The Machiavelli Covenant (72 page)

"Jesus God," he breathed. He needed to find Hap and right now!

•
11:56 P.M.

Marten entered the Secret Service command post and alerted Bill Strait to his fears. In seconds Strait had contacted Hap, who was with the president.

Two minutes later, Hap, Marten, and Bill Strait were deep in the Secret Service command post, surrounded by a dozen agents and tech specialists and three commanders of the Polish Secret Service. They had no idea if Marten was right or, if he was, whom they might be looking for—man, woman, young, middle-aged, old—and how that person might have been able to smuggle an M14 or other rifle past the heavy security and onto the grounds. One thing was certain: whoever that person was, if they existed at all, had to have security clearance. No one else was inside the compound. Of that they were doubly certain.

•
12:00 NOON

Collecting the M14 was easy. Brought onto the grounds inside a television satellite truck and hidden among literally tons of broadcast equipment inside a long black tubular case used to carry camera tripods, it had been left in a pile of other camera equipment outside the truck. Victor's AP press pass gave him easy access to the media area and to the huge gaggle of satellite vans. The tripod case holding the rifle was to the left and near the bottom of the pile and marked with a singular piece of light blue masking tape. All Victor had to do was pick up the case and retreat to the cover of nearby trees as had been explained in the instruction packet the driver of taxicab #7121 had given him when he'd picked him up from the Warsaw train in Krakow.

•
12:10 P.M.

Inside the Secret Service command post Marten, Hap, and Bill Strait sat in front of computer screens, scanning the photo IDs of everyone who had been given security clearance and photographed upon entry—all six hundred and seventy-two of them—and that included the heads of state themselves, their families and entourages, other invited guests, every member of the security force, every member of the media.

Marten was there because Hap had asked him to be—because he had been with the president all the way from Barcelona and in that time he might have glimpsed a face in passing he would recognize here. Maybe one of Foxx's people from Montserrat or someone he had seen with Foxx or Beck or Demi in Malta or even on the television monitors inside the church at Aragon. It was a reach at best but it was better than nothing.

"Damn it," Hap snapped as the photos whirred by, "we have no idea who the hell we're looking for."

"I hope I'm wrong about the whole thing," Marten said. "I hope nothing comes up."

"Hap," Bill Strait said suddenly. "Everyone admitted to the grounds will have had a background check, otherwise they wouldn't have been given security credentials. Ninety percent were invited to the original summit in Warsaw which means the security checks on them would have been extensive. The remaining ten percent are here mainly because of the last minute change of location. Background checks on them would be less thorough simply because of the time factor."

"You're right. Let's isolate those sixty, seventy-odd people. Go over them in particular."

•
12:20 P.M.

Victor moved readily past a row of old stone buildings and toward a stand of budding trees that partially concealed a long run of what looked like original death camp concrete-post-and-barbed-wire security fence.

•
12:30 P.M.

Photograph after photograph whirred past Hap, Marten, and Bill Strait. So far they had seen no one who would give them pause, no one at all who seemed questionable or whom they might have seen before. Still, they had no choice but to keep on. In thirty minutes the president would step to the podium. If someone was out there, they had to find him.

•
12:35 P.M.

Victor moved through high grass toward a small pond twenty yards away.

"Testing. One, two. Testing. One, two."

In the distance he could hear the voice of a technical engineer testing the podium's sound system.

"Testing. One, two. Testing. One, two."

Victor smiled as he reached the edge of the pond and skirted around behind it. For some reason he had felt no emotion until now. He'd been calm all the way from Warsaw. Calm through the security check. Calm as he'd walked past the satellite trucks on the way to retrieve the tripod case with the M14 inside. Calm, even when he'd been challenged by a guard dog team; readily showing his ID, even patting one of the dogs on the head. Calm as he picked up the tripod moments later and walked away with it toward the woods. It was only now as he heard them testing the sound system that he felt his adrenaline come up. It was why he had smiled. This was not only dangerous, it was fun.

•
UNITED STATES EMBASSY, LONDON, 11:45 A.M.
(12.45 P.M. in AUSCHWITZ)

Three large black SUVs, their windows tinted, turned off Park Lane onto Grosvenor Street and a moment later turned onto the embassy grounds on Grosvenor Square.

Immediately they were surrounded by an armed squad of United States Marines in dress uniform. A moment later the doors to the lead and tail cars opened and a half
dozen special agents of the United States Secret Service stepped out. In a heartbeat they opened the doors to the third SUV. Special Agent Roland Sandoval stepped out first, followed immediately and in silence by Vice President Hamilton Rogers; Secretary of Defense Terrence Langdon; Secretary of State David Chaplin; Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Chester Keaton; and lastly by presidential Chief of Staff Tom Curran.

Surrounded by Marines and Secret Service agents the group entered the embassy building, the doors closed behind them and the SUVs drove off. The entire operation took less than a minute, beginning to end.

•
AUSCHWITZ, U.S. SECRET SERVICE COMMAND POST. 12:47 P.M.

"This man here," Bill Strait suddenly snapped out loud.

Both Hap and Marten turned to look at Strait's computer screen. On it he had the photograph and AP Press credentials of VICTOR YOUNG. "He was in the Ritz in Madrid the night the president vanished," Strait said. "He tried to get up to the fourth floor. It seemed to be a mistake, he said he was just a tourist waiting for friends. We had him on security cameras and studied him later and decided he was no risk."

"You sure it's him?" Hap said.

