Closure (Jack Randall) (42 page)

“Any proof that he’s here?” Greg asked.

“No, just my gut,” Jack replied.

Greg thought about it for another few seconds before making his decision. He pulled the radio from his vest and keyed the mic.

“This is Whitcomb. I want the Blue Team alerted at Quantico and sent to Reagan to meet the birds. Have the Gold Team members there come to the Hoover Building for new instructions.”

“What should they bring?” a voice answered.

“Everything.”

Greg looked at Jack. “You better be right on this, Jack, I just blew a lot of tax dollars. What have you done so far?”

“I have pictures being sent to you and the Service, should be in the deck soon. We’re rechecking all hotel reservations in the area. NSA has a few phone numbers to track. We have his brother, but he’s not talking. Trying to break into his computer. Other than that, well . . . we’re reading a lot.”

“Okay, I’m gonna tighten this area down till it’s ready to pop. The deck is over 52 cards now, but we’ll add yours.” The deck was actually a stack of card-sized photos of people that had threatened the President or Government at some point. Each agent had a deck they referred to as they scanned the crowd around the President.

Jack watched Greg as he fell silent for a moment, no doubt putting himself in the sniper’s position again. Something he himself had done many times before. The Mall between the White House and the Capitol Building was surrounded by tall buildings. Most of which were very old and had windows that opened. Although many had been sealed shut for just this reason it was not hard to reopen one. Most of the buildings were also government offices, but the shooter could well be a government employee, or posing as one. Jack had also mentioned that he used explosives. The coverage included dogs and electronic explosive detectors. But dogs got tired, and the electronic devices gave many false readings. On top of all this, you had countless protestors from countless causes on every street in the area, with the press everywhere to cover it all, every one of them wearing heavy clothes and long coats that could be concealing anything. It was a losing battle. The fact that it would be dark at the time of the speech would only aid the shooter. There was one thing that would help.

Greg looked up and saw Jack watching him.

“Sucks, don’t it,” Jack said.

Greg smiled and shook his head. “I was about to ask you if you could arrange to have it rain tonight. Nice cold torrential downpour. Something to drop visibility to around, oh I don’t know, ten feet or so?”

“Wish I could. That would solve a bunch of problems. Listen, I have to go find my crew and see if we have anything new. Can I borrow a radio?”

Greg reached to the small of his back and produced his backup radio. He spun the dials for a few seconds and then placed it in Jack’s hand.

“My backup. It’s encrypted. You can reach me, any of my team, and the Secret Service monitors it at all times. Next channel is Washington P.D. followed by EMS and Border Patrol, State of Maryland, State of Virginia and on down the line. Batteries are good till tomorrow. For God’s sake don’t lose it. I’ll be in paperwork for a year. Need some 5-50?”

Jack smiled. Greg was asking if he needed any parachute cord to tie the radio to himself. Something they did in basic training with new recruits and their weapons.

“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 might 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, 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 in the DC area wanted their cause mentioned in the speech. Governors, congressmen and senators all 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 to 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 here. 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, he loathed almost everything he stood for. He 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. 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, he will be 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 this offer. Vote in favor, and the President will publicly thank you and call attention to the fact that 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 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 that out. With the baby boomers dying off, he was losing his voting majority. Numbers for the next campaign were not good. Now here was Charlie Parker, offering him another term. What if word leaked of this deal?

“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 that 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 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 settled in to wait.

The state of South Dakota holds 3,026 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 2,027 are repeat offenders.

—FORTY-ONE—

S
ydney 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 in 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, Eric met some computer technicians from the National Security Agency. They offered their first names and nothing more, 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 her.

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 an arm’s length from the laptop. “How about you?”