Gabriel's Stand (34 page)

Her press credentials would be as genuine as the Mini-Kam was not. If the plan went ahead smoothly, she would file at least one report before killing John Owen, all while working with the unsuspecting Max Cahoon.

K's working assumption was that getting Berker's formal kill-order was inevitable. No one could trust the judicial system.

Because bullets always work better
.

——

As soon as all the technical details had been worked out, including maps of the courtroom and escape routes, K notified Berker, who then activated the pre-arranged contacts with the Times. It was time for K to have her first introductory meeting with Max Cahoon. She picked Cahoon's favorite DC bar. He would never see it coming: a beautiful videographer was being assigned to assist him in Seattle. And all would go smoothly from there. With K, everything always went smoothly. As she carefully applied her signature red lipstick, she reviewed her plan, and realized that it would probably be necessary to kill Max Cahoon as well. He would hardly expect it. Could she wait until after Owen was dead?

After a few moments of reflection, K realized that she would need to kill Cahoon just before she did in Owen. She would arrange a visit to Cahoon's Seattle hotel room as soon as she got the green light for the Owen kill. The bio-toxin would not take effect for a couple of days. By Cahoon's first symptoms, it would be too late.

She regarded herself in the mirror, lightly pressing her lips together.

Gaia's Kiss? Not so much. Just an assassin's prudence.

With John's contacts and money, and the grant of immunity, Gabriel was able to resume his webcasts using rented studio space no longer needed by Bates Communication. With Max Cahoon's help, today's videocast would reach the maximum possible audience; somewhere in the millions, and copies would be distributed for free across the country.

“This is Gabriel Standing Bear. The video recording you are about to see is shocking. It is authentic. As you watch it, keep in mind that you will be a witness to the callous murder of a good man. This killing was directed by the same forces that are putting Dr. John Owen on trial for the crime of making life-saving medicines.”

An elderly man appears on the screen, dressed in a white shirt and slacks, sitting at a desk. Below the man's image, a crawl identifies him:
New York's popular Roman Catholic Bishop, Allan Gardiner, in his Manhattan Offices. (Verified Security Camera Footage, from NYPD)

The video, taken from above, shows a slim, kind-faced man. He is facing a bony woman in her mid-thirties; her shaved head is partly hidden under a green beret. After some unintelligible conversation, she removes the beret, and takes a seat in front of his desk. Her image appears over a crawl that identifies her:
The Gaia Operations Directorate representative identified only as ‘K'

There is some low conversation, gradually escalating in volume; then the woman can clearly be heard shouting:

“The Gaia Directorate is asking you, DIRECTING YOU to stop this…cleric.”

The bishop replies softly, then, another shout from the woman, “ANSWER ME!”

This is followed by an extended, low volume conversation.

The camera is capturing the entire meeting between the mild, elderly bishop, and the angry woman. There is more conversation. After a time, the woman appears to lose it. She suddenly stands and shouts, “I've heard enough! We have asked you to stop this woman's activities. We
know
you can. Her slander will not be allowed. Are you refusing my Director's order?”

The Bishop's response is soft but unmistakably clear. “I am sorry that your Director exaggerates the influence of a single person. If the Gaia movement feels threatened at this moment, at the very pinnacle of its power, the danger comes from its own weaknesses. Helen Hawke has, but does not need, my blessings. God will follow and guard her. I will add you to my prayers. Good day.”

The camera next captures the handgun in the woman's hands, aimed at the Bishop's chest. It shows him staring back calmly. There are three clearly audible silenced rounds penetrating the old man's chest. He is driven back by their force. At the top edge of the screen, bright red spots of blood are clearly visible on the wall behind the desk.

“To Gaia, then, old fool.”

A crawl below the image:
Bishop Allen Gardiner's body was recovered from the murder scene in Manhattan. Further investigation by NYPD was ordered closed by the Gaia Operations Directorate.