"Not exactly but pretty damn close."

"I've seen him too," Marten was staring at the screen. "He passed me in a car in Washington the night Dr. Stephenson shot herself."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Get this photo to every security team!" Hap snapped at a special agent standing behind him. "We're going out, now!"

•
12:48 P.M.

Unnoticed by the invited guests or the media, two hundred Secret Service agents from Poland, the U.S., Germany, and France fanned out as unobtrusively as possible searching for one Victor Young, a possible phantom sniper carrying an M14.

•
12:50 P.M.

President Harris, German Chancellor Bohlen, French President Géroux and Polish President Roman Janicki huddled with the leaders of the other twenty-three NATO countries in the large tent from which they would make their public entrance in less than seven minutes.

"Mr. President," Hap came in fast, "May I see you for a moment please?"

The president excused himself and stepped away.

"Mr. President, we have a security breach. A lone man. We think he's a sniper. I want to postpone the event."

"Sniper?"

"Yes, sir."

"But you're not sure."

"A hundred percent, no."

"Hap, we've got the world watching on television. We have the Congress in special session waiting for us. We've already changed venue because of security concerns. We postpone this now, we show the entire world
how vulnerable we are even under a security blanket as tight as this. Hap, we can't do it. I'll have to trust that you'll find your man or you'll find you've made a mistake and there's no one at all." The president looked at his watch. "We go out in four minutes, Hap."

"Mr. President, let me ask you for a compromise. Live television coverage has already begun. At 12:55 let me put out the word there has been an equipment problem and there will be a short delay until it's fixed. In the meantime the TV anchors can ad-lib or play video of your earlier tour through the camp. Give us a little time, please."

"Then you do think this person is out there."

"Yes, sir, I do."

"You have your compromise."

•
12:55 P.M.

Victor moved on his stomach to edge up through the high grass at the edge of the pond, then lifted the rifle and sighted down it. Four hundred yards away through trees he saw the podium. Just as his instructions had said he would.

From them he knew too that the president of Poland would speak for three minutes and that during that time the chancellor of Germany, the president of the United States, and the president of France would line up shoulder to shoulder behind him—and in that order, which was fortunate because the chancellor was shorter than the men. From his ground angle his shot would be elevated and would strike Anna Bohlen in the lower jaw before hitting President Harris just below his right ear, and then carry through his skull and into that of the president of France.

He inched forward to make his view a little clearer, then waited. It was only minutes now—seconds, really—before they came out and took their places. One shot and he was done. Afterward he would simply leave the weapon and walk away, then rejoin the press corps in the chaos. He would linger there in the crowd, then slip out through the media gate and walk down the road past a long line of parked cars to where the taxi would be waiting.

Dogs. Why did he hear dogs?

•
12:57 P.M.

His heart pounding, Victor slid back in the grass. The dogs were barking, coming in his direction from the far side of the pond. Over the loudspeakers he heard someone speak in English and then Polish:

"There is a short delay because of technical problems. Please bear with us for a few moments."

Technical problems? Oh Lord! He'd been found out!

Panicked, he looked behind him. All he saw was the old security fencing and the trees behind it. The barking got louder. In front of him was the pond; to his right, more fencing that melded into the trees and seemed to go on forever. To his left was the old crematorium. In between was a hundred yards of open land. He had no option but to go to his right. Then he remembered a secondary plan that had been in the instructions the taxi driver had given him. A quarter mile beyond the high grass on the far side of the pond were the ruins of old barracks that were now little more than a graveyard of concrete foundations and
still-standing chimneys. Among those was a dilapidated stone-and-wood building where the Nazis had stored wagons to haul the dead to the crematory. Hidden in a back corner under some old planking would be food and water, a cell phone, and an automatic pistol. If all things failed, that was where he had been directed to hide and where he would be contacted.

The barking was louder and more intense—the dogs were closing. Somewhere off he heard the sound of a helicopter starting up.

"Leave the rifle. Get rid of your scent. Get rid of your clothes," he said out loud, and in a burst stood up and ran low through tall grass for the cover of the pond.

Then he was at the water's edge. A pudgy, white middle-aged man, pulling off his shoes and socks and throwing off the rest of his clothes. His AP identification and security passes went with them. In seconds he was in the water swimming for the far bank. Where was Richard?
Who
was Richard? It made no difference. This was the end, he knew it. He didn't have a chance.

•
1:03 P.M.

"We've got the weapon and his clothes,"
a special agent's voice crackled simultaneously over Secret Service headsets.

Marten was running with the other agents, a 9mm Sig Sauer that Hap had tossed him as they left the command post in his hand. Ahead they saw the pond and the barking, howling dogs stopped at the edge of it. Bill Strait was in front of him gripping a machine pistol and running flat out. Suddenly he cut right toward the far side of the pond and what looked like the ruins of old barracks some distance behind it.

Marten veered right, following Strait and away from the agents running in front of him. Strait was alone. If he got into trouble he was by himself.

Fifty yards ahead Strait jumped a small stream and kept on. Lungs on fire, Marten followed. In seconds he was at the stream and over it. For a moment he lost Strait. Didn't know where he had gone. Then he saw him, charging down an overgrown gravel path toward the ruined barracks.

Strait glanced back, then said something into his headset, and ran on with a renewed burst of speed.

Marten hit the gravel pathway still fifty yards behind him. As he did, his feet slid out from under him and he went down. As quickly he recovered and was up and running. Closing now, forty yards, thirty.