Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1) (36 page)

He needed a wing man or, more precisely, someone to drive so he could get a better aim at the Senator. He had already decided how to do it. He would wait until the Senator left the airport and follow his car. He would decide when to pop him based on traffic patterns.

He considered Bennett but decided against it. Bennett might be busy. He never knew in advance when his FBI schedule would have an opening, and ever since Nelson Fuller got whacked, he had a full plate. He was assigned to the team to find the assassin.

Santos Hernandez worked shifts at the TSA. He usually knew in advance what his schedule would be, and he was scheduled to work the night Senator Garrett was to arrive. He wouldn’t be available, unless the plan to take out the Senator was postponed. Wellington didn’t want to postpone it. He wanted to take care of the Senator as soon as practically possible so he and his team could move down the list and add more names.

The only one left was Tomás Gutierrez. He was mostly a 9-to-5 guy. His job at Carnival Cruise Lines didn’t require much overtime. He got off at 5pm and the Senator wasn’t scheduled to arrive until shortly after seven. He could check the plane’s arrival on his cell phone. He knew approximately where the Senator would arrive and where he would get in the car that would be waiting for him. He even knew what the car would look like, since Senator Garrett followed a regular pattern. The same car and the same driver were usually assigned to pick him up whenever he flew to Miami.

The plane was scheduled to arrive at 7:05pm. He probably wouldn’t have any check-in luggage, since he had a home in Miami and he was scheduled to return to Washington in two days. Wellington wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be using his return ticket.

Friday night. Wellington looked at his watch - 6:45. Garrett would arrive in 20 minutes if his plane was on time. Gutierrez sat behind the wheel. Wellington waited in the back seat. He had more flexibility there because he could shoot out the left or right side, depending on which was more suitable, given the circumstances.

The plan was to follow him out of the airport, pull up next to him and shoot him when the time seemed right. His home was in Coral Gables, so he would likely be heading in that direction after leaving the airport. If things went according to plan, he would be picked up by a late model black Lincoln Town Car, one of the cars the taxpayers leased for his Miami office.

Wellington checked the arrivals on his cell phone. It was scheduled to arrive on time. They waited in a parking area just outside the airport. Ten minutes before the plane was to land, Gutierrez pulled out and drove toward the terminal where the senator’s car would be waiting. There were a few empty spaces just before the door where Senator Garrett was expected to exit. Gutierrez pulled over and they waited.

Wellington was going to use a shotgun to do the job. He hid it under a blanket on the floor of the back seat to hide it from view, in the event that one of the traffic cops at the arrivals terminal wandered by and peeked inside. They were both carrying FBI badges, in case someone in uniform told them they had to move.

The shotgun he had chosen wasn’t a regular shotgun, and neither were the shells he planned to use. The AA12 was a military grade, 12 gauge shotgun, capable of firing up to 300 rounds per minute. The shells were Frag 12s. They weren’t really shotgun shells at all. They were more like miniature grenades that had a 9 foot burst radius. They exploded on impact. You didn’t have to actually hit the target to be effective. You just had to come close.

He wasn’t planning on using more than one or two of them. That was all he would need to do the job. The blast would likely take out the driver as well, but he figured that anyone who worked for Garrett probably needed to be exterminated anyway. It wasn’t a problem for him. He just had to pick a place where there wasn’t much traffic, and that wouldn’t be easy to do on a Friday night. He didn’t want to kill any civilians when the car started careening out of control at 60 or 70 miles per hour.

Wellington and Gutierrez waited just before the gate. The black Lincoln Town Car wasn’t anywhere to be seen. It must not have arrived yet, which was unusual because the Senator didn’t like to be kept waiting. The driver would have to face a flurry of verbal abuse if he didn’t get there before the Senator. The Senator didn’t know how to treat the help. He verbally abused them on a regular basis. His office had a high turnover rate as a result.

After ten minutes, the town car still had not arrived. Senator Garrett emerged from the gate, carrying nothing but a briefcase, and got into the front seat of a red Toyota waiting for him at the curb.

“What the fuck!” Gutierrez exclaimed. “Are things so bad in Washington that even Senators have to cut back on expenses and buy Toyotas instead of Lincolns?”

“I don’t know what’s going on here, Tomás. Let’s follow him and see where he goes. After we get out of the airport, pull up alongside him and see who’s driving. This is highly unusual.”

Garrett’s car left the airport and turned toward Coral Gables. At least he was headed in the expected direction.

“Pull up on his left side so we can get a good look at the driver, but not in the lane next to him. Pull two lanes over.”

