Ray stepped into Eric’s very sanitized and impersonal office, “Hey, Boss.”
“Ray, how are you? I just got something across my desk that I don’t remember us talking about. Can you shed some light?”
“Some light, Sir?”
“Yes, specifically, why are you approving one of Fredericks patients to be released back into active duty and then sending that person out on an immediate assignment without as much as a memo?”
Ray was not used to getting his ass chewed and he responded with a snarky side that he rarely showed, “I followed protocol Eric, which is why you are informing me that you know. Don't forget that we had discussed this earlier and you knew that I was choosing to keep my decision to myself for the time being.”
“You know damn well, Ray, that we are all overrun here and this required a phone call.”
“Well if I didn’t before, I sure do now, Eric.”
“Not good enough, Ray, you know better than to try the ‘ask for forgiveness’ approach. Sorry, but if this little personal decision you made goes FUBAR, then it’s your swan song, and even your wife won’t be able to protect you.”
Tensions had been building between them lately, but he never thought he would see the day when Eric Barnett would threaten his job or throw his wife into the argument when he knew she had nothing to do with any part of his decision process. Having Kim in his life did have one big liability, and it was akin to being the fat kid growing up, as no matter how good your comeback was to a bully, all they had to do was go to the lowest common denominator. “Fatso.”
Of course, in his case, it was the, “wife in high places” remarks he must endure as soon as someone was out of ammo and wanted to win the argument.
Eric was openly not happy about his newly appointed Department Head marrying someone in the President’s Cabinet, but what could he say. It was frowned upon, but not against the rules. That was when the undermining game started though—the let’s undermine and toss a negative on almost every thought out of Ray’s head. Well, if that was the way he wanted to play this . . .
“You’d be surprised at the things Kim can do, Eric.”
His boss had that hangdog look that he could exaggerate when needed. His head was very round and oftentimes there was a small film of sweat on his smooth cap when things got really stressful. He was able to compartmentalize his face in a way that made his eyes turn like a hound and a furrowed brow that had enough lines to look like a mini pack of hot dogs. He could be very sullen when brought to the precipice of rage, Ray noticed, and apparently his last comment was enough to get him there.
“Be that as it may, Ray, you made this decision alone and you will stand behind it alone. Dismissed.”
For once Ray had nothing to say. He had never been dismissed before. Stunned and not sure what to say, he got up and left without a word.
He knew Eric was right; it was a rash decision he’d made without one word of advice from a room full of advisors that worked for him round-the-clock. He’d just sent a newly recovered sniper into a mass of civilians to protect a civilian. Knowing Malcolm’s case from Frederick’s description, maybe it wasn’t the best assignment to send him on. The timing and Malcolm’s physical proximity to the situation made his decision the most pragmatic, he was sure of it. But as Ray sat back and looked out over the grounds, he had the gut feeling that what he had set in motion could, in fact, go very wrong.
He was in a business where “what have you done for me lately?” ruled. So trying to stand on his past achievements would get him nowhere—not that he hadn’t been there before, but it was never easy being in between a rock and a hard spot, even when you’re Ray Callahan.
He mused, that’s why I make the big bucks.
* * *
The crowd was coming from everywhere, but Malcolm caught a break as the sun was going down, and for the next thirty minutes or so, people would not want to stand at the top because of the glare. They were heading down the stairs in the northwest corner nearest the hospital.
The back windows of the van were mirror like and he’d seen several people walk by and look right in, mostly checking their hair. In retrospect, this might not have been the best place for him to be. There were so many innocent lives everywhere, one false move and another innocent person dies at his hands. He knew Frederick was competent, but would a competent doc really send him out here?
He had his field glasses out and it looked like a TV crew was building a small stage up front. I wonder what’s going on?
* * *
Tears were welling in her eyes as Lauren leaned against the back of the building. There was a crush of people in the square and she had no hope of getting closer; plus some idiot just bumped into her and it sent her confidence spiraling downward. Her back was on fire and she was not even able to get another picture for her own story, what a drag.
She needed to resign and get out, as the jerk that bumped her sent her the message that her physical limitation was very real. That was how she ended up on the wall. She was too fragile to be moving in any kind of a crowd. She pushed herself off the wall and started to move, but before she got even a step away, the fire exit door opened with a resounding boom. At the same time, the crowd started cheering and everyone focused on something going on toward the front of the hospital. Then she heard it: Matt Hurst was speaking; it had to be him.
In the doorway was a security guard. He was about five foot four and looked to be Vietnamese, if Lauren wasn’t mistaken. He broke out a cigarette and started to smoke while trying to see the action. He could only see the back half of the crowd from his vantage point, so she determined he was just girl watching after seeing his eyes track a girl’s ass who was nearby; he obviously could care less what was going on with Hurst. That played right into the move she decided to try. She approached him as coquettishly as possible and asked him if he would let her take some pictures from the roof?
