Last Witness

by Glen Carter

  “Something you should know,” Dwayne said.

  “Go.”

  “That wire transfer. All that cash, shuffled from country to country, bank to bank. Amazing what you can do to trace it.”

  Get to the point.

  “The transaction was carried out remotely using a communications bird owned by a company that provides satellite telephone services.”

  “You’re getting complicated.”

  “I’m getting to a really important point,” Dwayne replied.

  “Go on.” For Christ’s sake.

  “I broke into the company’s mainframe. Then traced the transponder records to get the identifier for the sat-phone holder.”

  “Name?”

  “Marc Poole of Montreal, Quebec. Pays his bill through a Canadian bank.”

  “OK,” Jack said.Was it actually possible that Rusakova was Poole? Not some blackened corpse on a morgue table. Lilia had already told him that the sniper was alive and well in Havana.That he had already killed. Had the agency gotten the wrong man? If so, what was Poole doing in Cuba? Jack needed to sort it out. But he didn’t have time.

  “You can track sat-phones,”Mesner continued. “Last use data. If you have the right equipment and know how. All you have to do is acquire the coordinates and tap into an appropriate satellite.The National Security Agency’s got one slaved overhead right now. Pretty impressive.”

  “And?”

  “Are you facing the monument?”

  “Yes.Why.”

  “Look behind you,” Mesner said. “The last time Marc Poole fired up his sat-phone, he was about six hundred yards from where you’re standing. Give or take a few feet.”

  Jesus.The sweat running down Jack’s back suddenly turned to ice.

  The chanting was explosive. Cuba libre! Cuba libre! Voices upon voices, the thump of feet rumbled through Revolution Square like an earth tremor. Jack was in the middle of it all, sweat soaking his clothes. Kaitlin was still nowhere to be seen. He pulled himself tight and pushed through the crowd.Then he spotted her, near the steps that led to the podium. He shouted out, uselessly. Someone was blocking his way. He pushed a man aside, drawing a disconnected swing from the guy.

  Cuba libre! Cuba libre!

  The cheering was unbearable. Even the Secret Service agents had worried looks on their faces. One of them brought a sleeve to his mouth and shouted something.The crowd closed in around Kaitlin. Seth was pushing them back.

  Everyone was happy. Excited by what was about to happen.That was a good thing. But a mob was still a mob. A reservoir of brute energy that could go rogue with the pop of a firecracker. It was that simple.

  The presidents hadn’t arrived yet. A few seconds later, the air was filled with the whump, whump of helicopters.There were two of them on the horizon, one a decoy while the other carried President Frederick Denton and President Pilious Ortega.The crowd went wild.

  Jack desperately shouldered his way into the mob.

  Kaitlin saw the helicopters.

  “Getting it,” Seth said, as Marine One dropped quickly from the sky and settled on ground effect in the secure landing zone. Secret Service agents quickly surrounded the aircraft. The rotor blades slowed and two minutes later they stopped. Then the door to the President’s helicopter was opened.

  There was ear-splitting applause as Denton and Ortega emerged into the afternoon sun. Both men waved as they walked towards the monument. Seth zoomed in. Kaitlin was being jostled around. The crowd could not be contained, spilling outward, knocking down barriers. A hundred yards away, in an area cordoned off for international media, cameras were being hoisted from tripods. It was likely the surging crowd had blocked their line of sight. Camera people were trying to reposition for a workable shot but soldiers were holding them back. Kaitlin understood their frustration and was thankful she and Seth had gotten away early.

  “Good call, Seth,” she shouted.

  “Great call,” he replied with his eye pasted to the camera’s viewfinder. “Never liked being corralled like that. This stuff’s unbelievable. Just got a great shot of Denton and Ortega embracing. They’re loving this.”

  Kaitlin could hardly believe her luck, but what happened next caused her heart to jump a beat.

