The Cassandra Conspiracy (23 page)

“I’ll use the pickup. You’ll only be able to use the parking lights until you get to the road. I’ll follow your
tail-lights up the driveway, but I’ll wait until you pull out. When you get to the end of the driveway, tap the brakes twice. That’ll alert me that you’re ready to go.

Don’t wait too long once you get there. The guys watching us will most likely be slow in reacting, but that doesn’t mean that we can take any chances. They should be more than a little surprised when, they suddenly see the Jaguar pull out onto the road. Unless they’re on their toes, they’ll panic when they realize what’s going on. You’ll have to try to put as much distance between you and them as you can. The car’s fast and even if worse comes to worse, you can outrun them.”

Payton was still piecing his plans together as he went along. “When they come after you, I’ll cut them off. Once I’ve taken care of them, I’ll meet you at the phone booth, the one at the I83 ramp.”

“Wait a minute...” Janet said interrupting him. “That’s too dangerous. Isn’t there another way–something else we could do?”

“We don’t have a choice.”  Payton wanted to shift Janet’s attention away from using the pickup as a diversion.

“What happens after you run them off the road?”  Janet asked, unwilling to be deterred so easily.

“If Wingate’s men had orders to kill us, they would have done it by now. We’re sitting ducks here. They could drive in, shoot us, and leave. I’m counting on the fact that these guys won’t be watching for the pickup. If I’m wrong and something happens to me, go to the police. You won’t have any other options,” Payton replied emphatically.

They sat quietly as the gravity of their situation sunk in.

CHAPTER 21

October 18th

John Grant had taken a seat in the corner of the restaurant facing the door. His selection of the table, and its relative position with respect to the rest of the place, was automatic. Or if not automatic, then at least instinctive.

He had to sit in the corner where he knew his back was covered, and where he had a commanding view of the entrance. It wasn’t that Grant thought that he was in any kind of danger. He wasn’t. But over the years, he had learned never to let his guard down. An error now portended increased carelessness, which was something he couldn’t afford. At first he had to make a point to pay particular attention to the little details that could make the difference in his survival. Later they became second nature, like brushing your teeth or walking the dog.

Grant’s reflections were interrupted as CNN flashed the breaking news across the black and white television in the far corner of the room. “The
President will be leaving this afternoon for Camp David to work on his revised economic plan. To date, President Varrick has managed to keep a tight lid on the new program. Speculation abounds throughout the Capital as to what radical changes and new legislation the President has in mind.”

As the reporter went on, John Grant finished breakfast and walked out to his car. A few minutes later he was on I70, heading west. Grant followed the same route to the Catoctin National Forest he had taken the last time. When he got off the multilane highway near Frederick, he stopped at the western Maryland town’s largest shopping center. He went into the grocery store, and picked up enough staples to last him three days in the woods.

When he got back to the Jeep, Grant removed a Forestry Service map from his knapsack. The map pinpointed every fire watchtower in Catoctin National Forest, including the one he had recently found.

He checked the route to the tower one more time. Then he folded the map, placed it into the waterproof nylon map case, and got back into the Jeep. He continued up Maryland Route 15 toward Thurmont, but this time didn’t get off at the east-west Route 77. Instead, he followed Route 15 north about three quarters of a mile and exited onto Route 550, skirting the northern edge of the national forest.

He had charted his route twice before. When he got to the road that led to the derelict motel, he eased off onto the shoulder and stopped the car. The old driveway was a mosaic of cracks, clumps of grass, and loose stones.

It led back to an abandoned motel that hadn’t seen any visitors for years except possibly some amorous local teenagers. A substantial chain, bolted to a concrete-filled steel pipe set into the ground and moored to a concrete pad, provided a modicum of security. The other end of the chain fastened to a metal ring welded to a second steel post at the far side of the drive.