Gabriel spoke again. “This terrorist murder was committed to silence my daughter, Snowfeather, who is the Helen Hawke mentioned in the video, and all those who have courageously spoken out against the Commission and the Directorate. Make no mistake—these are dangerous times for all of us who believe in freedom and sanity. I call on all of you to join me in a weekend of protest memorial services. We must protest the assassination of this man of God and show our opposition to those who would drag humankind back into the slime.

“Starting tomorrow, all across this nation, in churches, in synagogues, and in other places of worship, my daughter and thousands of others will join in a chorus of voices. We will pray that this good man did not die in vain. We will pray for courage, resolve, and the deliverance of our country.

“This is Gabriel Standing Bear Lindstrom.”

——

Two days following the release of the Gardiner assassination video, Dr. John Owen stood on the steps to the Seattle courthouse, surrounded by cameras. Behind them and filling the street, the crowd had already grown to several thousand people, many carrying hand printed placards with “FREE DR. JOHN OWEN!” and “GAIA KILLS CHILDREN!” and “DEFY COMMISSION ORDERS!” and “SAVE THE CONSTITUTION!”

“This nightmare will be over,” Owen said, his amplified voice echoing in the street. “They can firebomb one factory. They can kidnap and maim.” Owen waved his hands. “And they can spread disease. But they cannot hold back the American people.” There were cheers from the street. “It is time to put an end to this madness before another child dies of a treatable disease, before more Commission goons enter our homes and businesses, before another life-saving business is brought to trial!”

The crowd started chanting, “Defy Commission Orders,” until the volume almost matched Owen's amplified voice. “We will win here or we will win in the Senate, or we will win in the streets. But, mark my words. We are taking back our country!” The crowd went wild. Owen grinned. He turned to his attorneys. “Come on, let's get this over with.”

——

Max Cahoon had relocated to Seattle to follow the trial of the century. A few minutes after John Owen's arrival, Max found a seat in the back of the crowded courtroom, next to the photographer, Karen Kanst, a fashionably dressed blond woman, assigned to him by the
Times
. Cahoon was delayed by the demonstrations outside. This was to be Dr. Owen's arraignment before Magistrate Kronk. The defendant was already sitting at counsel table, flanked on either side by his lawyers. Next to him sat the balding William Dornan, a trim, vigorous man with military bearing.

“Who is that man sitting next to Owen?” Kanst whispered.

“Owen's security guy. Ex Special Forces.” The two watched from the rear of the crowded room as the judge glanced at the U.S. attorney.

“Submitted?” Magistrate Kronk asked.

“Your Honor, Dr. John Owen is one of the most powerful and dangerous men—” The Assistant U.S. Attorney, Gert Frame, pointed an accusing finger at the defendant. John Owen was in a simple, gray business suit, and sitting calmly with erect posture. His white hair shone in the television lights. His hands were folded; he glanced at his lead attorney, with a quizzical expression.

“Objection!” Owen's lawyer shouted. The lead defense attorney was Borah Wiggins, an overweight man with a florid face and mane of yellow-white hair. He had lumbered to his feet with the objection, swearing under his breath.

“—on earth. And the United States requests that his bail be revoked, and that John Owen be remanded into the custody of the Marshal until trial.”

Wiggins' booming, theatrical bass interrupted. “Character assassination is not evidence, Your Honor. Dr. Owen traveled to the United States and voluntarily surrendered to the government on condition that he will remain at liberty throughout the trial.”

“Those discussions were with my predecessor, Your Honor,” the Assistant Prosecutor said.

“Great. The government doesn't talk to itself?” Wiggins snorted. “Where
is
Ms. Blackcroft, the assigned US Attorney that I spoke with?”

“But we would be agreeable to house arrest. Dr. Owen does not have to go into a locked detention facility.”

“How generous. Your Honor, the surrender agreement was reached with the Attorney General herself, and—”

“Where is your client staying?” Magistrate Kronk asked.

“Your Honor,” Wiggins interjected. “Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves?”

