Blind Instinct: A Tess Barrett Thriller

by Michael W. Sherer

  “Exactly,” Tess said, relieved. “Do it. I’ll keep the line open.”

  “You got it, Tess.”

  Derek put her on hold for what seemed like an eternity as Oliver continued to lead her through the throngs of people. Then he came back on the line.

  “Okay, I’ve got you. You’re about two hundred yards west and a little south of the kid. He got there about five, ten minutes ago. Moved around some at first, but hasn’t moved much in the past few minutes.”

  Tess told him to hold on and relayed the information to Oliver, tugging on his shirt to get him to stop. “Don’t tell Uncle Travis yet. We need to get to Austin first. If he does have a gun, and he see armed men coming after him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that.”

  “Tess?” Derek’s voice said in her ear. “This program has a GPS refresh rate of about once every five seconds. I’m going to try to bump that to once a second or faster to give you guys more accurate info on Austin’s location.”

  “Thanks, Derek,” she said. “We’re on our way. Tell me when we’re getting close.”

  Oliver started moving again. Tess slid her fingers down his arm, took his hand and squeezed it hard. He gave hers a reassuring squeeze back, but didn’t let go.

  “Scared?” he said as they pushed through the knots of people milling about listening to the echoing voice from down the mall.

  “Nervous,” she said. “I hope we’re doing the right thing.”

  Chapter 38

  Senator Jeremy Latham sat deep in thought at his desk in the Senate Office building, elbows resting on the leather arms of his desk chair, steepled fingers touched to his pursed lips. He’d come into the office early from his row house in Georgetown. Though most congressmen of his tenure and stature did not put in appearances at the office on a Sunday, it wasn’t uncommon. Normally, he wouldn’t be there—he had a golf game with one of the joint chiefs at the Congressional Country Club later in the day—but his office was his fortress, his command post, and today was unlike most Sundays. This Sunday, history would be changed, one way or another.

  He would have come into the office on this particular in any event, but the disturbing phone call he’d received late the night before demanded his attention. Travis Barrett had escaped not only the confines of a makeshift prison cell deep inside an abandoned Montana copper mine, but had somehow managed to elude his pursuers and vanish from the state altogether. Latham had been furious at the level of incompetence displayed by those responsible for letting Barrett slip away. He had no concerns that Barrett’s capture and imprisonment would be traced back to him. The guest ranch’s ownership was so convoluted that his name could never be connected to it. And even if someone could link him to the ranch in some way, he could plausibly deny any involvement. After all, anyone could have trespassed on the ranch land and thrown Barrett into the mine. But he wanted Barrett found and neutralized.

  Leaning forward, he opened a drawer and took out the untraceable cell phone he kept there. He pushed one of the speed-dial codes and sat back with the phone held to his ear.

  “Report,” he barked when the phone was answered.

  “I have nothing beyond what I told you last night, sir,” came the quiet reply.

  “What the hell do I pay you for?” Latham fumed.

  “Look, we know that one of Barrett’s jets flew into and out of Montana yesterday. It’s possible he was on it when it left.”

  “Four men and two vehicles left in a trail of destruction on the highway leading into town? And you only think it’s possible he was on that plane?” Latham could feel his blood pressure rising and did his best to stay calm. “I want to know where that plane is at this very moment.”

  “It didn’t file a flight plan. We put out feelers all over the country to see if anyone has spotted it, but so far we have nothing. It definitely didn’t return to Seattle.”

  “Find it!” Latham growled. “Find Barrett! And put extra men on the ground at the event now! I don’t want him interfering!”

  “It’s a madhouse there already! They’ll never find him in that crowd.”

  “Just do it! And take Barrett alive. We need him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Latham slammed the phone down on the desk, picked up a remote control unit, and pointed it at a credenza against the wall. A flat screen television silently rose from the back of it, slowly flickering to life. Already tuned to Fox News Channel, the television screen showed live images of events happening literally outside his window. The cameras had a better view than he did, however, and their zoom lenses zeroed in on the action better and faster than he could have even with binoculars. Besides, from his vantage point, he would only be able to see his nemesis from the back. He wanted to see the man’s face when he died.

  Though the sound was muted, he could tell from the way the director cut from camera to camera, with more shots of the crowds than the speaker, that the main event had not yet started. Even so, Latham was impressed—and disgusted—by the size of the mob of people on the mall. He picked up the phone again and speed-dialed another number, gaze still riveted on the television screen.

  “Yes?” a voice answered.

  “I’m watching right now,” Latham said. “Is he there?”

  “Yes, but he’s not that close. Maybe five hundred feet away.”

  Latham waved dismissively even though the man on the other end couldn’t see him. “I’m not worried about that. He can get as close as he wants and no one will stop him.”

  “You know there are no guarantees.”

  “You assured me he was ready.” Latham’s voice had the sharpness of a knife’s edge.

  “He is ready. He’s as primed as anyone could be. But there’s always the human factor. And chance.”

  “Chance shouldn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “We can’t foresee every possibility, every permutation,” the man protested.

