by J. L. Saint
Maybe not so good. The policeman was not happy to see them. He frowned as he approached. “I’m sure there are better things to do than gawk at other people’s tragedy. Please leave.”
Angie winced as Rico’s jaw clenched. The cop was only doing his job, but Rico was on a sharp edge.
After their 4 a.m. wildly interesting breakfast, Rico hadn’t been able to sit still. He’d paced her bedroom floor, mentally going through everything he’d seen at the park. Then asked her question after question about what she remembered. Seeing sleep was out of the question, she’d called her mother at five in order to pick up her camera and surprisingly found her mother awake, having seen Lauren, Jack and the boys off to the airport. Her mother had taken her camera and camera bag with her while Angie had ridden in the ambulance with Franz.
Liz, with Franz’s wolfhound, Caesar, in tow, greeted Angie and Rico at the door. Caesar baptized Rico in a matter of seconds by jumping up, putting his paws on Rico’s chest and licking him on the cheek. Rico had taken the doggie assault with a laugh, rubbed the brute’s ears and declared Caesar a horse. It was immediately evident that Matt and Mitch had taken over Liz’s house and built their “base camp” for their “secret military missions”. The downstairs had been turned into a maze of tents and tunnels with sheets and blankets everywhere that her mother had yet to dismantle.
Angie helped her mother clean up while Rico poured through the pictures from Piedmont Park until he started pacing in frustration. It was then Angie suggested they walk through their steps at the park with the pictures to guide them and Liz took a copy of the pictures to Agent Gibson at the downtown precinct.
The cop reached them. “Didn’t you hear me say move on?”
“Yes.” Rico crossed his arms and widened his stance. “Which means we have a problem.”
So not good, Angie thought, wondering how grown men could turn into brick walls in a heartbeat. She stuffed her laptop in her backpack, ready for anything.
“Mister, you just mosey on back the way you came and the problem will be solved.”
“I can’t do that. I witnessed the sniper shooting here yesterday and I need to go back over the area to see if I can remember anything important.”
The cop looked as if Rico had just handed him a can of bullshit. “I hear every story in the book. You can’t cross the line unless you have a cop with you.”
“You’ll be with me,” Rico said.
“Nope. Has to be one of the investigating officers.”
“Let me get this straight. There are snipers terrorizing the country. We have no idea when or where they will strike next. I may be the only witness and I can’t walk the ridge behind you for two minutes?”
Angie could feel the tension mounting like an overinflated balloon. “Let’s just call Special Agent Gibson now,” she said.
“And what?” Rico asked. “Ask him to hold my hand so I might or might not recall something important?”
“Maybe he can tell the officer it’s all right for you to cross.”
“Let me see your phone, Angel.” She handed Rico the phone.
Rico dialed then handed the phone to the police officer. “You talk. I’ll walk.”
The officer looked at the phone, confused, then appeared as if he was going to have a cow as Rico slid under the crime-scene tape and headed for the MetroSouthern stage.
The cop went after Rico. “Stop. You can’t cross—who’s on the phone?”
“Special Agent Aaron Gibson. FBI.” Rico said and kept walking.
Thankfully the cop didn’t pull his gun, but followed after Rico as he talked to the FBI agent. She would have hated to do something drastic, like backpack the guy from behind. Not a good choice, but standing by while the officer shot Rico wouldn’t have been an option. She wondered if that was how Bonnie got sucked down with Clyde.
“Here. He wants to talk to you.” The cop shoved her phone at her and went after Rico. “I have to accompany you wherever you go.”
Rico didn’t even turn around to answer, but Angie heard his response. “As I said, Officer Morrow, that won’t be a problem. Just keep up and don’t talk.”
Angie paused to speak low-voiced to Special Agent Gibson. “Hello.”
“Ms. Freemont. Sorry we haven’t met, but can you explain to me what is going on?”
“Rico is trying to recall anything that might help catch the sniper. He hopes that retracing his steps will help.”
