Politics of Blood (Gray Spear Society Book 8)

by Siegel, Alex

  While he slurped his coffee, he quickly scanned the latest science news on the internet. Maybe somebody had discovered something interesting during the night. The lead story made him gag. An explosion in the Institut de Recherche Nucléaire had killed some prominent experts on fusion technology. They were the scientists Kamal had sent e-mail to.

  His hand shaking, he put the mug on his desk. He read the reports again and again, hoping the words would magically change. The conclusion was inescapable. The scientists had tried to build the twins' "super-stabilized plasma bottle" with disastrous results.

  Smythe's voice came down from overhead speakers. "It's time. Kamal? Did you hear me? It's your turn in the booth. I need to go home and sleep."

  Kamal stood up. He couldn't feel his legs as he walked off.

  * * *

  Aaron looked up at the Dirksen Federal Building in downtown Chicago. The exterior was a grid of narrow windows in black metal frames. It was a good thirty stories tall. With all the other big buildings around, little sunlight reached the street. Closely spaced, granite posts kept cars from getting too close.

  Aaron smiled with amusement. He had expected to go to county jail, but apparently, the FBI was taking him straight to federal court instead. Normally, magistrates had busy schedules and it took time to get on the docket, but the wheels of justice were spinning at warp speed this morning.

  Aaron was sitting in the back of a sedan with Olaf. Both men had their hands cuffed tightly behind their backs, which had made a long ride feel much longer. Two FBI agents were in the front seat. Aaron was still waiting for an opportunity to speak privately with Olaf.

  The sedan parked directly in front of the building. Four marshals rushed forward as if they were greeting a VIP. Aaron's smile turned into a soft chuckle. Such special treatment, he thought. I feel honored.

  The marshals whisked Aaron and Olaf through the courthouse. They were taken directly to one of the holding cells where prisoners waited for their appearance in court. No forms were filled out, and no fingerprints were taken. Aaron didn't even have to change his clothes. The marshals were clearly under orders to cut every corner in the process. Having the legatus legionis and the President of the United States on your legal team had certain advantages.

  Finally, Aaron and Olaf were left alone in a small cell. The only furniture was a concrete bench and a stainless steel toilet. For the first time since their arrest, they could speak privately.

  "This is fucked up," Olaf said.

  "Yeah," Aaron said.

  "I could lose my gun license. I'll have to sell my shop!"

  "Calm down. I know a lawyer. He'll get this straightened out."

  "He's good?" Olaf said.

  "The best. I got your back, man."

  Olaf relaxed a little. "How did the FBI know about us?"

  Aaron knew he didn't have much time. They could be called into court at any moment. He had to go for the prize right away.

  "Wiretaps or something." He shrugged. "I don't know. We'll find out at the hearing. I've been thinking about how to kill the President."

  "Huh?" Olaf gave Aaron a funny look.

  "The man has to die. We can both agree on that. The question is how to do it. He's surrounded by the Secret Service all the time."

  "It's tough, and you can't just kill him alone."

  "What do you mean?" Aaron furrowed his brow.

  "You have to take out the whole posse at once. That Vice President is just as bad."

  "But he's white."

  "He acts like a nigger," Olaf said. "He needs to die with the rest."

  "True, but now you're talking about a mass killing. You'd need a bomb."

  Olaf gave Aaron a knowing look. "Yeah."

  "But planting a bomb is tough," Aaron said. "The Secret Service has dogs, X-ray machines, and all kinds of secret shit. How would you get past all that security? With a sniper rifle, at least you can hit him from long range."

  "Yeah, but after you kill one target, you lose the rest." Olaf shook his head. "That's no good. You have to wait for them to be together and blast them all at once."

  "How?"

  Olaf shrugged innocently, but he was a bad actor. Aaron could tell he knew the answer.

  Aaron now had a pretty good idea of what Pure America was planning. Norbert had found traces of dynamite in the lighting technician's apartment. Olaf had just confirmed they intended to use a bomb, and he had even specified the target. All Aaron needed now was the time and place of the attack.