“Point taken,” Magistrate Kronk said, reddening. “Dr. Owen, please stand. I have carefully reviewed the evidence that the government has presented to the Grand Jury, and I concur that there is more than ample probable cause to believe that you have committed each of the seven unlawful technology use counts charged. I will now summarize the Indictment before formal reading. As to Count One, on the dates alleged, you did acquire, possess, manufacture, or distribute, or cause the same to be done wholly or in part within the boundaries of the United States, certain listed class nine antibiotics proscribed by order 32114 of the Technology Licensing Commission—”

“Excuse me, Your Honor,” Wiggins interjected. “We will waive the reading.”

“Very well. Reading of the Indictment is waived. Sufficient cause to support all seven counts having been found, I direct that you, John L. Owen, must stand trial before the District Court. This case has been assigned to Judge Wandright before whom you will appear on Wednesday morning at 9:30 A.M. to select a trial date and for any other proceedings. That is the day after tomorrow. Pending trial, I am ordering that you be remanded to the virtual custody of the U.S. Marshal—”

“I OBJECT!”

“Calm down, Mr. Wiggins.
Virtual
custody. Dr. Owen is simply to remain within the limits of the City of Seattle, subject to such additional restrictions and orders as shall be appropriate to guarantee his appearance.” There was a rustle from the audience. “I repeat my question, Counsel. Where is Dr. Owen staying?”

“He has a suite in the Westin Arms,” Owen's co-counsel, a much smaller man named Phil Alder, replied.

“That, Dr. Owen, is where you will reside from now and during trial, unless you apply to the court for a modification. You may come and go only with a U.S. Marshal escort. You may not leave Seattle.”

Wiggins leaned forward and boomed: “Judge, this is a clear violation of the surrender agreement.”

“Mr. Wiggins, are you contending that this court was party to some agreement about Dr. Owen's custody status?”

“Not directly, Your Honor.”

“Then count your blessings, Mr. Wiggins. At least he's not yet in jail.”

“Dr. Owen must be free to travel between court appearances. If the custody agreement is not followed, we will seek dismissal of all charges.”

“Mr. Wiggins, my role in this case is over today. You can take up your concerns with District Judge Wandright, who has been assigned as trial judge. “Now,” the magistrate, a sallow man with a pinched face, picked up a note from the clerk. “There is one more matter, Dr. Owen. It appears the government needs to examine your right hand.”

“What?”

“This is outrageous!” Wiggins began.

“It's very simple,” Frame, the U.S. attorney, said. “Your client should not have a right hand. “If he does—” Frame grabbed Owen's wrist.

“Objection!”

“Mr. Frame, you are not to touch the defendant without the court's permission,” Kronk said.

“Sorry, Your Honor, but it appears he has broken the law,” Frame said. John pulled away, staring at his hand. “And we are considering adding another charge.” The prosecutor leered. “Genetic engineering, a class one felony.”

Cahoon watched in horrified fascination as two Marshals approached Owen from either side. Grimly, Dr. Owen faced Gert Frame. The prosecutor pointed at the defendant's right hand, and one of the Marshals snapped a photo. The U.S. Attorney smiled smugly.

Karen rose to take a picture. “Not yet!” Cahoon hissed, putting his hand over the lens. “There are no pictures allowed until trial.” Reluctantly, Karen resumed her seat.

Frame stepped toward Dr. Owen again. Wiggins snarled like a shaggy guard dog, “Keep your hands off my client!”

Dornan, already on his feet, moved forward, and the prosecutor raised his hands defensively, palms out. “We'll take care of this tomorrow, Your Honor,” he said.

“Very well. Adjourned,” the Magistrate said. The snap of a gavel signaled the end of the session, and Magistrate Kronk disappeared into chambers. The room dissolved into fifty conversations.

As Owen reached the rear of the courtroom, Cahoon overheard the Owen's remark to Dornan. “Bill, I'm going to need more security.”

“No kidding, John.”

“Then get to work on it.”

Karen Kanst stared at the pair with predatory intensity. Bemused, Cahoon watched the photographer closely. She had been tense as a coiled spring all the time Owen and Dornan were in the courtroom, and relaxed only when the pair had left, escorted by two Marshals
. She's like a hunting dog on a leash
, Cahoon thought.
I've got to call the Times, find out more about this woman.
“We should go,” he said. “You okay?”

“Of course,” she said.