“And the pictures? Why weren’t those brought to our attention yesterday?”
“Because a man who’s like a father to me was shot and I was at the hospital with him until I came to get Rico from the police station last night. I didn’t remember the pictures until early this morning.”
“Did Rico see anything interesting in the pictures and that’s why you two are at the crime scene?”
“No. We are here because he didn’t.”
“Good. I will see you shortly.” He disconnected and Angie stared down at the phone a moment. See me shortly? The FBI must be on their way here. She glanced at Rico and decided she better let him know. But when she reached him, he was murmuring his thoughts out loud as he retraced his steps.
“I was about here when the little girl ran from the trees just ahead on the right. She was screaming for her daddy. Her father lay dead over there. Her name was Tanya. I can hear her mother screaming for her.”
Rico stared at the abandoned picnic basket and blanket. Angie’s stomach churned. She was a nurse and had seen a few things, but the scene hit her hard. The flies, the strong stench, the body tape, the blood-blackened grass all brought a visceral level of horror to the scene.
“I left the tree line and ran after her. The son-of-a-bitching sniper fucking shot at the little girl. He missed. I caught her and we rolled until I gained my feet. I brought her to her mother, who was over here holding an infant. I pushed them behind the trees, heard more shots, screams, and moved faster.”
Angie wasn’t sure how she kept silent. How she kept from going to Rico and wrapping her arms around him. He could have died. The little girl likely would have died then if he hadn’t acted. Tears stung her eyes as she followed him. She ached to touch him and to reaffirm again that they were both alive.
She could tell by the cop’s solemn expression that his attitude had changed. They moved to the area the sniper had shot from, then headed for the exit as Rico described chasing after and fighting with the man in fatigues. “He got away and I ran after him. I took a picture of him, his license plate and called 911 as I headed—”
Rico sucked in air. “Son of a bitch. It wasn’t before I saw the man in fatigues. It was after, when everyone else was leaving the park. Angie, let me see those pictures again.”
Angie pulled her laptop from her backpack. “What are you looking for?”
“Two women in burkas pushing a stroller. I tripped over the stroller wheel coming back into the park and nearly fell on the covered baby. I apologized to the women, but they never even glanced my way. They just rushed past me with their heads down. Maybe I’m being prejudiced, but if a man almost squashes your baby, aren’t you going to at least look at him? The stroller was completely covered too. On a hot day would a mother do that? I think you have a picture of two women dressed like that walking along the path pushing a stroller. It was before you started taking pictures of the MetroSouthern gathering. Angie flipped through the photos until she found the one Rico wanted. He and the cop leaned in to see it.
“Can you zoom in on them?”
Angie made the adjustment. The photo became extremely grainy but there wasn’t much to see apart from black garments and a tiny opening for eyes, too blurry to make out any details.
“There,” Rico said, pointing to the women’s feet. “They are both wearing men’s sneakers. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”
Rico turned around and headed for the exit to the park. Angie snapped the computer closed. “Where are you going?”
The cop followed Rico.<
br />
“There was a homeless man outside the gate yesterday. I want to see if he’s still there.”
“I can answer that,” the cop said. “Everybody calls him Sarge and the entrance out front is his daytime office. My partner took him to the Underground Rescue Mission over on Luckie Street last night. He’s probably still there.”
“Angel, can we get to the car by taking this street?”
“Yes. But I have to tell you something. When I spoke to Special Agent Gibson, he said he’d see me shortly. My guess is he’s headed here.”
“Which means we need to move faster than ever.”
“You’re not going to wait and tell them what we found?”
“I wait and they’ll have my ass back in their office with nothing to tell them. Officer Morrow, let Gibson know what we found and who we’re going to see. They already have a copy of the pictures, right?”
“Yes. SA Gibson mentioned he had them.”
“Then let’s see if this Sarge person saw anything important and if he’s of sound mind enough to tell us. If he can give us a lead to the burka wearers and they aren’t just neighborhood women out for a stroll, then we’ll have something to tell.”