  "How long do you think they'll keep us here?"

  "I don't know. Why?" Aaron said.

  "I don't want to spend the night locked up." Olaf frowned anxiously.

  "You got a hot date tonight?" Aaron winked.

  "Really hot."

  The attack is tonight, Aaron thought. It's nice when they volunteer information so readily.

  Two federal marshals in blue uniforms came to the holding cell.

  One yelled, "Olaf Wagner, Rip Sonder, you've been summoned to court."

  Olaf and Aaron were escorted to a large courtroom with wood paneling on all the walls. The evidence was neatly arranged on a long table. The Heckler & Koch GMG was the largest item on display, but it had plenty of friends. The FBI agents had found three illegal guns and two knives on Aaron. Olaf's contribution to the collection was a .50 caliber Barrett M99, a .30-06 Springfield, and an Armsel Striker. The last weapon was a fully automatic shotgun with a cylindrical magazine. If Aaron ever had to fight a mob of flesh-eating zombies, the Striker would be his weapon of choice.

  The courtroom had only one person in the audience. Sheryl was sitting in a back corner. A blonde wig and sunglasses didn't fool Aaron for a second.

  The judge was a middle-aged man with gray eyebrows and a brown hairpiece.

  "Regarding the cases of the State versus Olaf Wagner, and the State versus Rip Sonder, I have reviewed the evidence carefully. The principles of ab initio and lis alibi pendens apply in this situation. My ruling is there is insufficient evidence to proceed with a criminal indictment. The prisoners will be released immediately. The FBI may retain what little evidence is available until a stronger case can be brought before me. I must thank Mr. Wagner and Mr. Sonder for their patience in this matter."

  Aaron struggled to keep a straight face. There were at least a dozen felonies sitting on the evidence table in plain view. He knew enough Latin to realize the legal terms weren't even relevant.

  The marshals hustled Olaf and Aaron out of the building. Their phones, wallets, cash, and other personal items were politely returned. Ten minutes later, they were standing on the stone plaza outside. The morning air was pleasantly cool and clean. They were close enough to Lake Michigan for Aaron to feel a damp chill.

  "What the fuck just happened?" Olaf said with a bewildered expression.

  Sheryl stepped out of the building. She walked away without seeming to notice the two men.

  "I don't know," Aaron said. "I never even had time to call my lawyer."

  "It's like everybody got paid off."

  "It wasn't me. I don't have the finances to bribe a federal judge."

  Olaf had a distant expression.

  Aaron had already spent more time than he could afford with Olaf. Aaron had to move on and let other people deal with Pure America. Many threats from the original list were still waiting for his attention. He was feeling the crush of time pressure.

  "I got to run," Aaron said. "Do you need some cash for a cab?"

  "I wouldn't mind another C note in my pocket. It's a long ride home."

  Aaron peeled off five twenties from his cash roll. "I'll see you around." He jogged off.

  He passed Sheryl on the sidewalk. She ran to catch up to him.

  "What's happening, sir?"

  "Pure America has a bomb," Aaron said. "They're going to try to blow up the President and the Vice President tonight. If I remember the convention schedule correctly, they'll be together on stage only one time. I expect the attack will occur th
en."

  Her eyes widened. "Then why did you let Olaf go?"

  "Norbert and Tawni are following the lighting technician. I'm confident he'll lead them to the bomb. Then we'll give the whole mess to the Secret Service with a little bow on top and let them make all the arrests. We have other leads to investigate."

  "What if Norbert and Tawni can't find the bomb?"

  "We still have the option of interrogating Olaf and the technician," Aaron said, "but I'll wait to play that card. There is no evidence God's enemies are involved. This case feels like ordinary human stupidity."

  "Are we going back to headquarters now?" Sheryl said.

  "Yes. Let's hurry."

  * * *

  Tawni walked into the arena of the United Center. She looked up at the steel rafters far above her head. There were a few windows up in the gloom, but they didn't admit much light. Her gaze drifted down to the plastic seats. Getting to the top seats would feel like climbing a mountain. The stairs up there seemed dangerously steep.

