by Randall Wood
“Fuck you very much.” Jack pulled out one of his cards. He flipped it over and held it up. “My cell. Give it to anyone you think may need it.”
At that point, the subject of the conversation chose to ring. Jack snatched it off his belt and glanced at the screen before answering.
“Yeah, Syd.”
“Jack, we just got word from NSA. One of the phones was used. It was calling the one we have here in the evidence pile. It kinda freaked us out.”
“Where did the call originate from?”
“Right here in DC, within a mile of the Capitol.”
“Got it. I’ll be there in a minute.”
He flipped the phone shut and turned to find Greg looking at him this time.
“He’s here.”
• • •
Charlie was exhausted. The last week before the State of the Union speech was always a marathon of meetings, phone calls, and piles of reading. Every lobbyist inside and outside the DC area wanted their cause mentioned in the speech. Governors, congressmen, and senators wanted to add their suggestions and had to be heard out and placated. People had to be vetted. People with egos as big as buildings had been parading through his office for weeks now. Charlie would be very happy when this night was over, and they could all get back to some real work.
But not yet. He currently had one of the Senate’s biggest egos across the table from him once again. He looked up at the portrait of Teddy Roosevelt, but no help was coming from that source. He returned his gaze across the table to the aide-of-the-moment, who was currently speaking. He decided to cut him off; time was short.
“Excuse me. I hear what your man is saying, Senator, but we all know that a majority of handguns in this country are foreign-made. They may be American-owned companies, but the number of workers in the states is nothing compared with the number of workers outside the US. The millions of lost jobs argument just doesn’t hold up.”
“In my state alone, there are thousands of jobs at stake. How can you say that this doesn’t hold up?” the senator countered.
“Those jobs are all white-collar management and marketing positions, Senator. They will no doubt suffer a few losses, but the effect on your state’s economy will be little. I’m sorry, Senator, but we’ve been here before. Time is limited. I have a deal to offer.”
The senator smiled and leaned back in his chair. Was he going to get what he wanted?
“I’m listening.”
Charlie looked the senator in the eye. He hated that smile. While he respected the man as a political adversary, Charlie loathed almost everything the senator stood for. Charlie was against what he was about to offer, but had been ordered to make it happen by his boss, the Chief of Staff. He looked from the senator to the ten aides he had brought with him. This was not for their ears.
The senator quickly caught the hint. “Would you all excuse us for a moment? Mr. Parker and I would like to have a private conversation.”
Charlie could not resist checking his watch as the aides all filed out of the room. He turned and nodded to Ashley, his secretary, who also rose to leave, but not before giving him a frown on the way out.
“Senator, we both know the President would like to announce the existence of the crime bill tonight in the State of the Union. If it’s in the speech, then it’s expected by the public to have heavy pressure by the White House to pass. I understand how, if you vote in favor, you will face a tough battle for reelection in your state next year. The White House would have no choice but to draw attention to the vote and lay blame with your party and you in general. This would, of course, be followed by a strong candidate from your state running in opposition for your seat. I assure you that, whoever that person is, they will be very well-financed.
“However, if you were to choose to vote in favor of the bill, and bring the other eight votes you influence with you, the President has authorized me to make an offer. Vote in favor, and the President will publicly thank you and call attention to how the manufacturers, despite pressure from your office, refused to move any of their facilities to the US. We would also promise not to run a strong candidate in next year’s election and place a cap on election budgets.”
The senator was caught off-guard. He had expected some kind of pork barrel program for his state, or one of the DOD contracts currently being considered to be awarded. This was more than he had expected. He knew his personal views were beginning to run against the majority of the voters in his state, and his staff had continually pointed this out. With the baby boomers dying off, he was losing his voting majority. Projected numbers for the next campaign were not good. Now, here was Charlie Parker, offering him another term. What if word of this deal leaked?
“When will this bill be presented, Mr. Parker?”
Charlie sat back with a hidden smile. He had him. He was looking for assurance that the White House would hold up its end. He would get it.
“We estimate it will take at least a year to cover everything.”
The senator smiled at that. A year would be a few months after the next senatorial election. He had one more problem.
“I think I’ll need to sit on the committee.”
“We’ve already thought of that. You won’t chair, but you’ll have a seat.”
The senator thought the offer through from all angles. Political angles. He failed to see a downside, although he was sure there was one. This was worth more than the campaign contributions he was getting from the gun industry.
“You have someone ready to fall on his sword?” he asked.
“We’ll pick some young district attorney. He can be the queen who the party moved out onto the board too soon.”
“Well, son, I think you can tell the President we have an understanding.”
“Excellent, Senator.” Charlie rose to his feet and shook the man’s hand. “I trust you’ll be making some phone calls soon.”
“Of course.” He left the room with a purposeful stride, his aides falling into tow.
Ashley returned and looked at Charlie with one eyebrow raised. “What just happened in here?”