The cop spoke up then. “Sarge always knows what’s going down on the streets. You tell him Officer Morrow said you’re legit. Otherwise he won’t say squat.”
“Thanks,” Rico said and returned to shake the officer’s hand.
“I hope you’re onto something,” the cop said.
Angie caught up with Rico’s ground-eating stride. She hoped they were onto something too. Now that Rico had a mission, some action he could take, he was a changed man.
Chapter Twenty
Gainesville, Georgia
From his rooftop perch, Salaam Meshood pressed a cloth to his brow. This morning was a crucial step in his plan and he was feeling the heat. Weeks of surveillance had outlined a small window of time to assassinate their target and stay undetected.
The offices in the building on whose roof he stood would open at nine. The security guard would arrive at eight thirty. The man he needed to kill at the bank across the street religiously arrived at 8 a.m. and parked in the same reserved space. Their inside source hadn’t reported there’d be a change in routine.
Salaam could not afford another mistake like yesterday. Both he and Abdullah had almost been caught by a man and one of the victims had lived. It was an affront to his flawless reputation and a mistake he was correcting. His trusted servants were watching and waiting, especially searching for the man who’d run into him in the park. He was the greatest threat.
Salaam hadn’t expected people to react so quickly. He’d shot the guy on the stage and then aimed for the woman with sinful red hair, but she was already on the ground and being protected. He’d made three kills then they’d left. Before they cleared the park, the man had come running their way. Salaam had urged Abdullah back into the trees and tightened his grip on the knife in his pocket, ready to slit the man’s throat. But the man saw someone else and ran past their hiding spot. When he and Abdullah ran into the man again at the park’s exit, the man had been on the phone reporting that he’d taken a picture of the sniper.
Allah had protected him and Abdullah. Still, it had not been good and Salaam did not want any witness left alive—nor victim either. Allah had to be displeased. Already his plan for this morning was not going well. He only had a short window of opportunity…
“What time is it, Abdullah?”
“Eight fifteen, Mullah Meshood.”
“Pray.” Salaam closed his eyes and beseeched Allah to save his plan from ruin and bless him with no more mistakes. He opened his eyes to see sunlight glinting off the silver Mercedes as it whipped quickly into the parking space. A distinguished man in a gray suit with gray hair exited the car, briefcase in hand. He was tall, slender and wide open. Salaam sighted the scope and smiled with satisfaction as he pulled the trigger. The bullet from his Remington P LTR reached its target in less than a second. The back of the man’s head exploded.
The person at the stoplight, a passing bicyclist and the Good Samaritan who stopped to see why a bicyclist was laying in the middle of the road were all next. He left the rooftop with Abdullah at his side. They still had five minutes to spare before the security guard would arrive.
On Twitter:
BREAKING NEWS: NYC. Four tourists shot at Ground Zero.
BREAKING NEWS: Three men shot in their vehicle at a stoplight near Langley.
BREAKING NEWS: Palm Beach, Fla. Sniper kills five models during beach shoot.
BREAKING NEWS: Tacoma. Motorists in funeral lineup shot on way to cemetery.
BREAKING NEWS: Chicago Cubs fans shot during pregame tailgating party.
BREAKING NEWS: Strippers shot outside Bombshell Club in Dallas.
BREAKING NEWS: Tour bus outside of Disneyland targeted by sniper. 6 dead.
BREAKING NEWS: Fayetteville, NC. 11 migrant workers found murdered at their camp.
Chapter Twenty-One
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
0900 hours
“Speak of the devil.” Roger answered his cell phone, surprised to see the name Paul on the display. Since his presidency, conversations with Paul were sparing and calls from him were rare. DT’s uncovering of Menendez’s terrorist crimes had been the topic of late while what happened in Lebanon hung around like a two-ton gorilla they both ignored. Orders to suppress the US missile strike’s role in the explosions in Lebanon came from the White House. “I was just about to call—”
“Uncle John’s dead, Roge. Shot in his bank’s parking lot less than an hour ago.”
