Closure (Jack Randall) (46 page)

Larry scrunched his face up as he thought about it. Other than walking out the front door, he had never given much thought to the way he left a hotel.

“There have to be service entrances, loading docks, fire escapes. Is that building attached to its neighbor? What about the roof or exits not on the ground floor?” he asked.

“He could disguise himself as one of the help?” Eric chimed in.

“Yes, yes, any of those. See if you can find anything to support this.” Sydney waved them all back to their desks and computers. She then reached up and turned the volume down on the TV. Watching the tube would not help Jack. She forced herself to look away and start sifting through her pile of paper again.

•      •      •

Sam was holding his sight picture on the Senator as he approached the street. The wind had picked up a little more, and the branches were in and out of his view. All of the man’s aides were still behind him. That was good. Now all he had to worry about was someone standing directly behind the man when he paused at the curb. Five more steps. Sam now had his first full view of the target, obediently standing on the curb and gauging the traffic. Sam quickly left the head and centered on the man’s chest. His finger moved to the trigger and took up the slack.

•      •      •

Jack was outside and just to the right of the second-to-the-last door. He kicked himself for not grabbing a master key card from the front desk. He was out of options, except for one. He took one deep breath.

“Sam!”

•      •      •

The Senator had been about to step out into the traffic and force them to stop so he could cross, when a sledgehammer struck his chest. He spun against the blow, collapsing against the man to his right. His slow motion fall to the ground was punctuated by an ungraceful flop onto the concrete. Only then did his hearing return along with the pain. Pain like he had never felt. He gasped for breath as the sound of people screaming filled his ears.

“Senator!”

He looked up to see Layna, his youngest aide, bending over him. She pulled her scarf off and pressed it against his chest. Why was she doing that? He looked at her closely. She was really quite beautiful under her glasses and conservative attire. Why had he never noticed that before? She was close enough that he could see a bit of makeup on her cheek that had not been fully feathered in. Her earrings reflected the blue-red strobes of the many police cars. He took this and many other details in until his breath returned and he struggled to speak.

“What . . .?”

“Don’t talk, sir. You’ve been shot.”

Shot? Him? He was a United States Senator! Why would anyone shoot him? Wasn’t that a privilege reserved for the President? What was this taste in his mouth?

His hearing registered two more shots and the pain returned as he was dragged across the concrete. He found himself lying next to a cab with Layna over him. How had she done that? He weighed 240 pounds to her 110. Strong girl. His last thought before passing out was he would have to give her a raise on Monday.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” Layna cried through her tears. She stared at the blood on her hands. Why wouldn’t anyone help her? They all just ran away.

•      •      •

Sam had been startled by the yell from the hallway. Had it thrown off his shot? He didn’t dare look for fear of counter-snipers. He moved to the door leading to the hallway, listening as someone began kicking the door to the adjoining room in. The door lock gave on the third kick, but the safety latch caught it two inches later. Sam’s view out the peephole showed an empty hallway, so he took a chance and slowly unlocked and opened the door a crack. Whoever it was had now made entry into the room. It was one guy he realized, one guy who knew his name. Jack? He did not wish to meet his friend right now. He scooped up the gym bag he had placed beside the door and silently left his room for the stairwell exit. He could hear the inner door being assaulted as he took the stairs down. He would have to hurry.

•      •      •

The shot that punctuated his yell had been startling. Jack’s first reflex had been to hit the floor. This was soon replaced by the thought of entering the room before Sam could fire again. He scrambled to his feet and kicked at the door. His lack of proper boots for this was soon apparent, as the door held and his ankle was on fire. He continued to kick until the door gave, all the while waiting for the shot that never came. He tumbled into the room and scanned left to right. No lights, a TV on with no volume, the picture showing the mess just outside the Capitol. He took a breath and tried the connecting room door. It was unlocked, so he turned the knob and shouldered it open. The door promptly struck something and returned to strike him full in the face. He dove to the ground and rolled. Coming up to a kneeling position, he again swept the room. The door had struck a pair of dressers sitting in the middle of the room. A rifle lay on one of two chairs sitting on top. The cold air entered through the shattered window. The room was otherwise empty. He was just about to rise and assault the final door, when the familiar sound of a rifle round zipped past his head, along with the remaining shattered glass of the window. The crack was accompanied by another round. Jack hit the floor and fumbled for the radio Greg had loaned him. He had to wait for it to warm up and cue on the frequency. It took forever.

“Cease fire, cease fire! Friendly in the room! Greg, it’s Jack! Tell your men to cease fire!”

The command voice of the HRT leader was quick and clear. “All units hold your fire, repeat, all units hold fire. Jack, are you all right?”

“I’m not shot, if that’s what you mean. Can I get up now?”

“Wait one. Break. Sierra Three, did you receive my last?”

“Affirmative TOC. Cease fire on blue-golf-one. We are off target.”

“Go, Jack, you’re clear. What do you have?”

“Looks like one shooter. I have the rifle still in the room. Believe he left by the second door.” Jack rose and walked to the door. He opened it to find hotel guests in the hallway. He pointed at the nearest one.

“Did you see anyone leave this room?”

“No. What was that noise?”

Jack turned and looked through the safety glass of the stairwell door. He saw nothing. Looking back down the hall, he saw more people exiting their rooms and watching him.

“Everyone back in their rooms! Stay there until you are contacted.” He waved the Browning to punctuate the statement, and people hastily complied. Jack returned his attention to the stairwell. He paused to key the radio. “Greg, I think he took the stairs, but I’m not sure, I need you to secure and search every room in this hotel. I’m going to check the stairwell.” He slipped through the door and began creeping his way down. Greg’s reply was lost in static as Jack descended the first flight.

