36: A Novel (41 page)

Refocusing, I took a minute to wait and listen.  Traffic sounds.  A jet descending for a landing at Reagan.  Boisterous voices from the nightclub a few doors down the block.  Closer, a rustling from within a large, metal dumpster.  A rat, I guessed, starting to move again.

Reaching a cross alley, I hugged the wall and approached the rear door of the building.  It was the only way in or out other than the door facing the street.  The plans Julie had downloaded were detailed drawings submitted for a remodel a few years ago by the previous owner.  I suspected they were still accurate as there was no reason for the new owner to have changed anything.  All they needed was an empty office with a view of the target.

The door was a layered slab of steel with a high security lock.  A metal plate covered the gap between the door and jam where the deadbolt was located, preventing a burglar from cutting it with a thin saw blade and gaining easy access.  Even if it hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have tried to gain entry that way.  Too much noise.

A security seal, to indicate the building had been cleared, spanned the door jam above the lock.  It was some sort of translucent, high strength plastic with an adhesive backing. The Secret Service seal was printed on the surface, along with ominous warnings against disturbing the device.  A small, red LED embedded near the top edge glowed softly.  Half a dozen different federal laws against tampering with the unit were cited. 

Looking closely, I could see wires and a couple of small circuit boards embedded into the material.  In the bottom right corner was a small lock for disarming and opening the seal.  I wasn’t positive, but I was willing to bet this was both an audible alarm as well as a transmitter.  Damaging, or removing it, would probably sound a siren and a signal would be sent to alert the Secret Service.

I paused for a moment, thinking.  If the seal was intact, how had the bad guys gotten inside?  And how would they get out without triggering an alert?  Assuming I was correct about their location, of course.  But then if the FBI was involved in this, why was it so difficult to imagine the Secret Service was as well?  How hard would it be for the agent responsible for securing the door to let a couple of guys slip inside before he attached the seal?  I was too far down this path to start second guessing myself.  It was time to find out if I was right.

Dropping to a knee, I checked both directions of the alley and saw nothing moving.  I inserted two thin pieces of spring steel I’d cut out of one of Julie’s bras into the alarm’s keyhole.  Part of my training had been how to pick a lock, and while I hadn’t gotten what I’d call good, I’d at least learned enough to do it.

Now, I worked as quietly as I could.  The first piece of metal was used to manipulate the lock’s tumblers and fool them into falling into place the same way a key would.  This was the hard part, and it was all by feel. 

Several times I thought I had it, but the cylinder wouldn’t turn.  Keeping at it, it was more than ten minutes later when I felt the last one drop.  Holding my breath, I used both hands to rotate the lock.  I exhaled a quiet sigh of relief when the seal emitted a soft beep and the LED changed from red to green.  Grasping the edges, I pulled firmly, detaching it from the door and jam.  Now all I had to do was pick the deadbolt.

Five more minutes and I had the door unlocked.  Slipping the picks into a pocket, I took a moment to stand and release the kinks in my legs from kneeling for nearly twenty minutes.  I glanced at my watch while I stretched.  83 minutes.  Plenty of time.  As long as I didn’t run into any problems.

For example, the building itself might very well be alarmed.  I pull the door open and a siren starts wailing.  The Secret Service would converge in a hot second.  But then, would that be so bad?  They would be thorough and clear the building, finding the ground team. 

Yes, that would count as a success.  The President and Speaker would be saved.  But I’d lose the opportunity to gather any intelligence from the men operating the laser.  I wanted, needed, to know as much about the conspirators as I could.  The more information I had when I returned to real time, the better.

Grimacing, expecting the worst, I carefully turned the knob and pulled the door open a few inches, waiting for an alarm.  And waited some more.  Gave it a full minute in case there was an entry delay built in so someone arriving could reach a panel and deactivate the system.  Nothing.

After a full minute, I pulled the door open far enough to slip through.  I closed it gently behind me, locking the knob.  I didn’t want one of the homeless who populated the area to find an unsecured door and decide they’d found the perfect place to spend the night.

