CHAPTER 92
Shahzad and his men were watching when the fleet of Presidential helicopters returned from the funeral.
From his vantage point in the penthouse, Shahzad could clearly see Dumaine, holding a hand of each of his little girls, exit the helicopter after President St. Clair, followed by his Body Man, identified in the dossier as Tim Harcourt, who quickly took the twins in charge while Dumaine went over to talk to the President’s son, Jack Houston St. Clair.
It occurred to Shahzad that if he had planned the operation better, he might have been able to take out Dumaine with sniper fire from this very penthouse. The range was long, yes, but it was not an impossible task. Still, this was not a concern since they hadn’t planned for it.
Dumaine followed the younger St. Clair as they walked over to the green on St. Clair Island’s private golf course closest to the water. The way St. Clair moved his hands, it was obvious he was pointing out various aspects of the island, giving Dumaine a kind of tour. Several Secret Service agents followed, pausing a few yards away out of earshot.
* * *
“And over there,” Jack pointed, “is where Tony Verges lives,” just three doors down from my house, over there.”
“Yeah?” said Dumaine. “I knew Tony lived here on the island.”
“I play golf with him all the time. For a big guy, he can really haul off and hit that ball down the fairway.”
“Really. Maybe you’ll play a few holes with me next day or so.”
“Want me to include Tony? You gonna use him in the new Administration?”
They turned and started walking back to Flagler Hall.
“Well, I want him to go back to CIA, but he’s passed the word up that he wants Defense.”
“Yes, he’s bent my ear on more than one occasion about bringing that Defense budget into line with something more rational.”
“Not that he’s wrong on any of that.”
“Just a lot of sacred cows in that budget. Congress won’t want to kill them.”
“People in Congress don’t want to kill any budget item—if it’s theirs—always the other guy’s.”
“True.”
“I could tell at the funeral Tony wanted to talk to me about it—”
“But it wasn’t the time.”
“Right.”
“Well, everybody’s going to want your ear.”
“Sure.”
“I invited Tony over for a drink later on.”
“Well, good. Maybe I’ll talk to him then.”
“We’re just having a few people in. You don’t have to join us, you know. The good thing about Flagler Hall is it’s so big that you can have ten things going on at any one time and the other nine groups wouldn’t know about the tenth.”
Dumaine stopped and looked at the big house.
“It’s about as big as White House.”
“Well, yeah, just about, if you take away the East and West wings,” Jack laughed. “Henry Flagler probably had more money than the Government back in 1902!”
“With all the shit the Secret Service put in when your dad became President, how much of a mess did they make? They’re working on my place up in Wellfleet now.”
“They added two more helipads. We had one already. They wanted four more, but Dad told them to use the grass. He plans on jackhammering the other two pads when he’s out of office and replanting grass.”
“Well, that’s not so bad.”
“They made him relocate his wine cellar upstairs so they could build a bunker below the house, for emergencies, nuclear attacks, whatever the hell. It was a mess down there because in Florida, you dig down three or four feet and you hit water. There are no basements here, unless they’re waterproofed perfectly. Took them weeks to get the leaks fixed, and then they ended up bringing in a self-sealed bunker built in sections up in Virginia.”
“Well, I don’t plan on spending any time in a bunker.”
“As soon as Dad gets a chance, the bunker reverts to a wine cellar.” Jack pointed to two low bungalows over to the right. “And those buildings, dorms really, were built to house Secret Service agents, their support personnel and communications center. The Government will remove them if Dad wants after he leaves office.”
They looked up as a Coast Guard helicopter made a pass over the island. Jack shook his head.
“This place is like a fortress when Dad’s in town. The neighbors hate it.” He turned to Dumaine. “Anything you feel like doing?”
“Naw. I’ll just stay here, spend time with the girls.”
“I noticed Tim’s really good with the girls,” Jack offered, just to see how Dumaine reacted.
He perked up.
“Oh, yeah, definitely. When he became my Body Man, he got to know them really well, and he’s been really helpful.”
“You serious about making him chief of staff?” Jack asked, not sure how far he ought to go to get his point across.
“Well, it occurred to me first thing after I heard about Phil.”
“It’s just that—”
“What, Jack?”
“Well, it’s such a, oh, high profile position, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah?” Dumaine asked, wanting more from Jack.
Jack shrugged.
“It’s just a matter of, well, of where you think Tim would be most valuable to you, where he could do you the most good. Chief of staff might not be the perfect job for him.”
“Well, it’ll need some thought, you’re right. I’ll talk to him about it.”
Jack found himself wanting to do whatever he could to make it easier for Dumaine, as well as this Tim Harcourt fellow. It wasn’t because they were Democrats. It was just because he didn’t think it would be good for the country if the truth about them leaked out. It would be devastating. But by placing Harcourt in the highly visible slot of chief of staff, Dumaine would be inviting exactly the kind of intense scrutiny that he ought to be avoiding.