“I’ll fill you in later. I need Bill. Tell him there’s a change, and get me a minute with the President. No, wait, never mind, I’ll just go over myself. Where is he?”
“In the Oval, practicing.”
“Okay, I’m off. Tell Bill. Go. Go.”
Ashley shook her head as she watched him almost trip as he rounded the corner. She turned the opposite way to find Bill. Her boss was at least entertaining.
• • •
Sam sat in his dark hotel room. He watched the shadows move across the room, and the light fade to a point that he was satisfied it was safe to begin the next step. With a grunt against the pain, he rose from his chair and walked into the adjoining room. It was as he had left it. He double checked that the door was locked and chained before moving to the bed. He shoved the bed against the far wall to give him the maximum space in front of the window facing the Capitol. He then returned to his room, and quietly as he could, dragged the large dresser through the door and into the corner room.
With some more shoving, he soon had the two dressers back-to-back, forming a table about three by six foot. Next, he placed the two straight-back chairs from both rooms onto the table. A towel from the bathroom covered the front chair. Sam eyed his engineering before carefully climbing onto the perch.
He sat in the rear chair and gazed over the front one out the window and down onto Capitol Plaza. His elevated position offered him the angle he needed without him presenting himself in the window. He looked at the surrounding rooftops, but was unable to see anyone moving in the dark. Satisfied, he returned to his room and uncovered his hardware from the bed, carefully inspected the scope, and then powered it up. He returned to his perch and scanned out the window. The green glow of the night vision increased his vision exponentially. He slowly developed a mental range card. The TV in the next room kept him abreast of arriving VIPs to the Capitol. He sett
led in to wait.
The state of South Dakota holds 3,026 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 2,027 are repeat offenders.
—FORTY-ONE—
Sydney stood and arched her back. She had been leaning over this desk for hours as she and Larry went over the mountain of papers gathered from the two homes. They had several file cabinets’ worth of paper spread out on tables, with more being unloaded all the time and not enough space or people to process it all quickly. The fact they no longer had Dave to help was another hindrance. They did have some new help however.
Through the glass partition she saw the newest team member hunched over the laptop he had been working on for several hours. Jack had forced him to stop and eat something a couple of hours ago, but Eric continued to type with one hand while the other shoved a sandwich into his mouth. His mouth now held a well-chewed pencil that was occasionally snatched free to make a new notation on the legal pad next to him, only to be returned quickly to its previous place. He typed with a speed that would rival any reporter.
On arrival in DC, Eric had met some computer technicians from the National Security Agency. They offered their first names and nothing more, as it was typical. With Jack watching, Eric gave them a quick rundown on what they were after and what he had accomplished so far. One had watched over Eric’s shoulder for a few minutes, and apparently satisfied that he knew what he was doing, went to work on the remaining laptop. Now and then they would shout out numbers and phrases that the others would acknowledge. It was all a mystery to Sydney.
She walked to the refrigerator in the corner to retrieve two Mountain Dews. One she opened, the other she placed between Eric’s flying fingers. He paused and looked up at her.
“How’s it coming, Eric?”
“I’m making progress. It’s slow, and I can’t tell when I’ll be through. It’s frustrating.” He leaned his chair back as far as it would go before opening the can. High fructose corn syrup was bad for keyboards. He downed half the can before setting it down at arm’s length from the laptop. “How about you?”
Sydney turned to look back through the glass at Larry. He sat at the table with a pencil behind his ear. His hair was a mess. Shirt tails out. His tie had disappeared several hours ago. He was rubbing his neck as he scanned another document.
“We’re all tired. Look—don’t kill yourself. Stop and take a break every once in a while. You’re no good to anyone if you pass out at the keyboard. Take a walk around the room. Get something to drink.”
“Okay, I’ll try. You, too.”
“All right, me too.”
Eric rose to take a stroll. But he gathered his notes to take with him.
“Thanks, sis.”
Sydney just smiled and returned to her pile of paper. At least he hadn’t called her Mom.
• • •
John Hoskins was head of the Secret Service detail in charge of securing the President. He was not in a happy mood. Not only did he have his principal making a semi-public appearance tonight, he had fresh information that pointed toward a professional assassin in the area, possibly targeting him. As the agent in charge, John was responsible. But he still had to listen to one man.
“Mr. President, we have a credible threat. I would like to postpone departure until the awnings can be erected at the entrances. I also think the vest is in order.”
The President, surrounded by staffers in the Oval Office, had just donned the suit he was going to wear. One carefully selected for its on-camera appeal, along with a tie which had been approved by no less than ten people. It had been checked for color, shine, and its ability to not bleed on camera—whatever that meant. The President chose not to care. Now the Secret Service was asking him to change into a different suit, one which would accommodate the custom-molded bulletproof vest that he had been fitted for before even taking office. The thing had some kind of gel between two layers of some space-age super metal. Despite the tailoring of the vest, it still hampered his movements and gave him a sort of stiff walk. Something he had to overcome when he had thrown out the first pitch at the World Series last year. He hated the thing.
