Divine Fury (37 page)

Enzo Lee’s byline on the article hadn’t escaped him
 
Seeing the reporter’s name there and knowing he was the one who had written about him and run his photo lit a very personal fuse inside Walberg.
 
He should have gone back for the reporter after running him off the road – even with the risks – and put a bullet through his head.
 
The Deacon had warned him.
 
If he had another chance to eliminate Lee, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Chapter 47

WINNING THE STATEWIDE primary election more than two weeks earlier had been almost a formality.
 
But the victory propelled Andrew Harper unequivocally into the national spotlight and cemented his status as the darling of San Francisco.
 
The growing realization that the city might have one of its own in the governor’s mansion in California, together with the historic nature of his candidacy, galvanized the city.
 

The crowds attending Harper’s events in the city were enormous now and the excitement was palpable.
 
Particularly in the Castro, the center of the city’s gay culture, enthusiasm seemed to pour through the streets.
 
Harper posters and bumper stickers adorned every telephone pole and storefront.
 
In the wee hours, groups of revelers heading home would serenade each other in the streets to the chants of “Har-per!
 
Har-per! Har-per!” ending in a cheer and clenched fists held high in the air.
       

The evening rally at Justin Herman Plaza was a delayed victory celebration of sorts.
 
Harper had had the usual hotel ballroom event on election day – television interviews, victory speech and concession phone calls from defeated rivals.
 
But this would be outside, public and massive.
 
The newspapers and television stations had been touting the event for the past week.

The plaza was in the densely populated financial district and always held a sizable lunch-time crowd.
 
Now, those many thousands pouring out of the high-rise office buildings would swell the crowd at the evening rally.
 
The timing – the beginning of
 
Pride Week – just upped the significance.
 
The Harper rally would be the kickoff to the entire week of celebration.
 

The SFPD chief gave Bobbie Connors the task of coordinating the security to make sure
 
Andrew Harper was still breathing at the end of Pride Week.
 
He’d given her an additional 40 officers to staff the rally, the first major event, effectively doubling the normal detail.

Connors’ designation was not only a huge show of faith in her personally, it also reflected the chief’s shrewd practical and political calculations.
 
Connors knew Harper and his campaign staff well and so had the best chance to avoid being surprised by any sudden changes the campaign made.
 
New speech.
 
New fundraiser.
 
Anything like that.
 

Connor also had the best chance of convincing Harper to accept changes that could increase his safety.
 
Shorten a speech.
 
Move the podium to a safer position.
 
Perhaps even wear a bullet-proof vest on occasion.
 
She could use her personal relationship in addition to her official role.

Finally, if the worst happened and Harper was harmed or killed, Connors would serve as a lightning rod to lessen the fallout on the chief and his department.
 
She was the highest profile gay or lesbian in the force.
 
No one would question her commitment to protect Harper.
 
A statement from her saying the department had done everything possible to protect the candidate would be gold.

The way Connors analyzed security for the rally, there were two main possibilities: Small gun or big gun.
 
The small gun scenario involved a hand gun and a guy somewhere in the crowd to use it.
 
He’d have to get close.
 
Even 20 yards was a long way to hit someone when you had to shoot quickly and you couldn’t steady your arm on the ground or against a wall.
 
The big gun scenario required some place where the shooter could set up at a distance, like a rooftop, balcony or an opened window.
 
A lesser possibility, now that she knew to search for it, was a bomb.
 
Repeat inspections of the speaker’s platform and maintaining a healthy perimeter around Harper should suffice.
 
There would be no pressing the flesh at this event, just in case the guy was crazy enough to try a suicide bombing.

The plaza was partially bounded by office buildings.
 
From the speaker’s platform, Harper would have the 45-story Embarcadero Center Four at his back.
 
His view to the right would be partially blocked by the Hyatt Regency Hotel – 20 floors plus a rotating restaurant on top.
 
Past the sunken concrete plaza in front and beyond a long open area of grass and the busy waterfront roadway sat the old Ferry Building.
 
The historic structure was several stories high.
 
It
 
had been renovated recently and turned into a modern office building with shops and restaurants on the ground floor.

Toward the rear of the plaza, where Harper would gaze out to his left, was the Vaillancourt Fountain, a whimsical landmark that looked like a tumble of children’s blocks sitting in a puddle of water.
 
Except these were hollow and big enough to walk inside.
 
Water piped inside drained out as waterfalls as high as 20 feet that splashed into the pool below.
   

Most of Connors’ problem was solved by modern high-rise architecture with internal ventilation systems and windows that were permanently sealed.
 
That took the office building, hotel and Ferry Building mostly out of play.
 
An accurate, long-distance shot through a thick pane of commercial glass wasn’t feasible.
 