Back during the campaign, blowing the whistle on these two guys might have made sense in the rough-and-tumble world of Presidential politics. But now that Dumaine was the President-elect, it was unthinkable to expose them, given the turmoil, scandal and distraction the country would endure if their secret were disclosed.
“Jack!”
They looked up and saw Francesca Santopietro approaching.
“Hey there, sweetie,” Jack called out, kissing her on the lips when she came up. She kissed Dumaine on the cheek.
“Tim is taking the girls into the pool over at your house,” she said.
“A little chilly,” said Dumaine, looking up at the crystal clear skies and breathing in the crisp winter air.
“The pool’s got a heater over at my house. Dad doesn’t like heated pools. ‘If I want hot water, I take a bath, damn it!’ is how he puts it, to be specific.”
“I thought we might join them,” said Francesca. “What are your plans for the afternoon?”
“I’m wide open,” said Jack. “What about you, Bill?”
“Sure, let’s take a dip and then maybe you could walk me around the island.”
“You’re on,” said Jack. “Wait a minute.”
Jack stooped to pick up a pebble off the fairway. He tossed it into the narrow waterway between St. Clair Island and Bay Harbor.
“Let’s go,” said Jack. “I’ve got a suit you can use at my house.”
They turned around and headed away from Flagler Hall toward Jack’s house a hundred yards distant.
* * *
Shahzad saw Jack’s girlfriend, Francesca Santopietro, daughter to the UN Italian ambassador, come down from the house and talk to them. He saw Jack Houston St. Clair pick up something from the golf course—a rock or some debris—and throw it into the water. They were directly across the water from Shahzad’s penthouse. He could almost read their lips.
Then they drifted away to what Shahzad knew was Jack’s house on the other (the south) side of the island.
He also noted f
our Secret Service agents following them from a discreet distance.
Shahzad was extremely uncomfortable. His knees had been bent in the same position for too long. He sat down on his butt and stretched his legs. To avoid being seen by sharpshooters on the roof of Flagler Hall, he and his men had crouched below the balcony rail of the penthouse, peering with their Zeiss binoculars through the lattice-like design fronting the terrace.
Shahzad now counted seven helicopters around Flagler Hall, three on concrete helipads, the others on the grass. Plus a couple of dozen vehicles: cars, vans, trucks—elements of the security apparatus that surrounded the President when he traveled. The two Secret Service buildings were a beehive of activity. There had to be two or three dozen agents working out of them.
Shahzad split his time between the penthouse apartment and a Magnum 28 speedboat, preferring an older model so it wouldn’t attract any attention. He patrolled the waters around St. Clair Island to get a feeling for the enhancements in security that occurred when the President was actually in residence on St. Clair Island.
He could easily see the security level doubled, but it didn’t triple.
Two others had joined the single patrol boat that circled the island. Two of the tree boats remained on station on the north and south sides of the island, anchored, while the third patrolled continuously around the island. Not a very impressive defense, thought Shahzad. Even the French had put forward a stronger force in St. Barts.
But still, the boats were very important, as any alarm sent out by the boats interdicting Shahzad’s team as it moved in on the island would give the Secret Service agents in the house time to remove the President and Dumaine to some highly protected location, most likely an underground bunker. Shahzad was convinced there was a very secure bunker, or at least an above-ground “safe room,” where agents would remove the top VIPs the instant there was any suggestion of trouble. For this reason, it was imperative that Shahzad’s people got to the island undetected by the boats.
Then they could storm the mansion with complete surprise before agents were able to get the VIPs out of bed and down into any bunker. If they got to the bunker, they’d surely be able to hold out until SWAT teams or U.S. Special Ops reinforcements arrived from Homestead Air Force Base an hour away to the south.
Speed and surprise, thought Shahzad. Speed and surprise.
* * *
CHAPTER 93
President St. Clair walked over to Jack in the clubhouse bar later that night and nodded toward Francesca.
“I think she makes the perfect hostess, Jack.”
“She certainly is the prettiest hostess.”
Francesca had been working the room like the diplomat’s daughter she was, speaking several languages, laughing at stale jokes, complimenting women on their hair, dress, jewelry.
“So when are you going to make it official, Jack. Marry her!”
“Oh, Dad. When the time’s right.”
“You’re thirty-six, Jack.”
“I know, Dad, I know.”
On certain occasions like this Flagler Hall was shut down to its normal membership and the house resumed the status of a “single family residence,” but what a residence!
The President was offering cocktails and dinner to the Dumaine inner circle invited down for what was supposed to have been a holiday, but turned into a more somber occasion following the death of Dumaine’s wife and chief campaign aide.
“Still,” the President had said to Jack, “people have to eat, people have to drink. We can’t all curl up and go to bed crying.”
Having the facilities of the clubhouse made entertaining on a grand scale much easier than would be the case otherwise.