His replay was stern and in perfect English, “I can’t do that or I could lose my job.”
She realized that if a guy thinks he really has no shot with a girl, he wouldn’t be as likely to be falling over himself to help her. She had already thought of this possibility, so she had gathered her cash together for a bribe. Thanks to her dad restocking her bank account, she had a little bit less than four hundred dollars on her. Her new friend in the world smiled and decided that the money was sufficient enough to take the chance; so they waited for the right moment and Lauren slipped in and was then cautiously headed up to the roof via the stairwell.
The trudge was arduous, the camera strap eating into her neck like she was at the end of a day of shooting wildlife in the bush. When one was this messed up, even climbing a stairwell could be too much. It seriously took her two minutes to get to the second floor, with two more to the roof hatch.
Her escort realized that she was not one hundred percent healthy and had a look of consternation on his face as he asked her, “Are you sure you’re able to do this?”
She assumed he was more concerned about having to give the money back than about her well being, “I’ll be fine, just moving slowly due to a car accident.”
The slow moving was making the guard antsy. He was expecting this to be a quick thing, and then he’d move on with his money, the end. He certainly wasn’t expecting this to take so long. Escorting a nearly handicap person was trying his patience; she could see it on his face. When they finally got to the last flight of stairs, he told her he was going to the top and open it up. He’d prop open the door too, as he wanted to go see what was going on.
Lauren could see the change in him after they’d heard several large roars from the crowd while in the stairwell. It took another three minutes for her to get to the door.
Outside was still light out, but the sun was minutes from making its final decent of the day. The clouds had that amazing quality to them that happened only at this time of day, like you were in heaven and watching the heavenly light filter through them as you approached the
Pearly Gates.
She heard Hurst speak again and the crowd cheered in response. Lauren was trying her hardest not to mess up and trip, but her anticipation was at a level she had never experienced before, so she forced herself to carefully negotiate the best path to take. Directly in front of her were two large square contraptions. If she chose the left path, she would come out on the left corner of the building, farthest from the action. If she chose the right, the angle would be wrong.
The monstrosity in front of her was making a racket that suggested it was an air conditioning unit. Lauren was being very careful not to make sudden movements, while her very concerned escort dumped her for the action. The rooftop was loose gravel and she gingerly made her way over to the opening in the middle.
As soon as she got there, she’d wished she had never come. A man dressed in camouflage the same color as the air conditioning unit was pulling a knife out of the guard’s neck. His face was painted in the same metal grey as his clothes and his blackened eyes were now fixed on her.
* * *
The crowd was beyond belief. Robert turned to Melvin, “How will we get up there?”
Melvin smiled at his peevish leader, “I have a small confession.”
“And what would that be, Melvin?”
Melvin expounded sheepishly, “I used to be into death metal music; my favorite band was Slipknot.”
Robert stared blankly at his protective hulk, obviously not getting it.
“Robert, I used to go to these general admission concerts but my goal was always to touch the stage. I know how to do this. Just follow me and don’t back down, I’ll be watching my back for you, too.”
With that, and much to Robert’s amazement, Melvin expertly exerted his will on one person at a time and they began their march toward where Matt was already speaking. One unlucky gentleman tried to take umbrage with them and Melvin’s finger found his chest a comfortable place to rest until the man seemed to be suddenly okay with everything.
Robert couldn’t believe the number of these people who were tied to his game. He even saw his name on a poster that someone they bumped out of the way was holding.
Matt was talking to the crowd. He said if people remained civil, he was going to come out later and talk if his family somehow recovered. But they needed to move over to the park until that time, and if that time never came, then they needed to understand what that meant and go home and pray for him.
He was tearfully saying that his family was in there fighting for their life and he needed to be singularly focused. Melvin finally muscled them up front and Robert got his first live view of Matt Hurst.
Some people don’t meet your expectations when you finally meet them in person, but Matt here seemed to exceed Robert’s expectations, and the way he spoke so earnestly and right to the people, Robert was pretty sure a career in politics would not be out of the question. Matt paused and looked around. Just then he did a double take as he noticed Robert and Melvin.
* * *
Jim Jensen was watching the crowd and snapping pictures like mad, sending in image after image for a possible hit. Nothing. The sun was heading toward its last minutes in the sky and then things were going to get dicey after twilight. Fortunately, he brought a scope that would do nicely in sparsely lit areas and he’d already seen enough light poles in the vicinity to know that he should be okay.
At the base of the adjacent building, the back stairwell door swung open and an Asian guard stepped out and started to light up a cigarette. He was enjoying his smoke and looking at all the tail bouncing around as Jim saw him tracking girls more than once. Then, just like that, Matt was on the portable raised podium addressing the crowd. By the time he quickly glanced back at the door, the guard was gone. He scanned the crowd for anyone not intent on this speech, but found none.
