Closure (Jack Randall) (44 page)

The President was in a joyful mood. “Well, John, what did you think?”

“About what, sir?”

“About what? The speech, John, I’d like your opinion. How did the old man do tonight?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I really couldn’t say. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention.”

The President just smiled and shook his head. Since he had known John Hoskins, he had never seen the man in what he would call a relaxed state.

“You’re taking tomorrow off. That’s an order from your Commander-in-Chief. I should make you watch it on tape, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

The limousine took a long sweeping turn toward the White House. The driver was very good. While his feet were on both pedals, the brake had yet to receive any pressure. They were about halfway home.

•      •      •

Sam watched the motorcade’s progress on the television from his perch on the two dressers. The other TV still showed the House chamber emptying. With an eye on both screens, he held the remote in his hand, his finger on the button, just a little closer.

•      •      •

The flash was seen against the buildings facing the Mall, quickly followed by the sound. The driver immediately floored the accelerator and took the next turn away from the explosion. The President found himself face down on the floor of the limo with Agent Hoskins on top of him. The President struggled to rise, but found himself pinned by the agent’s weight and strength. Before he could protest, he heard Hoskins yelling something to the driver. He felt the car take another turn and once again accelerate.

“John?” he asked.

“Just stay down, Mr. President.”

It was a tone of voice that had not been directed at him since the Naval Academy. He decided to do just as he had been told.

•      •      •

Senator Harper had just left the chamber and was on his way to the exit closest to his car. He and a few aides were scheduled to attend a post-speech meeting at a fellow senator’s residence. Hopefully they could beat the crowd. They had just stepped out of the building when the noise reached them. A dull boom, it echoed around the buildings, and several car alarms could be heard going off. As they turned to look back at the building, a security officer slammed the door shut. Several others could be seen approaching with their sidearms out.

“The car, quickly!” the senator ordered.

As they all turned toward the street they saw police cars pulling out everywhere, blocking every entrance and exit to the Capitol Building.

“Damn it. What’s going on?” he asked an aide who had a cell phone to his ear.

“Some kind of explosion in the park near the Washington Monument, the Capitol Building is being locked down,” he replied.

The senator spun in a circle, taking in the scene. People were running in every direction. The flashing police lights obscured any view he had of what was happening. He didn’t wish to return to the building and be locked down, yet standing in the open in the cold was not appealing either.

“Follow me. We’ll go to the office to wait this out.” He turned and walked toward Capitol Plaza.

•      •      •

Special Agent Whitcomb suddenly had an earful of radio traffic. Jack watched and listened from across the room.

“What’s happening people? Sierra One, you have a view?”

“Negative.”

“Sierra Two, talk to me.”

“Sierra Two. I have a visual. Looks like a small explosion in the park. I see two park police on scene. Smoke from a trash can, some debris on the snow, little damage to the can. Sounded like a grenade simulator, or one of our flash-bangs from our position. I see no threats at this time. Several officers on scene now. A dog team. Again, no threats seen at this time. Over.”

“What the hell? James, you hearing anything?” Whitcomb asked.

James held up a finger for a few seconds while he listened to the police channel before replying. “They say it looks like an improvised device. A lot of bang and flash, but no real damage. No other threats present. They have the dogs checking the other trash cans.”

“Okay, everybody stand down. Hold your positions. Continue your scans and rotate crews on schedule. Probably just a protester trying to help his cause.” He spotted Jack watching in the corner. “Sound like your guy, Jack?”

“Not exactly. But . . .”

“But what?”

Before he could answer, his phone started ringing. He snatched it up.

“Jack? It’s Sydney, what’s going on?”

“Somebody set off some homemade fireworks. You guys find anything yet?”

“No. Well, maybe. I have a theory. We’ve found a lot of info on the crime bill the President tried to pass last year. It was shot down in the Senate. Anyway, we have a list of the senators and how they voted. Some names highlighted. We’ve also found some profiles of these senators. Leader of the pack is a Senator Harper. All the information we have here points to him being the reason the bill didn’t pass. We have little paper on the President, but a lot on this guy and his cronies, including a layout of their office building. Jack, what if the President isn’t the target. What if he’s after someone else?”

•      •      •

“I said this is Special Agent Jack Randall with the FBI. I need to talk to John Hoskins immediately.” Jack was on his third try at getting through to the Secret Service detail guarding the President. With all the confusion he was having little luck. His phone had a priority number, meaning he would not be dropped by the carrier due to call volume in the area. It did nothing to boost signal strength however. He could barely hear who he was talking to.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hoskins is unavailable and will be for some time. Can I take a message and contact number?”

“Damn it! Tell him the threat is not to the President, repeat, not the President. He needs to locate Senator Harper and secure him as soon as possible. Did you get that?” Jack took a deep breath to keep his voice clear. The adrenaline tended to make one talk faster and become harder to understand. Something he had learned from an old artillery instructor years ago. The man could call in sixteen-inch rounds off a battleship, danger-close, and still sound like he was ordering a pizza.

“Yes, sir, I will see that he gets the message.”

“Okay.” Jack pulled the finger from his opposite ear and looked for Greg. He was across the room issuing orders to the HRT members present. They turned when he finished and headed for the stairs.