  He had to reach her, but bodies were pressing in on him. Squeezing. Making it impossible to move. Someone was screaming into his ear and then a bottle was thrust into his hands. Jack shoved it away and with all his energy he pushed further into the crowd. Fifty yards now. Kaitlin. Move! He knew she wouldn’t. She’d stay exactly where she was. He would have done the same.The President was moving towards her, smiling for the only camera within a hundred yards. Seth’s camera. Suddenly, Jack stumbled and fell. Someone stepped on him. If he didn’t get up he was done for. He pulled himself to his feet, but he’d suddenly lost sight of Kaitlin. Secret Service agents were all around her. Shit, that could mean only one thing. Denton was there, too. Pressing the flesh, which he was prone to do. His protective detail had no liking for the impromptu walkabouts, and with good reason. Now, Jack felt the same way because Kaitlin was as much a target as POTUS.

  Jack clenched his jaw and dove like a mad man towards the kill zone.

  Poole could hardly believe the opportunity that presented itself when the two presidents left the red carpet and walked to the front of the crowd near the stairs that led to the podium. He quickly calculated the number of bodies between his rifle and his targets.There were too many, too deep, for a viable shot. Then, stupidly, Secret Service agents muscled forward and, miraculously, the crowd pulled back. In a moment, the two leaders would reach a spot where only two obstacles stood in the way of a clean shot. A female reporter and her cameraman. He was good enough and fast enough to take them out, though a head shot on the male would be a problem since his camera was in the way. That meant he’d have to acquire the female first, kill her, and then harvest the ensuing panic to finish the job. The American President would be his primary target. Poole was confident that he could drop the woman and then easily take him.

  His breathing slowed. On the other end of his scope the female raised a hand. No doubt trying to get Denton’s attention. Reporters always did that. Both presidents moved in her direction, glad-handing as they walked. A pair of Secret Service agents stepped aside to allow them room. Another foolish move. Poole positioned his cross hairs on the back of the reporter’s head and began to pull the trigger.

  Jack was desperate to reach her, but his options were gone. He was pushing and being pushed, shouting her name, impossible to be heard above the chanting. Cuba libre! He shuddered at what was happening. The two leaders had deviated from the plan, meaning their security teams were scrambling to adapt. Everything was being improvised now. Jack was just a spectator, like the rest, but he froze at what he saw next. Ortega was speaking to Kaitlin. They shook hands and then Kaitlin shoved her microphone at him. Ortega was saying something, smiling. He looked over his shoulder at Denton, who was moving steadily closer. A Secret Service agent had his hand on Denton’s back, speaking at his ear, likely trying to turn him back to the red carpet. Jack saw it was Wolff. Looking irritated because the President was ignoring him. In a second, Denton would be face to face with Kaitlin.

  Jack tore through a wall of people towards his doomed wife.

  Poole tingled with the surge of chemicals building in his bloodstream. He lay perfectly still. Cool air rushed the length of his body, exiting through the metal grate where the tip of his rifle lay invisible to the outside. He saw nothing but the back of her head, now. The only thing in his way. Gently he applied more pressure to the trigger.

  Take the shot. Take the shot.A bead of sweat suddenly appeared on his forehead. He braced against the illusory rush of a Moscow morning. His perch outside the theatre of the doomed. Chechen swine swaggering through the rows of hostages.They had dragged Katrina to a window for the TV cameras to see. A groan escaped the sniper’s throat. Take the shot,Vasily. He will slaughter her like an animal. Pull the trigger,
you fucking bastard. Katrina’s father had demanded the impossible.Within that Moscow moment, inside his riflescope, the clean shot simply did not exist.

  Across distance and time, Katrina pleaded with her eyes. As low nod of her head, intended for the man she knew would be watching through his sniper’s scope.

  Rusakova’s face had dripped with tears. He would kill his beautiful wife. But death by his bullet was better than what the Chechen cocksucker was about to do.With his large filthy knife.His bullet found Katrina’s heart, and destroyed his.

  At that instant, in Revolution Square, Rusakova pulled the trigger.

  “Sniper,” Jack shouted. “Get down !”

  He was absolutely airborne but, with the aerodynamics of a stone, he descended sideways, twisting at the last second with arms wide. He caught her at the waist, and brought her down.The scene exploded into chaos.

  Kaitlin screamed.

  “Stay down,” Jack shouted.

