Closure (Jack Randall) (43 page)

Sydney turned to look back through the glass at Larry. He sat at the table with a pencil behind his ear. His hair was a mess. Shirt tails out. His tie had disappeared several hours ago. He was rubbing his neck as he scanned another document.

“We’re all tired. Look, don’t kill yourself. Stop and take a break every once in a while. You’re no good to anyone if you pass out at the keyboard. Take a walk around the room. Get something to drink.”

“Okay, I’ll try. You, too.”

“All right, me too.”

Eric rose to take a stroll. But he gathered his notes to take with him.

“Thanks, sis.”

Sydney just smiled and returned to her pile of paper. At least he hadn’t called her Mom.

•      •      •

John Hoskins was head of the Secret Service detail in charge of securing the President. He was not in a happy mood. Not only did he have his principal making a semi-public appearance tonight, he had fresh information that pointed toward a professional assassin in the area, possibly targeting him. As the agent in charge, he was responsible. But he still had to listen to one man.

“Mr. President, we have a credible threat. I would like to postpone departure until the awnings can be erected at the entrances. I also think the vest is in order.”

The President, surrounded by staffers in the Oval Office, had just donned the suit he was going to wear. One selected for its on-camera appeal along with a tie that had been approved by no less than ten people. It had been checked for color, shine and its ability to not bleed on camera—whatever that meant. The President chose not to care. Now the Secret Service was asking him to change into a different suit, one that would accommodate the custom molded bulletproof vest that he had been fitted for before even taking office. The thing had some kind of gel between two layers of some space age super metal. Despite the tailoring of the vest, it still hampered his movements and gave him a sort of stiff walk. Something he had to overcome when he had thrown out the first pitch at the World Series last year. He hated the thing.

“John, we should have left five minutes ago. I can’t have the entire House and Senate, not to mention the entire nation, waiting for me to make a wardrobe change, especially two wardrobe changes. I’m sure as hell not giving a speech with the damn armor on. As for the awnings, you have five minutes. Tonight I could care less about the awnings.”

The President then turned to talk with his speech writer. John took the hint and quickly left the Oval. Once in the hallway, he pulled out his radio. Unlike on TV, the little sleeve mikes did not function inside the West Wing. In fact, no remote communication devices were allowed to function here, unless your name was John Hoskins.

“This is Hoskins. POTUS refuses to change the schedule. The awnings are a go, get them up now. Update HRT. Has the perimeter been swept?”

“Yes, about thirty minutes ago.”

“Do it again.”

“Yes, sir.”

John lengthened his stride and people jumped out of his way. He was upset about the awnings. This President had shot down the awnings that the service usually erected to shield him from snipers whenever he entered or left a building. The President had likened it to having a slave shade and fan him. His PR people had agreed. So the Service had done the best they could to shorten his time in the open, choosing alternatives whenever possible, or entrances with existing awnings. This President was typical. He viewed his security as a necessary nuisance, something to be tolerated. John had worked hard to gain the man’s trust and respect and would have been surprised to know that he had both. But tonight was all about politics, and the President was not as pliable as he might have been on other nights. John paused once he was outside and fought the urge to pull out a cigarette. Something he and the President secretly did outside the view of the First Lady. He stared out over the waiting limousines and went through his mental list. Had he covered all the bases? Were there enough contingency plans in place to meet any event? He hoped so.

His earpiece informed him that the members of the Supreme Court were now arriving safely in their seats. The Vice President was also in the chamber and safe. It was going to be a long night.

•      •      •

Sam sat in the dark hotel room with a similar earpiece in his ear, listening to the police scanner for the last few hours. He was only catching local traffic, little to do with the coverage of the President. Despite the State of the Union address, the rest of the city went on as usual. Car thefts, traffic accidents, shootings, a house fire somewhere he was not familiar with. All this had to be handled in addition to the security details relating to the speech. The traffic was constant and consistent. He turned down the volume in the earpiece so he could hear the TV in the next room. The news coverage of the State of the Union speech was somewhat like the Superbowl. They were into the last minutes of the pre-game, still speculating as to what the President might say. Their voices could be heard over the footage of the arriving VIPs. Everyone shaking hands and smiling like they were all friends. He listened for a few minutes until he heard them mention activity at the White House. The President was soon leaving, according to the commentator.

Sam reached down to pick up the frequency checker. It was similar to the one he had used in Las Vegas. He ran it through the check for the fourth time that night. Still clear. He left his perch to sit in front of the television. He watched as the President walked quickly to the car and entered. The camera switched as the motorcade made its way to the Capitol Building. He watched the security covering the President. The coverage continued until he was inside the building. At this point Sam had seen enough. He pushed the mute button and angled the TV so it could be seen from his perch in the next room.

The pain in his stomach was worse. He rose and barely made it to the bathroom when his bowels let loose. He felt a little dizzy after the event. Not wanting to, he forced himself to check the bowl’s contents. It looked like coffee grounds. His abdomen was tender to the touch. Both signs he was bleeding internally. The coffee ground looking stuff was partially digested blood. The cancer had finally eaten away at the walls of his colon. He forced a couple of pills down his throat and chased them with water. Deep breaths drove away the dizziness. He caught a look at himself in the mirror and was appalled by his appearance. His color was gray, his skin slack, and eyes red and raw. This was the last shot. No matter the outcome. His health was too poor to take him any further. The walk around the city today had exhausted him, and now the blood. He turned from the mirror in disgust. He passed the silent image of the President giving his speech to return to his perch on the makeshift table.