After cocktails, the party moved into the lavish dining room converted from Flagler Hall’s original Grand Reception Room, with a vaulted ceiling painted with cherubs and intricate carved moldings lined with gilt. A detachment from the Navy Band played Mozart and Haydn string quartets during dinner.
* * *
Outside in the steady 15-knot breeze, Shahzad kept his distance in his rented Magnum 28 as the midnight hour passed. Lights went off one by one as windows darkened and people turned in. By 2 A.M., all was quiet on St. Clair Island.
Shahzad saw that the patrol boat pattern established during the daylight hours did not change at night. One boat anchored on the south side of the island and another anchored on the north side, just around the bend in the island across from Shahzad’s penthouse. A third boat circled the island slowly, averaging forty-five minutes each trip.
Plenty of time for Shahzad’s commandos to make the trip from the docks at their rented house across Biscayne Bay by Zodiacs equipped with super-silent engines, and land unobserved in one of three unsecured locations pre-selected based on the anchorages of the two patrol boats.
Their observations revealed three distinct landing spots. These spots were out of sight of the two anchored boats and only visible to the boat circling the island. There was no helicopter traffic all night, obviously to allow the people in Flagler Hall peace and quiet so they could sleep. The only way Shahzad saw that his team could be detected was by the sharpshooters posted on the roof of Flagler Hall. They were there day and night, but only two of them at night, so far as he could determine with his night-vision goggles and high-powered Zeiss binoculars. Shahzad felt sure these lookouts would not wear night-vision goggles, though they would certainly have them available if any fighting broke out. But chances were these soldiers would not be wearing them while on normal nighttime duty. They would have them attached to their utility belts.
But each and every one of Shahzad’s people would be wearing them when the time came.
At 3 A.M., Shahzad sent in scuba divers on all four sides of the island to reconnoiter the seawalls.
Those on the east side of the island (where there was a guard gate and the narrow bridge crossed over to Miami Beach) were patrolled sporadically. Those on the west, southwest and south sides were heavily guarded by agents patrolling on foot about seventy to a hundred feet apart, easily within hailing distance. But there were many places where there were no foot patrols—by the docks at private houses where yachts were tethered and jet ski lifts were placed.
Flagler Hall stood on the southwest edge of the island, affording the best view of downtown Miami.
An aerial view of St. Clair Island revealed a cluster of trees not far from the 16th Hole. Within this cluster of trees was a maintenance shed around which tractors, trucks and other gear were stored when not in use maintaining the golf course and grounds. The dense tree and shrub cover was intended to shield the wealthy golfers from unsightly machinery and supplies.
But this area offered a perfect location for Shahzad’s men to collect themselves before the final push on the house.
Analyzing the layout of Flagler Hall, Shahzad settled on two or three bedroom suites where Dumaine would be lodged on the second floor. The first floor was taken up with mostly the public rooms: the Grand Ballroom, the enclosed Courtyard, the Library, the Main Parlor, the Grand Hall, the Billiards Room, the Music Room, a huge dining room, and overlooking the pool and Bay, a large bar area for members of the St. Clair Island Club.
The second floor housed the master bedroom suite on the southwest corner, and this is where President St. Clair slept. On the other side of the second floor, also a corner, was the second largest guestroom, the Florida Suite, and this is where Dumaine would almost certainly be found. Several bedrooms and sitting rooms stood along the hallway separating these two large suites.
Shahzad’s plan was to collect his men in the tree cluster by 3:30 A.M. As soon as they were settled down after landing and had made sure nothing was amiss, they would spring forth from the trees, cross the 16th Hole green, and charge right through the front doors. Shahzad estimated they would probably get within thirty yards before they were forced to open fire after being challenged by the agents outside. Since their weapons would be equipped with sound suppressors, it was entirely
possible the agents inside Flagler Hall would not even hear their weapons fire.
Three of his men would remain outside shooting up at the agents on the roof in an attempt to minimize their ability to impede Shahzad’s initial progress and also to eliminate them so they would not be able to harass his team when they made their exit.
Another four men would concentrate on two outbuildings specially constructed by the Secret Service where agents lodged overnight and maintained their communications center. They were like mini-barracks.
As soon as the firing broke out, two of Shahzad’s commandos would launch rocket-propelled grenades through the windows of both houses. These RPG-7s were highly effective against tanks, so they would obliterate the Secret Service bungalows. His men would launch one RPG-7 after another until both houses were engulfed in flames. Any agents escaping from the houses would be brought down by rapid-fire from the other commandos supporting this effort.
As soon as Shahzad and his assault team swept past the agents outside the main doors of Flagler Hall, they expected others to be stationed immediately inside. Here, there was a large marble reception area that rose two stories. A majestic marble staircase led up to a wrap-around balcony overlooking this two-story room that resembled an enclosed courtyard. This wrap-around balcony extended around the entire house on three sides (the fourth taken up with the marble staircase). This open balcony was like an open-air hallway, or gallery, and overlooked the large open courtyard below.
The Running Mate (A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller) Page 32