  The soft thud of a bullet. Someone cried out in pain. Bodies collapsed onto the ground—feet and hands scraped at concrete. There was shouting all around them.Then another bullet.

  Jack looked up to see Denton collapse into the arms of a Secret Service agent. He was suddenly surrounded by large men with guns. It seemed more guns than men. The President barely touched the ground as they ran him towards the safety of the limousine. Another rifle shot chipped concrete as Denton was rushed away. People tumbled over people. Screaming. Jack lowered himself on top of Kaitlin. “Don’t move,” he shouted.

  Kaitlin was still.

  Seth was on his knees, doing his best to level the camera. Jack grabbed him, but the wiry Brit broke free and was up and moving in the direction of the presidential motorcade.

  “Seth!” The maelstrom swallowed Jack’s shout. Pollard was gone.

  In a matter of seconds, Revolution Square was bleeding people. Soldiers fought uselessly to stop the stampede. One of them fired his weapon into the air, sending the crowd into even greater panic. Scaffold supports for several broadcast booths were torn away by a river of people, sending talent and technicians crashing to the ground.Those who could not exit through gates, climbed over them. Then the fence collapsed under the weight of a massive uncontrollable mob.

  Not far from Jack, a bloodied body was being tended to by Cuban security. An SUV tore up and the lifeless form was loaded aboard. At least one president had not been lucky. Maybe neither. The armor-plated limo carrying the President of the United States raced from the scene, being pursued by a line of Secret Service vehicles. All but one. Jack squinted and with stinging eyes saw what he couldn’t be seeing. Seth Pollard was frantically waving him over— yelling. At him and Kaitlin. Jack clamped shut his eyes. Then he opened them to see the unbelievable. Pollard was being helped into the rear of a Secret Service vehicle. Jack pulled Kaitlin to her feet and they ran.

  The Georgian watched a line of Secret Service vehicles speeding from Revolution Square. Jaw clenched, he stood post-like against a torrent of people. Denton was likely dead, or at least mortally wounded. And he was certain the Cuban president was down.The sniper was still tucked away.The Georgian pictured him, lying in his little nest, waiting for the moment of his escape. Less than a day ago, Asatiani had had a much tougher time, than Rusakova ever would, squeezing into the ductwork where the sniper now waited.Once inside, he had removed four screws securing two sections of the duct. Carefully he slipped a small package into the darkened space above his head. He replaced the screws and then, satisfied that his presence there would not be detected, Asatiani climbed out and left as invisibly as he had come.

  The mission had been a success. Ortega was dead and possibly Denton. Vega would present himself as a steady hand. Of course, with the military’s backing, who would oppose him? Rusakova would be revealed as the lone assassin. A man with a grudge after being fucked over by the American CIA.The bodies in the van were a bonus. The two mafia goons and the pretty Russian journalist would lead American investigators down some meaningless road. Smiling, Asatiani reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. He flipped it open and dialed a number. Turning, he pushed call, and three seconds later a small section of building exploded with a flash of light and smoke. The concussion thundered across the broad avenue, knocking people to the pavement. Asatiani took a deep satisfying breath, flipped the phone shut, and headed home. Picturing the face of his beautiful daughter.

  58

  The Secret Service had done what it was trained to do, and after a nail-biting race to the airport, a handful of people boarded Air Force One.

  A sweaty agent secured his weapon and used both hands to tug shut the port side door. By then, the giant 747 was already rolling. Its huge tires quickly gathered speed on the hot sticky runway and, after twenty agonizing seconds, the behemoth pointed its nose skyward and lumbered into the simmering humidity. The big jet banked abruptly towards Florida and rapidly ascended beyond the deadly reach of surface to air missiles. Chafe and flares were jettisoned as a precaution, and at the safety of fifteen thousand feet, the pilot bled twenty thousand pounds of thrust from the engines. Then, he extinguished the seat-belt sign.

  At the back of the aircraft, Jack took stock.They were alone.The entire media contingent had missed the ride and the biggest story of their careers. Jack was absolutely bewildered. The only thing he had gotten from Seth was a shrug and the agents in the front of the SUV were clearly in no mood for talking. So, he kept his mouth shut.The airport had been a blur.They were hustled into the aircraft, unceremoniously dumped where they sat, and told to stay put.