  Latham’s vision narrowed. “Your job is to control the subject and limit the possibilities. But I’ll concede that perfection may be difficult on a project like this. As you say, people can be unpredictable. I haven’t found that to be the case often. It’s a matter of knowing which buttons to push and when.”

  Latham paused and chuckled. “My inside source says the subject got into a fight this morning with his father. Apparently, he was mad enough to chew nails and spit rivets. And, according to my source, he has a weapon.”

  “Then let’s hope he’s mad enough to kill.”

  “You’d better hope so. His failure could reflect poorly on you.”

  “I’ve done everything I can.”

  “We’ll see.” Latham disconnected before the man could offer up any more excuses.

  He tossed the phone into the drawer and slammed the drawer shut. His eyes were drawn to the television again. The sheer number of people filling the screen was incomprehensible to him. The only time he’d seen as many was at the president’s inauguration. Before that one would have to go back to previous inaugurations or as far back as the Civil Rights movement. And that was almost anathema to him. The only rights he believed in were his own inalienable rights to life, liberty and his pursuit of happiness. And while “happiness” was a foreign concept to him, he took it to mean the two things that gave him the greatest satisfaction in life—money and power.

  And yet, all these people, these paeans, had turned out to hear a man who would upset the status quo, who would upend tradition. The man was running against an incumbent president, for god’s sake. Not only that, but to add insult to injury, he was turning on the very man who had handed him the vice presidency on a silver platter. Ungrateful bastard! It was as close to treason as anyone could come. No, it was treason. To speak against your own President, to discount his legacy while acting as his right-hand man, was unpatriotic and traitorous beyond words. No doubt about it, Josiah Dunn deserved to die.

  Latham turned up the volume on the television and leaned forw
ard to watch.

  Chapter 39

  “You buy this crap these kids are feeding you?” Hanson said as they briskly walked across the mall, eyes scanning the faces in the crowd.

  Travis’s mouth curved down in annoyance. “Are you with us or not, Hanson?”

  “Oh, I’m with you. The kind of money you offered? I’m your new best friend. But I find it hard to believe you’re swallowing this.”

  Travis grabbed the man’s arm above the elbow and swung him around. He dug his thumb into a nerve and watched the man’s face turn ashen with pain. But when Hanson saw the expression on Travis’s face, he didn’t complain or resist. Travis eased his grip.

  His jaw clenched, Travis said, “Get this straight. I just spent the past three days in a hole in Montana because somebody with more pull than the president wants to keep me quiet and away from my family’s company. I take whatever my niece says very seriously, most of it as gospel. And the guy who says this video game can brainwash people is the best software coder since my brother, and he was the best there is. Those ‘kids’ found me in an abandoned copper mine in the middle of Montana when the best security team I know of hadn’t the slightest clue where I was. And that means either my team is stupid, which they’re not, or there’s a mole. It also means that my niece and her assistant are pretty damned smart.

  “I consider Josiah Dunn a friend. If a game my company put out has messed up his son’s head, I’m responsible. I wouldn’t have flown all night to get here if I didn’t believe Tess and Oliver. If you’re with me, then you better believe every word they tell you, too, and you’d better be prepared to die for those kids because that’s what it may come to today. You got it?”

  Hanson nodded. Travis let him go with a look of disgust and stalked off. He heard Hanson’s hurried footsteps catch up.

  “Hey, look, man,” Hanson said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know,” Travis said. “Like, three weeks ago those two got caught in the middle of a firefight when an assault team tried to take them out. An assault team! A dozen men with automatic weapons—H&K MP5s with silencers. Yeah, that’s right, the same weapon you used to carry when you were a SEAL. Against a blind unarmed teenager and a college kid. And they survived. You hear what I’m saying? Not only did they survive, but they did a pretty decent job of outsmarting the bastards and holding them at bay until the cavalry arrived. So don’t go telling me what I should and shouldn’t believe.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hanson said softly.

  Travis glanced at him and saw the soldier he’d been, not the cocky mercenary he’d become.

  “Tom spoke highly of you. I hope he was right. Let’s do this.”

  “You got my attention, sir.”

  “Okay. I suggest we split up and cover more territory. I’ll work my way toward Madison and head up that side of the mall. Why don’t you take the center?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you can, try to keep Tess and Oliver in sight. I don’t want to be so far away we can’t help if they need us. Let’s move out.”

  Travis watched Hanson get swallowed in the crowd, only the top of his head visible as he bobbed and weaved through the throngs. Setting out for the far side of the grassy park, Travis focused his concentration not only on faces, but also on noticing every detail. Metro D.C. police directed traffic out on the streets on either side of the mall. On the mall itself, Travis saw a few uniformed officers on foot patrol wearing the pale blue shirts and distinctively striped black trousers of the U.S. Park Police. Mounted USPP officers in their blue helmets sitting astride their horses above the heads of all the people were even more visible.

  He crossed 4th Street heading east. Through gaps in the crowd, Travis could see the stage set up on the other side of 3rd Street in front of the Capitol Reflecting Pool. Barricades where security was even tighter had been set up at least a hundred feet away from 3rd Street. Personnel in uniforms he thought were those of the TSA manned checkpoints, screening purses and bags of people who wanted a closer look at the candidate. And even from this distance, Travis noted the suited Secret Service agents standing at the edges of the stage, their gazes, like Travis’s, scanning the crowd.