“Jack, I’m sending the gold team to the Capitol Building to augment the crew there. The senator is not in the chamber and the first sweep of the building has shown no sign of him. I have them repeating the sweep, but the man never travels alone, he always has a group of aides with him, should have been easy to spot. No answer at his office. I have someone tracking down phone numbers for him, but that will take awhile. He’s due at a meeting within the hour. We’ll know if he shows. I also sent the locals to his home. That’s all we’ve got so far.”

Jack just nodded his head while he tried to think. Instinct told him to start where the senator was last seen, but he would be long gone before he got there. Unless. The sounds of blades turning mixed with tail rotor buzz came from the roof.

“Greg, I need to go with your team.”

Special Agent Whitcomb had a sudden look of pain on his face. This was highly irregular and he would definitely get his ass chewed, but the logic of it made sense. He weighed the pros and cons. It was against HRT policy to take non-team members on any mission without approval, but he knew Jack, and Jack was the Director’s right hand. Plus, Jack had been chasing this guy for two months
plus,
he knew the shooter personally. That outweighed the cons. Jack would back him up when they were in front of the Director’s desk tomorrow. There was no doubt in his mind that would happen.

“Hold the bird.” Greg turned to one of the backup shooters. “Give him your vest and jacket. Damn it, Jack, don’t screw me on this. You are there for direction, not to do any assaults. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Got it Greg.” He looked him in the eye after he donned the vest. “I won’t forget.”

“You better not. That’s gotta be twelve steak dinners you owe me now.”

“You and all your guys, I promise.”

“Get out of here.”

Jack took the stairs two at a time. When he emerged onto the roof he saw the little bird waiting for him, the team standing on the modified skids. He made for the open spot and one of the team handed him a thick set of gloves of a type he had not seen in some time. He looked into the interior to confirm his fears. Two large diameter ropes lay coiled and ready to kick over the sides. He looked at the team member who was checking his vest. The man tightened it with practiced movements until it was snug all around. He then handed him a set of goggles to keep his eyes from watering against the cold wind. He eyeballed Jack’s shoes. This was not a feat one usually did in office attire.

“You know what to do?” The team leader indicated the rope. Jack nodded with a lopsided grin.

The man grinned back and then took his place behind Jack. The bird became light on the skids with the pilot’s twist of the throttle. He then pedal-turned into the wind, and with minor movements of the collective and cyclic, the helicopter sped off over the Mall. Jack fought the numbing cold of the wind. It was only a few blocks to the Capitol. With no place to land safely, they were going to fast-rope in. Something Jack and his fear of heights had never enjoyed.

•      •      •

Senator Harper was getting short on patience. It was their third attempt at getting through the perimeter and he had finally found a security man who actually knew him. The older guards with seniority got the better duty inside where there was heat, while the new personnel had to brave the cold. He passed the senator and his people through with a wave while stopping everyone else. They made even slower progress now as the crowd was thicker outside the perimeter. While he could see the office a block away, it looked like a thirty minute walk with the traffic. He turned to ask an aide a question, but found them all on their cell phones. Typical. He buttoned his coat against the cold and made his way through the crowd, the engine of his own little people train.

•      •      •

Sam took his eye from the scope when he heard the tail-rotor buzzing of the helicopter. He recognized the sound from the inventory in his head, built from years of working around them. A small Hughes model 500—that meant HRT. He soon saw them circling the Capitol Building before descending to a hover near the reflecting pool. He swung the scope to check the make-up of the team, and was surprised to see two fast ropes fall to the ground. They were quickly followed by agents sliding to the snow covered grass. The last one’s clothes flapped in the downdraft as he descended. An expanse of white skin showed briefly from his lower legs as he spun his way down. Sam followed the man until he hit the ground and promptly fell on his ass in the snow. It was Jack. Sam couldn’t help but smile. What was his friend doing running around with HRT? He was obviously out of practice. He returned his scope to the bird as it left and saw two men lying prone in the door of the copter. A sniper and an observer. The little bird turned and went out of his field of view around a building. He returned to see the team having a huddle in front of the Capitol. After a lot of pointing and discussion, the team split up and headed for various buildings in the area, disappearing behind the various network trucks with their satellite dishes. Sam forced himself to look away from the image of Jack standing in the snow talking on his cell phone, and returned to scanning the crowd below him. Jack’s presence shouldn’t make a difference. He just needed to be patient.

The state of Texas holds 166,911 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 111,830 are repeat offenders.

—FORTY-THREE—

“M
y wife?” the President asked as he rose and placed himself back in the bench seat of the limo.

“She’s fine, sir. I have her in Senator Coffee’s office with five agents. The rest of your family is in the residence. Are you all right, sir?” Agent Hoskins asked.

“I’m fine, John, I’m fine. Little caught off guard by the tackle. What the hell happened?” The President looked out the window to see they had arrived at the White House. Several agents and a few uniformed Marines had the area surrounded. He looked out the windshield half expecting to see smoke coming out from under the hood. Someday he would have to ask John just what was powering this thing, maybe over their next cigarette, which he could use right about now. He brushed lint from his suit and straightened his tie. He noted the examining look from his chief agent.

“An explosive device, in a trash can somewhere in the park. They have the scene secure.”

“All right, I’m fine, John. Let’s get inside.”

Agent Hoskins opened the door and led the President out into the entry. He marveled at the man’s composure as he stood and walked purposefully into the building. John would offer no apology, and his boss would offer no thank you. They would talk about it briefly someday and that would be it. John had been doing his job as the President was now doing his. He watched as the President gave a wave to the cameras to show that all was well. A return salute to the two Marines at the door and he was inside.