenery. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here. One problem down, the next to go.”
“Which is?” Janet asked.
“Figuring out how we’re going to get to London. No doubt Wingate’s people are already watching the local airports, so that leaves Baltimore‑Washington International, Dulles, and Washington National out. Have any ideas?”
Janet’s face appeared drawn, both from the tension that had permeated their relationship over the past few weeks, and the danger they now found themselves in. “We could drive to Philadelphia, but Wingate’s probably looking for us there. It’s a logical choice.”
“Maybe something closer where we can catch a flight to one of the larger intern
ational hubs such as New York or Boston?”
“We could try a commuter flight from Harrisburg to New York, then connect to London. We’re within two hours of Harrisburg, and I think the commuter flights are pretty frequent.”
“All right, we’ll give it a shot. The European flights leave in the early evening, and I want to be on the next one over, which means tonight’s flight. We’d better get moving or we’ll miss it.”
. . . . . .
Halfway to Harrisburg, he stopped for gas. While the attendant filled the tank, Payton found the station’s pay telephone and made reservations for the two of them on the evening flight to London’s Heathrow Airport.
The airline would be checking their passports before boarding, forcing Payton to book their reservations under his name. He was counting on the fact that Wingate’s people would only be watching the local airports.
When he got back to the car Janet asked, “Who did you call?”
“The airlines.”
“Did you book the entire trip from Harrisburg?”
“No, only the international leg. We’ll pay cash for the commuter tickets. They don’t take reservations anyway. That should give Wingate and his cronies something to think about.”
All the way to Harrisburg, Payton kept a wary eye on the rearview mirror. If anyone was following them, he couldn’t pick out the tail.
He desperately wanted to believe that if he couldn’t see them, they weren’t there. But Payton already knew that just because he didn’t see them didn’t mean a damned thing. Wingate’s men could be sitting two cars behind him. He hoped that his decision to withdraw from the scene of battle would throw his pursuers off their tracks–at least for a while.
When they got to the airport, they barely had time to park the car and pay for their tickets when the public address system announced the departure of the next commuter flight to New York. They had only carry-on baggage, which they carried with them as they rushed down the hall to the departure gate. They were the last to board before the cabin attendant secured the doors.
The Cassandra Conspiracy Page 20