  Holding a mental image of the general location of the security he’d spotted, Travis turned his focus back to picking Austin’s face out of the sea of humanity. He moved quickly through the throng, excusing himself as he brushed past one group after another, turning briefly to consider and dismiss faces on those whose backs had been turned as he moved past. His pulse rate increased and his senses went on alert, feeding his brain even more input—snippets of conversation, a strange scent, an odd expression that seemed out of place. He absorbed it all, processed it and discarded anything that wasn’t useful, constantly moving, turning, eyes searching in a grid pattern so that he wouldn’t miss anything.

  Sudden pressure in his kidney took him by complete surprise. He instinctively started to turn to see who had jostled him, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

  “Don’t turn around!” a voice whispered hoarsely in his ear. “Keep moving, Captain Barrett. Head over to the tree line.”

  Travis had never considered he might be hunted, too, and he mentally kicked himself for it. Whoever had known about his escape had figured he would come here to stop Austin, and had sent men to find him. With a gun pressed in his back, he had little choice but to follow the man’s instructions and wait for an opening. No way he was going down without a fight.

  The man behind him kept the gun pressed into his kidney and his other hand on Travis’s upper arm, staying so close that no one around them had any idea Travis was being held at gunpoint. The man pushed Travis ahead of him through the crowd until it thinned out at the edge of the grassy mall near the trees. Several yards under he leafy branches, the man pulled on Travis’s arm, signaling him to stop.

  “What now?” Travis said, keeping his face forward.

  “Someone wants to talk to you,” the man said.

  He let go of Travis’s arm, and Travis heard him fishing in his pocket, followed by the beeping tones of a phone dialing a number. Travis felt sudden relief from the pressure on his kidney as the man jerked away from him. Travis whirled around, ready to face another foe. Hanson had Travis’s captor in a headlock and was applying pressure to the man’s carotid artery with his forearm. The man’s eyelids fluttered and he went limp as the lack of oxygen to his brain rendered him unconscious. Hanson dragged him backward to the base of a tree and gently set him down, propping him against the trunk.

  He gave Travis a big grin. “He’ll only be out for ten or fifteen. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Travis regarded him with admiration. “I’m impressed.”

  “The game just got a lot more interesting,” Hanson said. “Looks like we have a spoiler to worry about, too.”

  “I didn’t think they’d be onto us this quickly. Thanks for watching my back.”

  “That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks, boss. We better keep moving.”

  “Good idea.”

  They hurried out from under the trees and blended back into the crowd, Hanson quickly making his way to the center of the mall and continuing his search. Travis worked his way up the side of the mall, this time paying more attention to the faces behind him as well as in front.

  Movement on the periphery of his vision made him pause. He stood in one spot and did a slow turn to his left to pinpoint the distraction. There! A mounted USPP officer thirty yards away had stiffened and now stood up in his saddle, one hand holding the mic of his walkie-talkie close to his mouth. Something was up. Travis quickly turned away before the cop caught him staring and pushed through a knot of people. A commotion erupted in the other direction, and Travis glanced over to see two USPP uniforms on foot pushing through the crowd. Travis ducked into another large group of people and knelt down as though tying his shoe.

  He thumbed his throat mic. “I think I’ve been made. Whatever you do, s
tay on target.”

  “Roger that,” Hanson said.

  There was no response from Tess or Oliver. Travis didn’t have time to consider what that might mean. He took a ball cap that he’d purchased at the restaurant from his jacket pocket and put it on, pulling the brim down low over his eyes. Then he stripped off his windbreaker, taking his shoulder holster off at the same time. In the same motion he quickly turned the windbreaker inside out, wrapping it around the holster and gun. He stuck one hand inside the bundle and grasped the pistol grip. He placed his other hand on top of the jacket to hold it in place. Hoping the cursory disguise would throw off his pursuers, he stood and casually continued making his way up the mall through the crowd.

  Judging from the sounds behind him, the two patrolmen had converged on the spot where he’d been. As others around him craned their necks to see what the commotion was about, Travis knew that if he didn’t do the same his behavior might be suspect. So he risked a backward glance to see the mounted cop part the sea of people with his horse and converge on the other two cops. They would quickly discover their quarry had disappeared and start looking elsewhere so Travis picked up his pace, trying not to tick anybody off as he pushed his way through what was becoming a solid mass of bodies. Through a break in the mob, he glimpsed a group of teenagers off to the side under some trees. And on the edge of the group, wearing a baggy winter coat with his hands in his pockets, stood Austin Dunn.

  “I have the target in sight!” Travis murmured excitedly into his comm unit. “North side of the mall. Fifty yards this side of the barricade.”

  “Got it,” Hanson replied. “On my way.”

  Travis angled for the open area between the edge of the crowd and the trees where the teens hung out. The fact that Austin was near them, but not part of the group, seemed further confirmation he had something on his mind. Definitely an outsider. Travis broke into the clear.

  “Uh-oh,” Hanson said. “You’ve got company. And it looks like they’re calling in reinforcements.”