•      •      •

Jack was confused. He had held his breath from the moment the President had left the West Wing to the point he had entered the House chamber. Nothing. He had caught the looks from a few of the HRT members. He dismissed their gaze and headed back to the Pit. On arrival, he found his team going over everything they had. Larry and Sydney were in a conversation involving some pictures of the DC area. Eric still had his nose in the laptop they had taken from Paul’s home. Everyone had something to do but him. He retreated to his office where he picked up the phone.

“Hoskins, what do you need, Jack?”

“I saw the canopy. Was that you or the President?”

“Little of both. You have anything new?”

“No, still sifting through the pile. I just know this guy, John. I know how he thinks. He’s patient and very smart. Don’t let your guard down till the President’s back in the residence.”

“The President refuses to change anything. The post speech bash at the residence will be easier to control though. We’ve vetted every guest twice over. The coverage is maxed out. I keep looking for holes, but I haven’t found any.”

“If there is one, he’ll find it. No offense.”

“None taken, Jack, gotta go.”

Jack played with the dead receiver for a few seconds before cradling it. What had he missed? Sam had trained him. He knew how the man thought out a mission. What would he do? He looked up at the map of DC he had tacked on the wall some time ago. He had been here already. There were thousands of good shooting positions. This was wasted time. He jumped to his feet and marched back to the Pit.

The first thing he noticed on entering was Eric. Across the room and through the glass, he was seated at his desk with both fingers crossed, staring at the screen of the laptop. The two NSA people were standing over him.

“Yes!” Eric punctuated the event with his fists in the air, nearly punching an NSA guy in the face.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

Eric could not contain his excitement. His fingers were again flying across the keyboard. “We’re in. I found a way around the last safeguard and I have total access. The memory is near full, lots of data. Just tell me what to look for. No, wait, lemme copy the hard drive first. Only take a minute.” He was soon loading and unloading disc after disc.

Jack looked at the borrowed help. “Anything?”

“We’ll try the same thing on these two. See where it leads us.” They sulked away to their respective computers, beaten by an amateur, one with spiked hair no less.

“Sydney, Larry, work with Eric, please. You know what we’re after. Call me if you get anything. I’ll be with HRT.”

“Okay, Jack. Are you all right?”

He looked at her. Same worried look she had when they were together.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

She watched him leave. Larry tore her attention back.

“Come on, Sydney, let’s see what the rookie found for us.”

•      •      •

Jack bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs. A quick sprint up two floors and he was in the command room of the Hostage Rescue Team. They were monitoring the teams deployed around the area, waiting for the President to exit the Capitol Building. An electronic map showed their positions and call signs. A quick response team waited on the roof of the building with the little bird helicopters.

“Anything happening?” Jack asked.

One of the team spoke up. “One of the modern-day hippies tried climbing the fence at the White House. Park police grabbed him before the Secret Service could put a round through his head. He’s on his way to lockup. Other than that, it’s been quiet. Best idea they ever had doing this in January. Weather keeps most of the crazies away.”

“Let’s hope.” Jack looked at the screen showing the speech. “He about done?”

The tech in front of the screens checked his watch. “Should be. It’ll take awhile to exit, but he should be clear in a few minutes.”

Jack stared at the map and screens.

“I guess we wait again.”

•      •      •

Six blocks away, Sam also watched the TV and waited. While the President’s head filled the screen, Sam was spared his speech thanks to the mute button. The man was ineffective as far as he was concerned. He tried, but the opposition always seemed to find a way to defeat him. He watched as the audience rose and applauded over and over, sometimes the whole room, but mostly half at a time. Partisan politics, it was nothing but a big game for them. They might change their minds about the game after tonight. They all rose as the President wrapped it up.

He fingered the switches on the remote unit in anticipation.

•      •      •

“What do you have, Eric?” Larry asked.

“Well, basically a bunch of files. None of the names are flat out. Mostly code words I imagine. Here’s a big one.” He punched keys and the file appeared on the large flat screen monitor on the wall. He scrolled it slowly as they all scanned it.

Sydney spoke first. “It’s a copy of the crime bill proposed last year. Skip to the end.”

The document flew by as Eric prompted it. The last few pages were a list of names.

“The voting tally,” Larry explained.

As the list scrolled up the screen, several names appeared in highlight.

“Those would be the key senatorial votes that defeated it,” he added.

“Print that, Eric. What else is there?” Sydney asked.

“That’s it for that file.”

“Keep going. Look for maps, like Jack said.”

As data flew up the screen, Eric paused here and there to check something visible only to him, and then just as fast moved on.

“Here, this might be a map.” The file appeared on the big screen. “No, looks like a floor plan of a building. But what?”

A voice from across the room said, “It’s the Senate Office Building.”

They all turned to see a young female security guard standing in the doorway.

“Say that again?” Larry inquired.

“It’s the Senate Office Building. My cousin works security there. You know, right next to the Capitol Building.”

The state of Tennessee holds 25,403 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 17,020 are repeat offenders.

—FORTY-TWO—

J
ohn Hoskin’s night was only half over. The speech had ended and he was watching closely as the President shook the last few hands before breaking away to make his exit. He increased his pace to stay in front of the man as they made their way to the motorcade. He listened through his custom made earpiece as his agents reported, one after the other, that the exit was clear. He paused at the doorway for a look of his own, before stepping aside for the President. The walk under the freshly erected canopy was short, and they were both soon in the limousine. It quickly left the curb, and accelerated to a speed highly illegal on the DC streets.