During his last trip, Grant had taken the time to hacksaw off the original lock and replace it with a duplicate manufactured by the same company. If anyone had ventured upon the site before Grant’s return trip, they would think that their key simply didn’t work. On the other hand, if Grant returned to find that his key didn’t open the lock, he’d know the road wasn’t secure.

Grant’s key worked, and the lock opened with a snap. He dropped the chain,
and then drove the Jeep through the entrance. Before driving to the spot where he’d leave the car, he re-secured the chain and lock.

After making sure that the car was far enough off the road for it not to be noticed, he opened the tailgate and began to sort out his equipment. His knapsack contained all the basics he’d need on the trail, including a basic first aid kit, candle, fire starters, waterproof matches, nylon cord, a single edged razor blade, dextrose cubes, energy bars, salt packets, hunting knife, compass, and flashlight. He also carried a camouflage PVC poncho for use on the trail, and a canteen.

A down sleeping bag would shelter him during the cold nights. Grant had checked the weekend weather forecast, and the next few days were supposed to be sunny, the nights clear and cold. He removed the food that he’d recently bought, packing it into the remaining space in his pack. It was all edible right from the can, and Grant wasn’t planning any fires.

His supplies taken care of, he removed his Docksiders along with his socks. In their place he pulled on a pair of olive drab boot socks over which he added his Timberland hiking boots.

Before putting on a heavy wool sweater, Grant strapped on his shoulder holster. The holster held his Smith & Wesson Model 469 nine-millimeter handgun, upside down with the grip angled near the front of his chest.

If he needed the gun, he had only to reach under the sweater and grab it. The leather snap released upon the application of any downward pressure, freeing the weapon. The Smith & Wesson held twelve rounds in the clip with a thirteenth in the chamber ready to go.

Grant didn’t expect any problems on his camping expedition, but he didn’t intend to be out in the field without a weapon. The commando style sweater was a little bulky but did an excellent job of concealing the handgun.

He pulled the sweater over his head, and checked the side-view mirror to make sure that the neckline covered the shoulder holster’s straps. Then he put on his down jacket and slipped his arms into the straps of his pack. Before closing the Jeep’s hatch, Grant clipped the canteen to his belt and put his binocular strap over his head. With everything secure, he headed toward the park.

When he reached the road, Grant looked to see if he could make out the Jeep amongst the trees. From where he stood, the car was nearly invisible. Before crossing 550, he checked for traffic. Since he was carrying a pack and sleeping bag into a park that didn’t allow overnight camping, Grant didn’t want to be seen. When he was certain no cars were coming from either direction, he crossed the road and entered the park.

Once into the trees, Grant headed toward his objective, the fire watchtower. He knew that a dirt road led to the tower, and it was the tower and the road that he wanted to observe. Grant needed to know how frequently the road was used and by whom. There was no rush to get to the tower, and Grant decided that it was better to take things slowly and not chance being seen. That meant he had to avoid the park’s hiking trails. Staying in the thickets and off the trails would slow him down.

Fortunately, when he got to the tower, there were no vehicles in sight. Using his binoculars, he scanned the tower, looking for signs that anyone was in the cabin. The absence of any cars most likely meant that no one was at home–at least for the time being.

Grant pulled back from the edge of the road, and dropped his gear next to a copse of trees. From the pack, he removed his notepad, a small battery-powered radio scanner, and the earphone that would allow him to monitor the scanner without taking any chance of being overheard. Grant inserted the earphone jack into the unit then he made his way back to the edge of the forest, closer to the fire road, where he sat down, his back against a large oak tree. The birds chirped–everything was peaceful and quiet. He had preset the scanner to the ten specific frequencies, each in the range of 164.650 to 169.920 Megahertz, given to Grant by his contact. He set the unit on scan mode, extended its whip antenna, and rested the scanner in his lap.

The Secret Service had switched over to voice privacy equipment a few years ago, but their methods weren’t ultra-secure. It was there primarily to keep any hacker with access to a Radio Shack store from eavesdropping on their communications. Grant’s special scanner had customized circuitry that decoded the voice messages he was listening for. There was nothing more to do but wait.

