[Jack Randall 01.0] Closure

by Randall Wood

  “An explosive device, in a trash can somewhere in the park. They have the scene secure.”

  “All right, I’m fine, John. Let’s get inside.”

  Agent Hoskins opened the door and led the President out into the entry. He marveled at the man’s composure as he stood and walked purposefully into the building. John would offer no apology, and his boss would offer no thank you. They would talk about it briefly someday, and that would be it. John had been doing his job, as the President was now doing his. He watched as the President gave a wave to the cameras to show that all was well. A return salute to the two Marines at the door, and he was inside.

  John scanned the area one last time out of habit before speaking into his mic. “POTUS is secure. Repeat, POTUS secure in the West Wing.”

  Only then did he look at his cell phone. Fourteen messages.

  • • •

  Sam was using every ounce of patience he had developed over years of being behind a rifle. He paused to rotate his neck to keep it from getting stiff. He adjusted the towel over the back of the chair, which was serving as a rest.

  A minute ago, he had switched to the regular daylight scope. Even on its lowest setting, the night vision was overloaded with all the strobes in the area. He moved from face to face as the crowd trickled by, but there was still no sign of his target. He would occasionally swing the barrel around to check on Jack. He was still on the phone, a finger in the opposite ear against the din of the crowds and circling helicopter. He appeared and disappeared in the sea of humanity growing around the Capitol Building.

  Sam returned his attention to the street at his front. A slight breeze had come up, making the branches sway across his sight picture. Shooting through the glass would alter the trajectory of his shot slightly, but it could not be helped; observers on the opposite buildings would notice an open window immediately. Fortunately, the range was very close. Unless the wind began to gust, or a branch got in the way of the bullet’s trajectory, he was confident of his ability to make this shot.

  He referred to the picture he had printed off from his earlier stroll. The downward angle was steep, but something he had practiced or done in the past. His other worry was bystanders. The swelling traffic of people was dense, and his rifle was powerful. The round could very easily go through two people. Perhaps a chest shot would be more appropriate to avoid this? Center-mass, as they used to say in his army days. In war time, a soldier shot for the largest part of the enemy’s body: center of the chest. In a hostage situation, death had to be instantaneous or the hostage-taker may still have time to pull the trigger on his hostage, the brain stem at the base of the skull then being the preferred target.

  He would make the decision when he acquired the target and had already decided to make this a tracking shoot as opposed to an ambush shot. The foot traffic was at a slow crawl down the sidewalk, making this possible. If he could just make it a safe shoot. He blinked his eyes a few times and returned to scanning the crowd. He saw a tall man with a shock of steel gray hair, leading a party of five people through the crowd.

  It was him.

  • • •

  Ron was bored. He regretted having volunteered for this overtime duty, as it looked like they were going to be held over now. He and his partner had checked out their truck early this morning, with their boss looking over their shoulders. He had been careful to make sure he checked everything. Having been a paramedic for over twelve years now, he knew the list by heart. Overtime was not something his wife enjoyed him doing, but whenever a special detail came down, his pager was always the first to ring.

  So he had found himself outside the Capitol Building for the last ten hours, waiting with the DC police for the night’s activities. They had only moved his truck once this year—better than last year’s four times. His partner was a young girl named Danielle. She had finally gotten over the excitement of her first State of the Union Address and was now sleeping in the driver’s seat. He decided to go through the equipment bags to help himself to stay awake. This only provided a few moments of distraction, and he was soon gazing out the front window again. He debated stretching out on the cot for a nap, but there were too many people passing by and he didn’t want to give them something to complain about.

  He looked toward the front to see his partner reposition herself on the front seat. She didn’t exactly snore, but every once in a while her nose would whistle. The view out the windshield showed no sign of the lockdown being over. They were going to be stuck here for a while.

  He grabbed a pillow before climbing into the passenger seat. He propped it under his head, against the side window, and watched the crowds go by.

  • • •

  “The pictures! Where did we leave them?” Sydney was at her table, pushing papers around.

  “Which ones?” Larry asked. He was pushing his pile around, even though he didn’t know what he was looking for yet.

  “The DC pictures—you know, the monuments and stuff.”

  “You had them last.”

  “Okay, come help me. I remember that some had circles around stuff. I think there was a map, too.”

  A few seconds of frantic searching and Larry had the file. They spread it out as the rest of the team gathered around. A downtown map of DC showed several buildings highlighted with circles of different colors. Some numeric notations were present along the margins. The pictures were just pictures, like any tourist would take of the various monuments and buildings along the Mall.

  “What are we looking for?” Larry asked.

  “Something out of order—different from the other markings.”

  Larry ran a hand through his very messy hair for the thousandth time that day and looked at the map before him. He started thinking out loud as he was prone to do.

  “Well, we have the Capitol, White House, and Senate Office Building all circled. The Justice Building, the Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson Memorials, the Smithsonian, and the Kennedy Center, too. What are these two buildings here and here? They aren’t labeled by the map.”