The hallway was dark and musty, smelling of mildew and other things I couldn’t identify.  Not unusual in an older building in a part of the country as humid as DC.  Hell, it was a swamp that was drained when the founding fathers decided to make it the capital.  Draining the land didn’t do anything to help with the brutal humidity that descended on the area in the spring and summer.

I stayed still, suppressed pistol gripped tightly in my hands.  The safety was off and my finger was indexed along the side of the receiver.  I could move it and fire in the blink of an eye, but by keeping it outside the trigger guard I mitigated the possibility of an accidental discharge.  Standing still, I gave my eyes time to adjust as I listened to the sounds of the building.

Quiet.  Absolutely quiet.  But that didn’t tell me anything.  A disciplined team wouldn’t be making any noise.  The last thing they would do is make a sound or show a light and give away that someone was in a location they weren’t supposed to be.

Padding silently down the carpeted corridor, I reached the lobby quickly.  Two halls extended from either side, six office suites located in each direction.  I knew where everything was from studying the floor plan, and I turned right.  Passed two rented offices and came to the first empty room.

The door was closed and I stopped short of it, looking it over.  Nothing unusual or out of place.  Cautiously, I moved close and pressed my ear against the surface and listened.  Gave it a couple of minutes.  Muted traffic sounds from the street in front, but nothing to indicate the presence of occupants. 

Ignoring it for the moment, I moved on to check the rest of the doors.  I didn’t want to be farting around trying to get in and there be a roomful of bad guys just down the hall.  Before I entered any of the offices, I wanted to at least look and listen first.

The two remaining suites that were unrented were just as quiet as the first I’d checked.  OK, I didn’t expect this to be simple.  Starting with the one farthest down the hall, I gently tried the knob.  I was surprised when it turned easily in my hand.  Pistol up, aimed at the slowly widening gap, I pushed the door and stepped in.  Empty.

Quietly pulling it closed, I moved to the next suite.  Same results.  The tension was ratcheting up and I was sweating as I approached the final door.  Standing to the side, just like Ray had taught me, I tried the knob.  It didn’t turn.  Confident I’d found the ground team, I stepped back and rammed my foot into the door just below the knob.

The wooden jam splintered as the door burst into the office.  I followed it, pistol up and scanning in tandem with my eyes as I searched for a target.  I had come in fast and now pulled to a stop in the middle of the space.  Empty.  Shit!

All that was left was to check the occupied offices.  Maybe I’d been wrong to assume that just because it was rented, the ground team wouldn’t use it in favor of a vacant one.  Rushing into the hall, I kicked in the first door I came to. 

Time for slow and stealthy was past.  I’d made too much noise breaking in to the final vacant suite.  If the team was in the building, they knew someone was searching.  Speed was my friend now.  Find them while they were still panicked and put them down.

The rented office I’d just crashed into was empty.  Well, not empty of furnishings, but there wasn’t a two-man team with a laser designator waiting for me.  Sweating heavily, I worked my way through all of the suites.  None of them held anything that shouldn’t be there.  Son of a bitch, where were they?

I checked a communal copy room.  The bathrooms.  Janitor’s storage and a couple of closets without finding anyone or anything.  I’d been wrong.  This wasn’t the location.  But where then?  There was nowhere else.  A laser designator is about the size of a cinder block and has to sit on a tripod because of it’s weight.  There was no way to do that out in the open without immediately being spotted by the Secret Service.

Wandering into one of the offices, I looked across the street at the target restaurant.  People were arriving, singly and in pairs.  Two Secret Service agents were already bracketing the doors.  One of them ran a handheld metal detecting wand over each person while his partner opened and looked through purses, bags and briefcases.

I checked my watch.  58 minutes.  This was probably the press and minor dignitaries, arriving early, hoping for a good table as close to the President as possible.  I doubted they’d have any luck.  Someone had probably already laid out a seating chart and the Secret Service would make sure no one deviated from the plan.

When I looked back up, my blood froze when I saw the man that stepped out of the back of a Lincoln Town Car.  I knew that face.  He straightened his jacket and turned to help someone out of the back, extending his hand. 