“John, we should have left five minutes ago. I can’t have the entire House and Senate, not to mention the entire nation, waiting for me to make a wardrobe change, especially two wardrobe changes. I’m sure as hell not giving a speech with the damn armor on! As for the awnings, you have five minutes. Tonight, I could care less about the awnings.”
The President then turned to talk with his speech writer. John took the hint and quickly left the Oval. Once in the hallway, he pulled out his radio. Unlike on TV, the little sleeve mikes did not function inside the West Wing. In fact, no remote communication devices were allowed to function here, unless your name was John Hoskins.
“This is Hoskins. POTUS refuses to change the schedule. The awnings are a go; get them up now. Update HRT. Has the perimeter been swept?”
“Yes, about thirty minutes ago.”
“Do it again.”
“Yes, sir.”
John lengthened his stride and people jumped out of his way. He was upset about the awnings. This President had shot down the awnings which the service usually erected to shield him from snipers whenever he entered or left a building. The President had likened it to having a slave shade and fan him. His PR people had agreed. So the Service had done the best they could to shorten his time in the open, choosing alternatives whenever possible, or entrances with existing awnings. This President was a typical one. He viewed his security as a necessary nuisance, something to be tolerated.
John had worked hard to gain the man’s trust and respect and would have been surprised to know that he had both. But tonight was all about politics, and the President was not as pliable as he might have been on other nights. John paused once he was outside and fought the urge to pull out a cigarette. Something he and the President secretly did outside the view of the First Lady. He stared out over the waiting limousines and went through his mental list. Had he covered all the bases? Were there enough contingency plans in place to meet any event? He hoped so.
His earpiece informed him that the members of the Supreme Court were now arriving safely in their seats. The Vice President was also in the chamber and safe. It was going to be a long night.
• • •
Sam sat in the dark hotel room with a similar earpiece in his ear, listening to the police scanner for the last few hours. He was only catching local traffic, little to do with the coverage of the President. Despite the State of the Union address, the rest of the city went on as usual. Car thefts, traffic accidents, shootings, a house fire somewhere he was not familiar with. All this had to be handled in addition to the security details related to the speech. The traffic was constant and consistent.
He turned down the volume in the earpiece so he could hear the TV in the next room. The news coverage of the State of the Union speech was somewhat like the Super Bowl. They were into the last minutes of the pre-game, still speculating as to what the President might say. Their voices could be heard over the footage of the arriving VIPs. Everyone shaking hands and smiling, like they were all friends. He listened for a few minutes until he heard them mention activity at the White House: the President was soon leaving.
Sam reached down to pick up the frequency checker. It was similar to the one he had used in Las Vegas. He ran it through the check for the fourth time tonight. Still clear. He left his perch to sit in front of the television and watched as the President walked quickly to the car and entered. The camera switched as the motorcade made its way to the Capitol Building. He watched the security covering the President. The coverage continued until he was inside the building. At this point Sam had seen enough. He pushed the mute button and angled the TV so it could be seen from his perch in the next room.
The pain in his stomach was worse. He rose and barely made it to the bathroom before his bowels let loose. He felt a little dizzy after the event. Not wanting to, he forced himself to check
the bowl’s contents. It looked like coffee grounds. His abdomen was tender to the touch. Both signs that he was bleeding internally. The coffee ground looking stuff was partially digested blood. The cancer had finally eaten away at the walls of his colon.
He forced a couple of pills down his throat and chased them with water. Deep breaths drove away the dizziness. He caught a look at himself in the mirror and was appalled by his appearance: his color was gray, his skin slack, and his eyes red and raw. This was the last shot. No matter the outcome. His health was too poor to take him any further. The walk around the city today had exhausted him, and now the blood. He turned from the mirror in disgust. He passed the silent image of the President giving his speech to return to his perch on the makeshift table.
• • •
Jack was confused. He had held his breath from the moment the President had left the West Wing to the point he had entered the House chamber. Nothing. He had caught the looks from a few of the HRT members. He dismissed their gaze and headed back to the Pit. On arrival, he found his team going over everything they had. Larry and Sydney were in a conversation that involved some pictures of the DC area. Eric still had his nose in the laptop they had taken from Paul’s home. Everyone had something to do but Jack himself. He retreated to his office, where he grabbed the phone.
“Hoskins. What do you need, Jack?”
“I saw the canopy. Was that you or the President?”
“Little of both. You have anything new?”
“No, still sifting through the pile. I just know this guy, John. I know how he thinks. He’s patient and very smart. Don’t let your guard down till the President’s back in the residence.”
“The President refuses to change anything. The post speech bash at the residence will be easier to control, though. We’ve vetted every guest twice over. The coverage is maxed out. I keep looking for holes, but I haven’t found any.”
“If there is one, he’ll find it. No offense.”