  Breaking news producers in New York and Washington would be frantic because their reporters had literally missed the bus, which was a pain in the ass to say the least. Air Force One and the President were the story, meaning they had a rich exclusive. Jack was already plotting to take advantage of that, but first things first. Kaitlin was deathly still. Jack reached down and took her hand. “Are you OK?”

  Kaitlin stiffened. She looked at him with moist eyes. “My God, I thought you were shot.”

  Jack whispered into her ear. “I’m alright, babe. How about you?”

  Kaitlin’s hand shook. “I’m here. I’m alive.That’s all I can tell you right now.”

  “You hadme worried.”

  “You saved my life,” she replied.

  Jack decided then that he would never tell her how true that was.

  Kaitlin swallowed hard and beat back a sob. “Tissue,” she murmured thickly.

  Jack turned to get up and met Seth’s crooked grin. “Check the camera,” he ordered.

  “Gotcha.”

  Thirty seconds later Jack returned from the lavatory with a fistful of tissues.

  “Thanks,” Kaitlin said, already regaining her composure.“Maria’s gonna be so pissed.”

  “Understandably, but she’ll get over it.” Jack needed to think about other things. For one, the President. The Secret Service had reacted with lightening speed, though it didn’t mean Frederick Denton was alive. Jack wondered if they were flying with a corpse. If they were already in the process of swearing in a new president in Washington.

  It was heartbreaking to think about. Denton.The death of his friend, Pilious Ortega. Two brave leaders who were trying to do the right thing.The deeds of fine men did not survive the treachery of weaklings and fools.

  Kaitlin was already writing a script. Playing her role against the backdrop of unbelievable events. As soon as the aircraft touched down the network would be screaming for her. Kaitlin O’Rourke had the best seat in the house on a ball breaker of a yarn. Jack glanced at his watch and decided it was time to take advantage of that. “Let’s go,” he said to Pollard. “Bring the camera.”

  Kaitlin looked up, quizzically.

  “Leave a spot in your script for Braithwaite.”

  Kaitlin gave Jack a doubtful look. “They might have a brig on board.”

  Jack knew the rules. No one moved around Air Force One without escort. Even VIPs were restricted i
n where they could go aboard the highly secure aircraft. Screw it.

  Seth picked up his camera and followed.

  Without saying a word they made their way forward into a second passenger section identical to the one they’d left.There were a dozen empty seats that resembled the first-class area of any commercial airliner. Twenty feet further there was a door.They were about to commit a serious security breach, but he opened it anyway.

  Seth whistled. “You got balls, mate.”

  They entered a work area. Spartan with two desks that each had seating for four. All were empty. Jack was beginning to wonder if anyone had made it back to the aircraft before their panicked departure.The functionaries and media abandoned in Havana would be flown home aboard a carbon copy of Air Force One.

  On the left-hand side of the aircraft the empty work area gave way to a passage that led forward. Jack felt like he was floating on the thick carpet as he stepped tentatively in that direction. An instant later, he abruptly halted, causing Seth to collide with his back.

  The man with a gun in front of them looked extremely peeved. “Down,” he barked. “Down, now!”

  Jack raised a hand and was about to speak.

  The Secret Service agent wasn’t interested. “I said on the floor.”

  The two of them dropped face down on the carpet. Jack realized his stupidity. How far did he expect to get before running into suits with weapons? Strangely, he wondered whether the guy had special bullets in his gun—the kind that bounced off aluminum instead of punching holes in the side of the aircraft. At this altitude they’d be extruded through the fuselage like ketchup. Tough way to go. After a few tense seconds, Jack became aware of leather. He smelled it first, and then saw the toe of a shoe.The stitch work said expensive.Maybe Italian. Above him, someone chuckled.

  “You have no idea how much I’m enjoying this, Doyle. Especially since this has been a really shitty day.”The emphasis was on shitty. “You can stay down there if you want. Or you and that shooter of yours can get up off the floor and follow me to where the real story is. Believe me, it’s not in Havana.”