  "Bigger than I expected," she said.

  "You've never been in here?" Norbert said. "I thought you lived in Chicago your whole life."

  "Basketball tickets are expensive. I couldn't afford them."

  "When this is over, maybe the whole team should watch a Bulls game together. We spend too much time cooped up in headquarters."

  "I want to do it right," she said. "Box seats, wine, and everything, like the rich folks."

  "Of course," he said. "We'll have a party when we're done with this crazy mission."

  They were wearing the blue suits of FBI agents. Tawni thought it looked weird for a woman to wear a suit, even one that fit her well. On the other hand, this costume was a lot cooler than dressing like a regular cop.

  She looked around. The convention wouldn't officially reconvene for another eight hours, but there was plenty of activity. Technicians were adjusting the lighting. Stagehands were tweaking the decorations and moving chairs around. Federal agents were sweeping the facility, probably for the thousandth time. Everybody had a job to do.

  "There he is." Norbert pointed.

  Red hair and a terrible mullet made the technician from the Pure America barbecue easy to identify. He was wearing a green jumpsuit which fit loosely. The words "Command Performance Theatrical Engineering" were printed on the back.

  Tawni and Norbert wandered, pretending to inspect the chairs, but they observed the technician instead. He was taping thick electrical cables to the floor with black cloth tape. After a while, he went to a red tool chest on wheels.

  He spent a minute sorting through his tools. He had an odd stance and kept looking around as he worked.

  "He's jumpy," Tawni said.

  "Something about that tool chest," Norbert said. "Watch his eyes. They always tell the story."

  She studied the technician for a moment. "The bottom drawer. He keeps checking it."

  "Let's wait for him to leave."

  Eventually, the technician walked off.

  Norbert and Tawni jogged to the tool chest. He stood guard while she examined the chest. She opened all the drawers but found only tools. She crouched down to get a better look inside.

  "I don't see a bomb," she said.

  "There has to be something. I wish Sheryl were here. She's really good at finding hidden things."

  Tawni furrowed her brow. I have to think like a magician, she thought. Sheryl had taught her a bunch of tricks just for fun, so Tawni knew a few basic principles. Gimmicks sometimes had irregular dimensions.

  She found a tape measure among the tools and put it to use. She soon discovered the tool chest wasn't square. The bottom corners flared out, but it was done in a clever way that fooled the eye.

  "It's a trick box," she said. "A nice one, too. You can hardly tell."

  "Strange," Norbert said.

  "Why?"

  "All we saw at the barbecue was a bunch of ignorant, drunk rednecks. Somebody with a brain in his head built this tool chest. Look at how clean the welds are. The sheet metal was precision cut. The paint job is perfect."

  Tawni measured the drawers carefully and compared the inner dimensions to the outer dimensions. She found a two-inch gap that couldn't be accounted for. She reached deep inside and felt for a latch.

  "Careful," Norbert said. "I don't want you to lose a finger. There could be a trap."

  She licked her lips nervously. "Good point." She withdrew her hand and stood up.

  She noticed that the technician had returned. He was standing about ten yards away with an anxious expression. He started to back away slowly.

  She took off at a sprint. He tried his best to escape, but it wasn't a fair race. She pounded out five miles a day on the roof of headquarters, every day. She could run the hurdles like a track star. She could also draw upon the Lord's anger for extra strength when she needed it.

  The technician had just reached an exit tunnel when Tawni tackled him from behind. They slid into a wall together. She made sure he took the worst of the impact.

  He struggled to break free. She planted her knee firmly in his groin to settle him down.

  She stood up, drew a gun, and pointed it at his forehead. "Get up. Hands in the air."

  The technician was bent over in pain as he got to his feet. Tawni marched him back towards the tool chest.

  Federal agents in the area had noticed the commotion. They began to gather from all directions.

  Norbert already had his own gun out when Tawni and the technician returned.

  "Show us where the dynamite is," Norbert said.