•      •      •

Sydney paced the floor with several documents in her hand. She had finally given up on the phone, and had been found an unoccupied outlet to plug the thing in to recharge. It had occurred to her that she may be killing Jack’s phone with the repeated calling. She was forcing herself to wait ten minutes, when a shout went up from across the room. She turned to see the view on the TV showing police cruisers making their way through the crowd around the Capitol Building. She searched for the remote to turn up the volume, but could not find it under all the paper. Larry finally just reached up and did it the old fashioned way. A young reporter was standing in front of the camera braving the wind.

“. . . confirming now that Senator Harper has been shot outside the Capitol building, where he had been attending the State of the Union Address. At this time, we are unsure of the extent of his injuries. The shot appears to have come from the Holiday Inn here on Capitol Hill. The building is currently being surrounded by police. I am told a total of three shots were heard. A window on the seventh floor appears to be broken. No word at this time on the number of shooters. The President has been at the White House for some time, and I am told he is not in danger. Both the Capitol Building and the White House were already locked down due to the explosive device set off on the Mall earlier. We are unsure if these items are related. I . . . I’m told we have to move from our present location. I’ll return as soon as we are back up. Jim.”

Sydney turned from the screen and walked away as the anchorman came on and began repeating what the reporter had just told them. She walked to the phone, seized it and yanked off the charger and hurriedly punched speed dial one.

•      •      •

The kinks in Sam’s legs were gone by the fourth floor. He slowed to see through the first floor window into the lobby. There were a few police at the desk, and some in the main entrance. Not enough to cover the large crowded lobby. He exited the stair entrance casually and walked a few yards to the kitchen entrance. He proceeded through the servers’ area until he came to the stairwell leading to the laundry facilities. He ignored the stares of the staff and scanned the room, looking for his target. Another door presented itself and he opened it to feel a blast of warm moist air. The smell of lubricating oil filled his nostrils. The old boiler room. While the hotel was modern upstairs, everything below was still from another time. He entered the room via a half flight of stairs. Closing the door behind him, he looked for a way to lock it. Nothing presented itself immediately, so he walked on, reaching into the gym bag. He soon found what he was looking for. A door in the far corner, steel with a padlock. It was labeled with a sign that read City of Washington DC Department of Transportation. No Trespassing. Without breaking his stride, Sam pulled a crowbar from the gym bag and stuck the business end through the lock. Applying all his weight, the lock gave way with a loud snap. Sam quickly pulled it free of the hasp and tossed it away in the corner. The heavy steel door opened to reveal a dark tunnel, man-sized, leading away from the room. Bundles of wires hung from the ceiling. The floor was damp. The faint sound of screeching metal could be heard in the distance. Sam pulled a large flashlight from the bag and punched it on. Its red lens was bright enough to illuminate the tunnel so he could see, but not bright enough to reveal his position from a distance. With one last look behind him, Sam pulled the door shut. He then consulted his wrist compass before setting off down the tunnel.

•      •      •

Ron had jumped at the sound of the gunshots. Years of service on the streets of DC had made him well familiar with the sound. He reached over and shook his partner awake.

“Get ready,” was all he told her puzzled face. He put on a pair of latex gloves followed by a cheap fingerless wool pair. This was followed by his hat and then his jacket. When he was done, he picked up the microphone and waited. His wait was short.

“Medic 11, Control. Respond to a shooting. Constitution and Delaware. Constitution and Delaware. 60-year-old male. Shot in the chest. Conscious and breathing. Scene is secure. En route 21:44.”

Ron pointed the way for his partner as he answered. “Medic 11. Responding.”

The crowd in front of their unit jumped as the lights and siren came on. The sea of people and vehicles parted slowly as they eased forward.

“What are you going to do?” he asked Danielle.

“I’m going to assist your intubation, control any bleeding, and then get a big IV started,” she replied.

“Good answer.” He rummaged in the dash clutter for his stethoscope before grabbing his portable radio. He turned the volume up full and clipped it to his belt.

The state of Vermont holds 1,944 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 1,302 are repeat offenders.

—FORTY-FIVE—

J
ack made slow progress down the steps, pausing on every landing to gaze through the glass. His heart was thumping like it hadn’t in some time and he felt the sweat running down his back under the body armor. He saw people on every floor, but no sign of Sam and he eventually emerged onto the ground floor and entered the lobby. Making sure his credentials were showing, he approached the agents at the desk. They were questioning a pretty young girl and her boss. She looked close to tears.

“Anything?” he asked the questioner when he looked up.

“This young lady checked the man in. He’s using the name Dan Dorraugh. She’s unsure if it’s the guy in the deck.”

Jack reached in his pocket and unfolded a larger picture than the one in the deck. He also had a few with the different hair styles and facial grooming.

“Maybe that one,” she pointed.

“Look at the eyes,” Jack instructed.

“Yeah . . . that’s him. He was so nice, said his daughter was playing at the Kennedy center.”

“Did you see him leave just a short time ago?”

“No, we’ve been so busy. I’m sorry.”

Jack passed the picture to the girl’s boss. “I need twenty copies, in color.” The man left without a word, stepping into the office behind the front desk. Jack turned to the senior man. “Give a copy to all your guys and start questioning the guests. Search every floor and room. All the staff places, everything. Hold the perimeter until you have enough men. Keep it locked down tight. I’m gonna go look around.”