  “This one is the Hay Adams Hotel.” Sydney pointed to the building across from the White House. “I don’t know what this is.” She tapped the other circle.

  “It’s the Holiday Inn. It has a good view of the Capitol.” They all turned to see the security guard looking over Larry’s shoulder.

  “The Holiday Inn?” Sydney asked. She had never played tourist, despite her office being blocks away. Just hadn’t found the time yet.

  “Yeah, it’s nice.” She shrugged.

  Sydney turned back to the table and shoved papers until she uncovered her phone. “Tell the DC police,” she told Larry while it rang. “Come on, Jack. Pick up.”

  • • •

  Sam was having problems. He had about pulled the trigger twice, but the shot had been never safe enough. He continued to track the bobbing head of the senator as he wove through the crowd. Sam still had time. He forced himself to be patient. Traffic was starting to move again, and the crowds were pausing on the curbs. This might be his chance. The glare of the strobes was still shining off the window and his optics. It was a distraction he could do without. The wind had also picked up a little, and was causing the branches of the trees in the plaza to sway in and out of his sight picture. He pumped his knees up and down a few times to maintain circulation. He didn’t want to get any muscle twitches. Besides, he was going to need his legs soon. Surprisingly, his stomach was quiet. The senator would approach the curb in about one minute. Sam settled back into his shooting position. Be patient, he told himself.

  • • •

  Jack was standing next to one of the broadcast trucks, which had its generator running, and didn’t hear his phone ringing at first. He quickly snatched it off his belt and dropped it in the snow. Cussing himself, he pulled it up and flipped it open. The snow was cold against his ear.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jack, what the hell? It rang about twenty times.”

  “Sorry, S
yd, lotta noise here. What do you have?” Jack turned and walked toward the street to get away from the truck. His vest and jacket, with FBI in one-foot yellow letters, helped clear a path for him.

  “Okay, listen. All the buildings circled are government except for two: the Hay Adams Hotel across from the White House, and the Holiday Inn DC on the hill. It’s just stage left from the Capitol Building, and across from the Senate office building. You probably have it right in front of you. The rest of the circles are monuments. What do you think?”

  Jack turned and looked up at the Holiday Inn. It was across the street and down about half a block.

  “I’ll call you back.”

  Sydney just stared at the dead phone in her hand.

  • • •

  Running in the cold snow with dress shoes on while talking was not easy, Jack discovered. The traffic just made it downright dangerous. Seeing no other choice, Jack simply stepped out into the street and began running with the cars toward the hotel. He managed to place the phone in its belt clip while pulling out the HRT radio.

  “Team leader, this is Jack.”

  “I hear you, Jack.”

  “We think he’s at the Holiday Inn DC on the hill. Can you give me a report on the windows?”

  “Wait one. Sierra Three, can you give us any info?”

  “Roger, I show the white wall lit up on every floor, except white-golf-eight. North wall showing Blue-golf-one and two are both black. Have been for some time. Movement in all lit windows, no threats showing, people just watching the crowd.”

  “Greg,” Jack said, “he’s in that corner room. I need a team up there, now!”

  “Slow down, Jack. Say again?”

  “He’s in that room on the corner. I need some help!”

  “Jack, wait for my team. Don’t go by yourself. Where are you?”

  Jack almost tripped as he ran up the steps past the surprised doorman. He pushed through the double doors into the building and slid to a stop on the tile. He scanned the lobby full of people.

  “Jack . . . ? Jack, where are you?”

  “I’m in the lobby,” he answered. He ran toward the ding of the arriving elevator and replaced the radio with his Browning as the doors of the elevator closed. The crowd stared at him.

  “Jack?”

  Greg only got static for a reply.

  The state of Utah holds 5,763 inmates in its prisons.

  Approximately 3,861 are repeat offenders.

  —FORTY-FOUR—

  “Sierra Three, do you still have a visual on the building?” Whitcomb asked.

  “Affirmative TOC. Negative on your boy. Some disturbance around the front entrance. I believe he is inside,” the sniper replied.

  “Damn it, Jack,” Greg said under his breath. He checked his map on the wall. It was covered in grease pencil markings, indicating the location of all his people. His decision had basically been made for him. He keyed the mic in his hand.

  “Sierra Three, maintain position and observe those windows. Bravo team, abort search for the senator and move to Holiday Inn DC. Secure a perimeter, no one in or out. Send three men to the seventh floor and locate Jack. Buster! All other units hold your positions. Acknowledge.” He threw the mic down on the table in disgust. “How the hell did Jack end up alone?” he asked the room. “Never mind. Call the DC police and inform them what’s going on. Get some help with the perimeter.” He picked up the mic and began answering the units acknowledging his orders. He fished in his pocket for the card Jack had given him. When he was through with the radio, he picked his cell phone off his belt and dialed Jack’s number. After hearing no ring, he pulled it away from his ear. The tiny green screen read No Signal. Perfect.