The daylight dwindled slowly as Grant sat patiently against the tree. Fall in the Catoctin Mountains came earlier than it did in Baltimore, resulting in cooler temperatures. The evening air chilled Grant, a sign of a colder than normal night. The scanner crackled with occasional static, but not the signals he was waiting to hear.

Just before nightfall, a nondescript Ford station wagon came down the road. Two men dressed in hiking garb got out of the car and began the climb to the top of the fire tower. Through his binoculars, Grant saw that each man had a small flesh colored earphone in his left ear. The men walked along the top of the tower and checked the lock on the door to the cabin. Satisfied that everything was secure, one of the men pressed a push-to-talk button on the portable transceiver clipped to his belt. As he did, Grant’s scanner froze on one of the preprogrammed frequencies.

“Cactus, this is Champion One. Tower’s secure. We’re heading back.” 

Grant checked the liquid crystal display on the front of the scanner, and marked down the frequency. He also made a record of the time and day the men had checked out the tower. Then he watched as the two Secret Service agents came down the steps, returned to their car, and drove back up the road. Once they were out of sight, Grant turned off the scanner and returned to where he had left his pack.

After a dinner of a sandwich, some potato chips, and water, he unpacked the sleeping bag and tried to get some sleep. He knew the target’s security people would check the tower several times throughout the next day or two, and wanted to be certain he knew when, and how long it was between checks. He dozed lightly, confident that his jungle
-honed senses would wake him if anyone returned.

About six the next morning, another car came down the fire road. Just as before, two men went up the steps and verified that no unwanted visitors had been there between inspections. Unlike the other team, these two unlocked the door to the cabin and went inside. Grant had already turned on the scanner, anticipating the exchange of call signs.

“Cactus, this is Champion Two. We’re in position. Site is secure.”  Grant also picked up the transmission from Cactus acknowledging receipt of the tower’s message.

From where Grant hunched concealed close to the base of the tower, it was virtually impossible to see the cabin or what the men inside were doing. Likewise the autumn
-hued canopy and the angle from the top of the tower guaranteed his concealment from the men who watched from the top of the fire station. Every hour they made another radio transmission to Cactus. The security team at the tower identified themselves, and sent out an “everything’s secure” message, which Cactus promptly acknowledged. The target’s security had to be top-notch, and to accomplish that level of security meant Secret Service agents would constantly man the tower when the President was at Camp David.

About mid
-afternoon, Grant’s scanner picked up another message. “Champion Two, this is Champion One.”  When the tower acknowledged the message, Champion One went on, “Relief’s on the way. ETA is  ten minutes. Champion One clear.”

The process of full-time area surveillance and relief teams went on at four
-hour intervals during the balance of the next day and a half. He was operating as he had in Vietnam when his team was in enemy territory–obtaining necessary intelligence while maximizing concealment.

Sunday afternoon at four o’clock, Grant’s scanner came alive again. “Cactus, this is Nighthawk. We’re on the final leg of our approach.”  Cactus responded, “Nighthawk, this is Cactus. You are cleared to land.”  Grant glanced at his watch.

At five o’clock Grant picked up another message on the scanner. “Signature, this is Cactus. You are cleared for takeoff. Have a good day.”  Call sign Signature acknowledged the message, which Grant diaried with the others in his notebook.

A few minutes later, the men who had taken over for Champion One at the tower radioed in. “Cactus, this is Champion Three. We’re coming in now.”  Cactus acknowledged their message. Less than five minutes later, the team came down the tower’s steps and left the site. Grant now had the information he needed to complete his mission’s planning.

He packed the sleeping bag, and then policed the site again. Satisfied that he had everything he had brought with him, he took a small branch that had fallen off one of the trees, and swept the area near the roadside as well as his campsite. When he finished, there were no traces that anyone had been there.

As he walked back to the abandoned driveway his mind raced, organizing the myriad of facts and details that would ultimately ensure his mission’s success.