He was looking at the crowd in front of the office to the right when he saw a slight movement on the roof above. He quickly looked over and saw his guard on the roof, watching the action; he didn’t give off any kind of a vibe or have any habits a good assassin would have, but twice now he had looked back over his shoulder. Why?
* * *
Malcolm was scanning the crowd, looking for any body language or face that was malicious. He hadn’t seen anything but admiration and tears. There was not one anti-Hurst group or person he could see. As he was looking toward the front, something caught him out of the corner of his eye when he pulled the spotting glasses back for a second. A security guard was standing on the roof of the building across from his position. After a moment of intense scrutinization, Malcolm determined that he was just another enthralled spectator. No real threat would be so overt.
Malcolm knew a trained man such as he would have found a way and it wouldn’t have been from the crowd or an obvious rooftop either; he would have taken a distance shot. Of course, with Matt’s position being shielded by the buildings, the parking garage offered the only real threat other than the two buildings rooftops. Malcolm was coming to the realization that he was going to have to take the pistol and redo the parking garage again, as his current method of searching was most likely a dead end.
Even if he were to take a shot from here, regretfully, he was sure there was no way to conceal his muzzle flash from detection. The way the sun was hitting the garage, even a single cigarette puff blown from this roof would be illuminated and exaggerated like a cloud from Heaven; anyone in the square would see it. Malcolm knew, of course, that it didn’t matter so much to the good guy as it did to the hostile.
He was resolved to a change in his strategy when he decided to scan the building to his right one last time. He noticed an air conditioning unit and a generator, each standing about fifteen feet high, and each offered a blindside that he couldn’t see behind. However, for one to take a shot at the target below, one would have to move up in his or her position enough to shoot over the lip of the rooftop. That would put them into play, and he determined that no one was there. He was about to stow his spotting glasses and get to his ground patrol when something on the top of the generator moved.
It might have been a pigeon as what he noticed was a very slight movement. Then his blood ran cold. There was a shooter—perfectly camouflaged—laying prone on top of the generator! He had missed him on several previous passes over of the area. Damn! He placed his spotter glasses in the case, carefully opened the right slide port on the van door and acquired his target. His rifle was a Sako TRG-S bolt-action rifle with a specialized .50 caliber round called a “whisper shot” that enabled him to shoot silently at a sub-sonic level, especially with his silencer attached.
As he detected moments ago, he might be able to circumvent the sound of the shot, but the sun was sending the perfect illumination on his location right now and there would be no hiding the tiny puff of smoke that the muzzle flash would emit.
Malcolm adjusted his breathing and was beginning to bring his finger to the trigger when he noted something he should have caught right away. His target’s rifle was not aiming at Hurst.
* * *
Jim Jensen was not convinced that this apparently inept guard was just hanging out. The two furtive looks this guy made were troubling. Matt was talking and Jim was hearing the anguished voice. The poor kid. Unfortunately, Jim had to block the words as his concentration was on its highest level, but Matt’s inflection seeped through, regardless of his ability to block Matt’s words.
The security guard was quickly convincing him he was no threat when he discarded the cigarette he was smoking on the roof. No hitter would be leaving cigarette butt DNA all over the place. He was just about to restart his search when a camouflaged man appeared behind the guard, pulled him down backwards and ended him with a large knife. Jim steadied for the shot when the man moved toward the center of the roof, the air conditioning unit now in the way of a clean shot. His adrenal gland was working overtime and his stress level had peeked. His hunch was right, someone still wanted his protégé dead . . .
* * *
If he was a hitter after Hurst, then he’d had more than ample time to get the job done. The thought that some other agency had sent this guy here was a cluster fuck beyond all comprehension. Who the fuck sends two snipers to protect someone and doesn’t at least tell one of them about the others existence?
Malcolm then observed great distress come over his target. It was like watching a spectator at a boxing match. He was going to have to take his eyes off his target to find out what the hell was going on over on the adjacent roof. He deftly pulled out his spotter glasses from the case while never taking his eyes off the target. Once he had them firmly in his hand, then he quickly left his rifle on the bi-pod and looked to see what was distressing the other sniper.
He quickly caught sight of the back of a camouflaged man, in his right hand was a very large knife and he was heading toward the center of the roof, the guard was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, a woman appeared to the guy’s left, his body had been blocking her. She was backing away to his left, which meant the air conditioning unit to the left of his new target was now blocking her. His new target was walking toward her location at a clipped pace now and was around the same corner as her four seconds later. What the fuck is going on?
* * *
As Matt made his way out of the elevator with the hospital Administrator, he saw something he was going to have to get used to. Notoriety. He was now a very famous guy that people knew where to find. He realized that he did not fully appreciate his previous autonomy until now. Passing through the “lobby of adulation” should have just been a primer for what came next.
In a stunned kind of trance, he walked out and was greeted by some producer who actually wanted to put makeup on him, which he immediately refused and pushed away.
Without Wrath (Harbinger of Change Book 3) Page 29
