THE CONTROLLER-Obsession
Page 24
At the cemetery, he seated himself toward the front, almost directly among the immediate family members, as if to say to all present, “I am the reason you are here.”
He was impressed by his own boldness as he thought back on instances where he should have made such a gesture instead of remaining meekly in the wings observing, but not making his presence felt. This was a different situation. This was a far more important event than any other in his life. He was here to witness the end of an era, the elimination of the last vestiges of resistance to his new world order. Soon there wouldn’t be anything left to cause him concern, not that he really worried about Richard Sinclair’s ability to dethrone him. He was just relieved that Sinclair would be out of the way and he could get on with business. He looked upon Sinclair and his efforts with the same attitude a person shows a buzzing gnat—bothersome, but hardly dangerous.
He knew that the absence of Secret Service agents around the former president could only mean one thing—a trap.
* * *
The priest spoke eloquently and impressed Richard with his knowledge of Veronica, Randall, and Jennifer. He obviously had done his homework and talked to many of the family and friends that were present to gain more insight into the individuals that he was so elegantly eulogizing. After his comments, he asked if anyone wished to say a few things about the deceased.
Jonathan Radliff spoke about his daughter’s childhood years but had to stop short as he felt the tears welling up. No one else chose to speak and the priest knowing that Richard wanted to say a few words nodded in his direction, to which Richard responded by standing and walking over to the priest who stepped off to the side several yards away.
Roberts, upon seeing Richard rise, focused his field glasses on the lonely figure. He realized that this was probably the best target the sniper would ever have and radioed his team to be extra alert.
* * *
He concentrated on every word that Richard spoke. Listening to what he was saying and also reading between the lines. He actually felt insulted that Richard never mentioned him by name, choosing only to refer to the killers of his wife and children as “cowardly and inhuman.” That Richard would not give him his due was bad enough, but to call him cowardly was inexcusable. Too bad he wouldn’t have the opportunity to confront Richard and express how truly disappointed he was with his lack of consideration. After all, he had gotten Richard elected as President of the United States and made sure of his reelection and his subsequent appointment as the very first President of the World Organization of Nations. Surely that was worthy of a few choice words.
He wondered if Richard had even noticed that there was an unfamiliar face among his friends and family, a face that he had never seen before. There was a high probability that Richard had seen pictures of his clone, Timothy Wilkins, but Richard wouldn’t be able to make the connection what with all the makeup and the creative disguise he was wearing.
The thought that Richard would die without ever facing him and looking into his eyes was very unsatisfying. Of all the people he had eliminated, Richard was the only one that evoked special feelings. He could have been close to Richard if circumstances were different and he didn’t have to play the part of mentor.
The Controller glanced to his right, staring for a moment at Stephen Hamilton and his wife. He hadn’t talked to Stephen since the murders; he didn’t care what Stephen thought of the cruel actions. Stephen had served his purpose.
* * *
Just as Richard concluded his tribute to his wife and children, he slowly scanned the attendees one by one, suddenly stopping with the strange face just to the right of center in the second row. Richard stared deeply into the eyes of the man in the overcoat. His gaze pierced through to the very soul of the figure before him and both men knew instantly that they had finally faced each other. Enemy to enemy, prey to hunter, they stared at each other until it happened.
* * *
Long after the incident, those present would offer conflicting interpretations of what had actually transpired. Some would say that they heard a shot ring out, others that there was no sound whatsoever, while a few, seated closest to Richard Sinclair would testify to hearing the horrible sound of the bullet’s impact.
Only the experienced agent Roberts would know exactly what happened. He never heard a shot, wouldn’t have since the assassin used a silencer in the hope that the sound of a gunshot wouldn’t give away his position. What sound did find its way out of the rifle’s muzzle was too faint to be heard from such a distance.
Roberts knew it was over when, while watching Richard staring fixedly at one of the mourners, he saw the impact of the explosive shell as it struck the former president’s head. In spite of all his preparation and anticipation, he still hesitated at the sight of a man he felt a great deal of respect for being cut down while he watched. Regaining his composure, Roberts yelled into his radio for the team to close the net.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Not a single person, none of the mourners or any of the agents, noticed the man in the overcoat slip away amid the confusion. Everyone, afraid that there was a chance that multiple bullets would be reigning down on the assemblage, took flight in many directions, almost breaking through the ring of security personnel. President Hamilton’s assigned Secret Service agents quickly got him and the first lady safely to their limousine and out of the cemetery while chaos was still the order.
Before the agents could tighten their net, moving purposefully into a constantly diminishing circle, the man slipped into his hiding place.
Roberts’ team managed to quiet everyone down and convinced them that they were in no danger. After making sure that they returned to their seats, Roberts had two of his men start a systematic roll call. This would keep the mourners occupied while he took care of business elsewhere.