  The technician shrugged. "What dynamite?" The act wasn't convincing at all. He was shaking with fear.

  Norbert kicked him so hard in the ribs, Tawni heard the bones crack. Norbert jammed his gun in the technician's ear. "I swear to God, I will spray your brains across the arena. Just give me an excuse."

  Federal agents were starting to arrive in bunches.

  Tawni pointed at the tool chest and announced, "Back off! A bomb is in there. Somebody call the bomb squad."

  The crowd moved back.

  The technician slowly reached deep into the bottom drawer. Norbert's gun was still pressed against his ear. The technician pulled out a long, plastic cylinder and handed it to Tawni.

  The hard plastic was translucent, and she could see a stick of dynamite hidden inside. It was neatly sealed with epoxy. The plastic case was clearly designed to defeat bomb sniffing dogs. The explosive was colored green, which struck her as odd. Dynamite was usually red or orange.

  A squad of Secret Service agents wearing body armor and helmets arrived.

  Norbert murmured, "Let's go."

  Tawni nodded and put the dynamite down. They backed away, slipped through the crowd, and walked off swiftly.

  As soon as they could speak freely, Norbert said, "I think Pure America is done. I'll call Aaron and find out what our next assignment is."

  * * *

  President Haley was standing on a clear glass floor. He was looking straight down 103 stories at the street directly below. The cars seemed like toys, and the people were just ants. He was on the "Ledge" in the Willis Tower. It was a glass box which extended out from the side of the building. The experience was unnervingly similar to floating in empty air, but he didn't let his fear show. He prided himself on always appearing heroic.

  Cameras clicked frantically behind him. Soon, photographs of the President acting like a common tourist would appear on websites all over the nation. The media loved this kind of stuff. The exposure would buy him plenty of extra votes in November, and best of all, it was free.

  He gazed outward. The Ledge was on the west side of the Tower away from Lake Michigan. His view was of an endless cityscape that stretched into the haze. The defining features were two big highways with a complicated, circular interchange. Some relatively big buildings were nearby, but he was far above them.

  Haley heard a familiar ring tone. He craned his neck to look over the crowd at Ethel. She was st
anding against a wall and listening intently to her phone.

  George Seferis pushed his way through the crowd. He ordered the Secret Service agents around Haley to make some space. The mob of reporters complained loudly as they were driven back by men in black suits. Haley maintained a cheerful smile for the cameras.

  He waved at Ethel. She looked at the reporters, shook her head, and kept her distance from him. It was obvious she didn't want to speak with him in front of the media.

  Seferis whispered in Haley's ear, "Sir, we discovered a bomb in the arena. Two sticks of dynamite. It appears one of the theatrical technicians smuggled it in. He was captured at the scene."

  "I thought you had bomb sniffing equipment at all the entrances," Haley murmured.

  "Yes, sir. We're investigating the security breech."

  "Sounds like we got lucky this time. Who found the bomb?"

  "A couple of FBI agents," Seferis said.

  "Make sure they get accommodations."

  Seferis furrowed his brow.

  "What?" Haley said.

  "We don't actually know who they are, sir. They left before they were identified."

  "I don't understand. Two federal agents discovered a bomb that could've killed me and didn't stick around to claim credit?"

  Seferis nodded. "It does seem strange."

  Haley looked over at Ethel.

  She took a small notepad out of her pocket and scribbled a note. Her hand was a blur as she wrote. She gave the note to Boreas. He pushed his way over to Haley, handed the note to him, and went back to Ethel.

  Haley examined the note. It read, "The technician was a member of Pure America. Tell Seferis he can arrest the whole bunch now. My people have moved on." Ethel's handwriting was graceful and clean.

  Haley gave the note to Seferis. The Director stared at it for a long moment.

  "Well?" Haley said. "Would you like to make a comment?"

  Seferis cleared his throat. "This is unexpected, sir."

  "The mystery of the anonymous FBI agents has been solved. They work for Miss Pickenpaugh. We're all in her debt, again."

  "She could just be claiming credit. We don't have any proof she did anything."