  • • •

  Jack had to stop and think once he was on the elevator. What floor did they say? Blue-Golf-something. He knew Blue meant the front of the building. So Golf was the floor. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie . . . Golf was the seventh floor. He pushed the button and was soon moving. He oriented himself for exit. He should go left once the doors opened, and then all the way to the last two rooms. Should he wait? Was there time?

  He wiped the moisture from his right hand and returned the Browning to it. He thumbed the slide back just enough to glimpse brass in the chamber. What else? Man, he was rusty. This used to come to him by reflex, but now he had to think about it. The radio—he turned the dial down to off. The phone he had switched to vibrate already, nothing to make noise and announce his presence early. He tucked his jacket into his belt to keep the spare clips for his weapon exposed and scuffed his feet on the floor to remove any lingering snow as the door opened. He stuck his head out into an empty hallway and began moving down the long hall toward the last door. An exit sign and the stairwell door stared at him from the far end. How was he going to do this? This was not a one-man job. He suddenly had a picture of a bowling alley in his head. He was on the wrong end.

  • • •

  “Damn it!”

  Sydney fought the urge to throw the phone across the room. She had been getting the same No Signal message as the HRT leader had gotten, for the last two minutes. Where the hell was Jack? She looked around the room to see everyone watching her. She had to hold it together.

  “Sydney?”

  She turned to see Eric holding out a cold Mountain Dew. She couldn’t help but smile. She took it from his hand and popped the top, rotating the tab out of habit before taking a drink. Something she had always done to differentiate her drink from anyone else’s. What to do now? she told herself. Think.

  “If he’s in there, we have him,” Larry commented as he watched it all play out on the overhead television. “The FBI and the locals have the place cordoned off; it’s just a matter of time.”

  “Let’s hope,” Eric echoed.

  Sydney looked at the screen for a minute before it hit her.

  “Wait a minute. This guy’s too smart for this. When I was training at Quantico, we were doing the driving exercises in Hoover City. You know, the surround the bank with cars thing? I always got in trouble because I forgot to leave myself a way out when I parked. I was so busy thinking secure-the-perimeter that I forgot how to leave an escape for myself. If this guy is in there, then I’ll bet good money he has a few ways out. Let’s start looking for them.”

  Larry scrunched his face up as he thought about it. Other than walking out the front door, he had never given much thought to the way he left a hotel.

  “There has to be service entrances, loading docks, fire escapes. Is that building attached to its neighbor?” he asked. “What about the roof or exits above the ground floor?”

  “He could disguise himself as one of the help?” Eric chimed in.

  “Yes, yes, any of those. See if you can find anything to support this.” Sydney waved them all back to their desks and computers. She then reached up and turned the volume down on the TV. Watching the tube would not help Jack. She forced herself to look away and start sifting through her pile of paper again.

  • • •

  Sam was holding his sight picture on the senator as he approached the street. The wind had picked up a little more, and the branches were in and out of his view. All of the man’s aides were still behind him. This was good. Now all Sam had to worry about was someone standing directly behind the man when he paused at the curb. He was so close. If it wasn’t for this guy, the crime bill would have passed last year, and his daughter might still be alive. Five more steps.

  Sam now had his first full view of the target, obediently standing on the curb and gauging the traffic. Sam quickly left the head and centered on the man’s chest. His finger moved to the trigger and took up the slack.

  • • •

  Jack was outside and just to the right of the second-to-the-last door. He kicked himself for not grabbing a master keycard from the front desk. He was out of options, except for one. He took one deep breath.

  “Sam!”

  • • •

  The senator had been about to step
out into the traffic and force them to stop so he could cross, when a sledgehammer struck his chest. He spun against the blow, collapsing against the man on his right. His slow motion fall to the ground was punctuated by an ungraceful flop onto the concrete. Only then did his hearing return along with the pain. Pain like he had never felt. He gasped for breath as the sound of people screaming filled his ears.

  “Senator!”

  He looked up to see Layna, his youngest aide, bending over him. She pulled her scarf off and pressed it against his chest. Why was she doing that? He looked at her closely. She was really quite beautiful under her glasses and conservative attire. Why had he never noticed that before? She was close enough that he could see a bit of makeup on her cheek which had not been fully feathered in. Her earrings reflected the blue-red strobes of the many police cars. He took this and many other details in, until his breath returned and he struggled to speak.

  “What . . . ?”

  “Don’t talk, sir. You’ve been shot.”

  Shot? Him? He was a United States Senator! Why would anyone shoot him? Wasn’t that a privilege reserved for the President? What was this taste in his mouth?

  His hearing registered two more shots, and the pain returned as he was roughly dragged across the concrete. He found himself lying next to a police car with Layna over him. How had she done that? He weighed two-hundred and forty pounds to her one-thousand and then. Strong girl. His last thought before passing out was that he would have to give her a raise on Monday.

  “Somebody call an ambulance!” Layna cried through her tears. She stared at the blood on her hands. Why wouldn’t anyone help her? They had all ran away.

  • • •