Before he ran over to the grove of trees where the assassin was located, he paused long enough to take a black veil from one of the women mourners and rushed over to Richard’s mother, who was kneeling over her son. With respect he gently grasped Mrs. Sinclair and lifted her into the arms of her husband. Then Roberts carefully spread the veil over the head of his fallen president. He wanted to say a prayer, but that would have to wait until the area was secured and the perpetrator apprehended.
When Roberts got to the grove, he found one of his men securing the sniper’s weapon while two other agents handcuffed the assassin while he lay face down on the grass. Immediately Roberts stood the man upright, grabbing him by his shirt collar with two clenched fists, and lifting him with one forceful motion. Pulling the man’s face within inches of his own, he stared into the steely eyes. “Are you alone?”
The sniper just stared back at Roberts, not saying a word.
“You don’t seem to understand, I can do anything I want with you and no one here is going to say I did anything illegal to you. So I ask you again, are you alone?”
“I’m not saying anything until I get to talk to a lawyer.”
Roberts couldn’t suppress his anger and almost as soon as the last syllable was spoken, he drove a fist into the man’s sternum with such force that two agents had to catch the sniper and steady him.
“I asked you a question and I want an answer.”
“I’m alone.”
“Who hired you?”
“I don’t know. I never met the guy. I only talked to him on the phone.”
“Take him to my car and one of you stay with him. Don’t leave him alone for a second. The rest of you join the others and tighten the circle. I want everyone accounted for.”
Roberts took aside his most senior agent and told him that the president had confided that he felt absolutely positive that the man responsible for hiring the assassin would be at the services. “We are looking for someone among the mourners, more than likely. Someone who isn’t on the guest list. Let’s get over there and start screening everyone.”
* * *
It took about twenty minutes for Roberts to verify that only invite
d guests were among those present. Roberts was wondering what his next move would be when he glanced at the empty seat. When questioned, a woman remembered that she had a man sitting next to her in that chair—a man in an overcoat. Roberts couldn’t stop himself from saying aloud “The man in the overcoat!”
Roberts keyed his radio, “All right men, tighten up the circle and search every place that a man could hide, we are looking for a man with an overcoat, dressed in black, medium height and slightly built. Just to make sure, detain anyone you find, even cemetery personnel. Local police, maintain your positions and don’t let anyone in or out of this cemetery.”
Agents methodically moved to close the circle, looking for hiding places among the grave markers, mausoleums and landscaping.
Two agents walking down a hillside that sloped away from the funeral site looked down into the freshly dug grave but ignored the mound of dirt covered by the green carpet; they were too intent upon checking out the trees that surrounded the grave. If they had only lifted the carpet, they would have found the hollowed out indentation and its occupant—a man of slight build wrapped in a cashmere overcoat, wearing a maniacal smile.
* * *
Several hours after the assassination, Roberts officially called off the search for any co-conspirators. Earlier he had allowed the guests to leave, convinced that everyone in the cemetery was accounted for and legitimate. Somehow the man in the overcoat had slipped through their fingers. He made one last radio call and gave his men and the police permission to shut down the operation and leave. Roberts took a seat on one of the white chairs and stared at the graves. Richard Sinclair’s body had long been taken away and would be sent to the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda Maryland where a team of doctors would perform an autopsy. He knew that there wouldn’t be anything new to reveal since he had been watching Richard every second and knew that there was a single assassin involved. He wished that some miracle could unearth the man in the overcoat.
It was evening now and the workers had finished their task of lowering the coffins of Veronica, Randall, and Jennifer Sinclair down to their final resting places, filling in the graves and placing new sod over the dirt. The grave markers would be placed later, probably after Richard was also laid to rest next to his wife and children. When the workers finished their chores they took their portable lights and left Roberts sitting in the darkness. The agent couldn’t muster the courage to leave, knowing that if he did he would be closing the book on a mystery before he found out who did it.
He had plenty of time to reflect as he sat there in the dark of night and knew that his career was probably over. He had let a former president be assassinated on his watch. It wouldn’t matter that he was following the president’s orders and that the president wanted to be placed in the line of fire. It was his job to prevent that and he failed to do so.
He was about ready to leave when someone sat down beside him. Turning his head he saw the familiar face.
“I thought everyone was gone.”
David wiped away a tear as he spoke to Roberts. “Funny how things turn out sometimes isn’t it? I knew President Sinclair since before he was elected, was with him for most of his two terms; I loved him and his family and everything he stood for.”
“You know, David, there’s one thing I’ll never understand?”
“What’s that?”
“Why he let himself be taken down like this. What could have been so bad that he would want it to end this way? I knew enough about this man to know that nothing short of the end of the world would cause him to lose faith in the future, nothing.”
“That’s just it. To him it was the end of the world and it was, in his mind anyway, partly his fault. Him and the man he called ‘Controller’.
“I guess we’ll never know if this ‘Controller’ actually exists.”
“Oh he does, Roberts. Or should I say, he did. You can find his body up over that hill, in the bottom of an open grave.”
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Other books by the author:
THE CONTROLLER – Covenant
COLOR ME MURDER – Sin City
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