Thousands of potential locations would be useless for a sniper.
 
A dozen officers could cover the elevated positions, she figured, mostly stationed on the roofs.

The remaining 28 extra officers would be split.
 
Half would extend the crowd control perimeter, standing on the outskirts of the plaza and watching for any suspicious behavior looking outward from their positions.
 
Someone could try a long-distance shot from the street level outside the plaza but they would be exposed and have difficulty getting a clear sight line.
 
Crowds would be packed in front of them and Connors would use her influence with the campaign to make sure hundreds of Harper campaign signs were waving in the air in front of Harper during the rally.

The final 14 officers would be packed in closer to the speaker platform.
 
Eight would be uniformed and wearing full riot gear.
 
Most of the crowd would view them as the normal police presence.
 
But a potential killer trying to get close to Harper would see them as a formidable obstacle and know they were on high alert.
 

Connors would be among the final six, all wearing plainclothes.
 
Five of them would be stationed on or around the speaker’s platform itself.
 
The only exception was Connors.
 
From the moment the candidate left his limousine outside Justin Herman Plaza, she would be at Andrew Harper’s side.

Chapter 48

Thursday, June 17, 2004

A CLEAR SKY and the first stars of the evening beckoned Walberg as he began his ascent from the subway tunnel up the long escalator tunnel.
 
When he reached the surface, he stepped into the small plaza to the side of the Hyatt Regency hotel that was bustling with people.

A shoeshine stand on his right held one customer, the last of the day. An older black man snapped his buffing cloth wearily over the shoes of an Asian man in a business suit who sat absorbed by the emails on his Blackberry.
 
On Walberg’s left, a line of tourists snaked in a half circle waiting to board a cable car which sat on the circular turning platform.
 
Walberg could hear the rhythmic clackety-clack of the thick cable running underground that pulled the car along its two-mile route.
 

All around him, scores of excited people streamed ahead.
 
Many carried blue and white signs stapled to stakes that bore the smiling visage of Andrew Harper.
 
Others simply carried one or two helium balloons, mostly white and blue but with the occasional pink thrown in.

Walberg let the crowd pull him along.
 
From his left shoulder hung a cheap backpack, more of a book bag really, with 2 pounds of C-4 plastic, detonators and a battery.
 
He could arm the bomb in an instant.
 
He wore the camouflage-style jacket with the wireless detonation switch in the left pocket and the Beretta in his right.
 
The blue of his Cubs cap was so close to the color adopted by the Harper campaign he might have bought it for the occasion.

Someone was already addressing a growing crowd of at least 2,000 filling Justin Herman Plaza.
 
At a glance, Walberg could see that it wasn’t Harper.
 
The sound system was impressive and the speaker’s voice filled the plaza and echoed off the surrounding buildings.

It was someone talking about how to help Harper’s campaign.
 
Phone bank dates.
 
Campaign websites.
 
Yellow Harper Barrels spread all over the plaza for cash donations.
 
The speaker gave way to someone else.
 
A Hispanic woman politician.
 
Someone in Congress.

It was well past 8 p.m.
 
Dusk was setting but Walberg left his mirrored sunglasses in place.
 
Bright lights in eight banks surrounded the plaza hung on poles 10 feet high.
 
It felt like a rock concert – the movement, the noise, the excited energy buzzing through the crowd.
 
Some just stood and listened to the speaker.
 
Others wandered, looking for a better view, trying to find their friends or just cruising to eyeball the crowd.
 
Walberg wandered, too, getting acclimated to the setting.
 

“Keep moving,” he said to himself, trying to settle down and focus on the task ahead.
 
“Watch and study.
 
See the security.
 
How will they try to stop me?”

The uniformed police were obvious and plentiful.
 
They ringed the outside of the plaza and had on riot gear.
 
They wore helmets and visors and carried black riot sticks.
 
They had on tall, heavy boots and were bulked out to twice their actual size.
 
A few wandered through the crowd just to remind everyone to be on good behavior.
 

Walberg was in the middle of the crowd when the music started.
 
It was a small group – a drummer and two guitarists.
 
They were singing old folk songs.
 
Probably a semi-famous group but Walberg didn’t recognize them.
 
Walberg completed his slow arc from one side of the plaza to the other.
 
He reversed course and headed back across, angling in so he drew closer to the platform in front.
 
The police formed an arc in front of the platform – maybe 25 feet out.
 
They were less obvious, but he spotted the plainclothes cops, too.
 
He counted six.
 
Two on the platform, four on the ground.
 
They stared out. Watchful.
 
Searching.
 

Walberg was a third of the way back from the front.
 
He stared in as the crowd continued to grow.
 
People were settling into place as the plaza filled.
 
He watched and waited.