“What?” Roger gripped the phone and sat hard. His office chair screeched in protest. “Bank robbery?”
Paul’s father, Roger’s mother and John were siblings. But Uncle John and his wife, Aunt Emily, had been like a second set of parents to their nieces and nephews. The couple, never having children of their own, often opened their home—a horse ranch outside of Gainesville, Georgia—to the nieces and nephews for summer vacations. Emily had died last year of cancer and they’d all been to the funeral.
“No. Sniper. Three other people outside the bank in Gainesville were killed with him. Same as yesterday afternoon, a simultaneous wave of shootings swept the country between eight and eight thirty this morning. Law enforcement was out in mass in the targeted cities, but the snipers hit adjacent cities and towns. Reports are just reaching the media. I’ve got over seventy-five innocent Americans dead in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Christ.” Roger sat stunned, emotions, shock and the pain of loss grabbed him deep. The enormity of the sniper situation was horrendous. Now it had struck into the heart of his family. Nearing seventy, Uncle John had had the stamina of a younger man. He was a bank president, a wicked golfer and a sharp sailboat racer. “Was he targeted because—”
“I’m President? I pray not, but the question is killing me. What if it had been Kerrie or Kathryn? God, what if either one of them had been shot?”
Paul’s voice shook as he spoke of his daughter and wife and Roger’s hand trembled as he adjusted the phone closer to his ear. He intimately knew Paul’s fear. Mari and her unborn baby were all tangled up inside him.
Paul continued before Roger could speak. “I knew in my mind when I took office that my family or I could be targeted by violence, but actually living through it now…I didn’t know shit. This is…hell. It’s too early to tell if the family is at risk, but I’m alerting everyone and the secret service is en route to every member.”
“Not here I hope. They’ll only be twiddling their thumbs on post.”
“You’re not there twenty-four seven.”
“Lately I am. Besides I’ve got men here for whatever I need. Who knows about Uncle John so far?”
“My dad’s the only one I’ve told. He’s calling your mom and the rest of the family, including your brothers. I have no doubt our folks will head to Gainesville today to make the viewing an
d funeral arrangements. We’re holding off on any press announcements until the family hears and protection is in place for Kathryn and me to go down there. John will be buried next to Aunt Emily.” Paul’s voice caught. “This situation is killing me. Every agency we’ve got is on this sniper situation and they’re digging deep. But we’ve got nothing. Victims are random. No pattern to the shootings except for simultaneous sweeps across the country. No notes. No sick bastards claiming triumph. At this point it appears Uncle John was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What can I do?”
“Just sit tight for now until I hear from Dad. We’ll have a private viewing with just the family tomorrow.” Paul paused. “Sorry for being all over the place, but did you say you were about to call me? Has something else happened to the family?”
“No, but I might need your help. You remember Corporal Rico Santana? Menendez kidnapped him along with Bill Collins’s kids?”
“I remember.”
“He was in Piedmont Park yesterday afternoon and chased down a sniper suspect. The SOO who gave me and the men such a hard time in Peru over Menendez showed up yesterday with the FBI to question Rico. They’re investigating his story. Rico is as solid as they come. I’d put my life in his hands, but I have a feeling the SOO is going after him since he can’t get to me—” Roger’s words cut off when his cell indicated he had an incoming call. It was Mari.
“I know they’re questioning someone in Atlanta, but had no details other than there’re no solid leads as of yet.” Paul muttered a curse. “This situation is killing me.”
“If there’s any info to be had from the shooting in the park, Rico will find it, provided they don’t railroad his ass to a jail cell first. General Dekker headed there this morning to step in. Maybe someone on your end can give the SOO a call and make sure he stays in line. If you hear anything more—”
“I’ll keep you in the loop. You do the same.”
“Count on it. And, Paul, stay safe.”
“Yeah. You too.”