When she stood, I instantly recognized her, without even seeing her face.  Monica slipped her hand through her husband’s arm.  After being quickly checked by the agents, they were admitted to the restaurant.

49

I stood there, gaping at the restaurant.  What the hell was Monica doing here?  I hadn’t really given it any thought when I’d first seen her in the hotel lobby.  Chance encounters happen, and I suppose I’d passed it off as just that.  But walking into a restaurant where the President was about to have dinner?

Her husband?  Could he be some kind of politician?  A lobbyist maybe?  Then I reset my thinking.  Maybe Monica was here because of what she had become.  When I’d known her, she was a lead cashier at a Walmart.  But a lot can happen in eleven years.

Realizing it didn’t matter, I shook my head to clear it.  Right now, I needed to get out of the building and figure out where the ground team was.  I started to take a step before pausing.  Unless there wasn’t a ground team.  The thought hit me like a slap of cold water.

Carpenter’s analysts had believed that the missile had been fired from a helicopter, most likely from over Anacostia Park.  I didn’t know where that was, but remembered him saying it was only a couple of miles away.  But, they’d arrived at that conclusion based on the assumption that whoever had done this was worried about operating an aircraft over DC.

What if they weren’t worried about it at all?  What if they had enough power, and co-conspirators in the right positions of authority, that the investigation could be steered in whatever direction they wanted?  If that was the case, fly a Reaper drone overhead, lock on with its targeting systems and fire the missile.  There wouldn’t be the need for anyone on the ground.

If I was right, there was no way I could stop it.  But maybe I could cause enough of an incident that the Secret Service would cancel the President’s appearance.  Some gun fire a few minutes before he was scheduled to arrive should do the trick.  I checked my watch.  53 minutes.

But that was the time remaining until the missile struck!  I didn’t have any idea what time the President actually arrived.  It could be any minute!

I was reaching to open the blinds, intending to use the rifle to start shooting at the empty building across the street, when a sound caused me to spin and raise my pistol.  I didn’t see anything, but was sure I’d heard a soft footstep from the hall.  Creeping forward, I cautiously approached the door, pausing at the threshold to listen.  Didn’t hear anything.

Taking a deep breath, I tightly gripped a small flashlight in my off hand.  Stacking my gun hand on top so that the muzzle and beam would be pointed in the same direction, I rolled around the jam as I thumbed the button on the butt of the light.  A man froze when I illuminated his face.  My face.

“Wait!  It’s me,” he shouted, extending a flattened palm in my direction.  He held a suppressed pistol in his other hand, not quite pointed at me.  “We don’t have much time and you need to listen.”

“What the hell?” 

“I’m you,” he said.  “I just arrived.”

“Bullshit,” I said.

“No.  It isn’t.  I’m really you and I’m trying to un-fuck this whole mess, so shut up and listen.  Johnson is here, and Julie is about to die!  He traced her laptop when she started using it.  I don’t know how, but he did, and in a very few minutes he’s going to put a bullet in her head.”

“Then why the hell are you talking to me and not saving her?”  I asked, still unconvinced.

“Because one of us has to save the President, dumbass!  Thirty hours after the VP is sworn in, he announces to the nation that he has evidence the military was behind the assassination and is preparing to seize control of the government.  The fucker asks the UN to intervene.  They’re going to do it!  They’re going to put foreign soldiers on US soil and disarm our troops!”

“I don’t believe you,” I said.  “I was about to stop the assassination.  Start shooting at that empty building across the street.”

“You can’t stop it,” he said, shaking his head. 

“There’s no way the Secret Service lets the President come to that restaurant after there was gunfire in the area,” I said, steadying the pistol on his face.  My face.

“Unless the agent in charge, and key members of the detail are part of the plot.  You start shooting and they descend on this building.  Bottle you up and keep it quiet until POTUS is inside.  Then it’s too late.”

“No way,” I said.

“Listen!  You slept with Julie a few hours ago.  She told you that you were the first since her husband.  You said she was the first in eleven years.  She took shrapnel from an IED.  Can’t have kids because of the injury.  If I’m not you, how the hell do I know that?”