Gutierrez stepped on the gas and changed lanes. Wellington hit the lever to open the back window. As they drew parallel to the red Toyota, Wellington removed the blanket and placed the gun on his lap. It was his weak side. He was right handed but, from this position he would have to fire like a left hander, but it wouldn’t be a problem. All he had to do was come close. The Frag 12s would do the rest. His mouth was dry. He needed a drink of water, but now was not the time. He had a job to do first. He caressed the shotgun as he continued to look at the red Toyota.

As Gutierrez pulled up, Wellington could get a clear view of the driver. “It’s a woman.”

Gutierrez turned his head toward the back seat. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know, but then I don’t know anyone from his staff.”

“Maybe it’s his girlfriend.”

“Or his wife.”

“Or his daughter.”

“Yeah, it could be any of them, but I don’t think it’s his wife. Too young. She looks like she’s in her 20s. Draw back and let me think about this for a minute. There’s too much traffic here anyway. Let’s follow them for a while until I can figure out what to do.”

Gutierrez turned his head toward the back seat again. “What is there to figure out? Just whack them so we can go home.”

“I don’t want to shoot if it’s his daughter. I don’t want to waste civilians if I can help it. Besides, killing his daughter would give the Sons of Liberty a bad name. It would cause some people to be against us, maybe even label us as terrorists instead of patriots.”

Gutierrez volunteered to help him in the thought process. “If it’s a staffer, it’s no big deal. If it’s his girlfriend, it would add a little spice to the news reports – Senator Garrett and girlfriend killed on the way to a tryst.”

“Yeah, that would make for good press, but it would also dilute the message we want to send – that the termite squad is on the job and that we won’t stop until all the termites in America are exterminated.”

He knew his statement wasn’t true. They wouldn’t be able to kill all the people who were tearing at the fabric of America. But he also knew he wouldn’t have to assassinate all of them to be effective. All they needed to do was send a message that those who were tearing America down with their collectivist ideas and abuses of power were being targeted.

“Let’s abort.”

“What? He’s only a few feet away. Let’s get him now.”

“No, we can do it another time. Let’s try for Sunday when he takes the flight back to Washington. Maybe he’ll have another driver.”

Wellington had decided. Garrett could wait.

“We live in a dirty and dangerous world. There are some things the general public does not need to know, and shouldn't. I believe democracy flourishes when the government can take legitimate steps to keep its secrets and when the press can decide whether to print what it knows.”

Catherine Graham (former publisher of the Washington Post)

Sarah took the spoon out of her mouth and turned toward Sveta. “I really like your borscht, Sveta. It’s very tasty.” The Wellingtons were having dinner at Sveta’s in Sunny Isles Beach.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I bought it at Kalinka’s and just added a few things.”

Wellington dabbed his mouth with the cloth napkin Sveta had provided. “Yes, it’s very good. You’ll have to show us where this Kalinka place is. Bob, you’re a lucky man. I think she’s spoiling you.”

Sarah immediately gave him a dirty look. She wasn’t pleased by his comment. He noticed and decided to shut up.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Robert, would you get that, please? I’m busy in here.”

“Sure.” Paige walked to the door, and looked in the peep hole. It was Milla. In addition to her job at the front desk she also had a part-time catering business specializing in Haitian food. It helped supplement her income, since she and her husband never seemed to be able to generate quite enough money to pay all the bills. When she could fit it into her schedule, she worked a third, part-time job at Piman Bouk, a restaurant on NE 2nd Avenue and 59
^th
Street in Little Haiti.

“Hi Milla. Come on in.”

“Hello, Mr. Robert. Where is Miss Svetlana?”

He motioned in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s in the kitchen.”

Milla knew where the kitchen was. She had delivered Haitian food to her many times over the years. She walked in and placed the bags of food on the table.

“Hi Milla. I’d like you to meet my friends. This is John and Sarah.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

Sveta reached into her purse and came up with some money. “Thank you for the food, Milla.” She took it without making eye contact. “Thank you, Miss Svetlana.”

Milla turned around and walked toward the door. “Good-bye, Mr. Robert.”

Paige opened the door for her and closed it after she left. Paige and Sveta both felt good about doing business with her. She was a good cook and they knew she could use the money. She was always smiling and cheerful.

Sveta took the food out of the bags and started putting it on serving dishes.

Sarah picked up one of the dishes and started carrying it into the dining room. “Let me help you.”

Wellington took a whiff as Sarah placed the dish on the table. “Hmmm. That smells good. What is it?”

As Sveta walked into the room, she volunteered an answer. “That’s called griot. It’s deep fried pork chunks. I like the way Milla makes it. Crispy on the outside and moist on the inside.” She placed the bowl on the table. “And here are the rice and beans.” It was red beans and rice, cooked together, giving the rice the appearance of being red.

Wellington took a sip of his Heineken beer, straight from the bottle, and leaned back in his chair. “Ah, this is a truly international meal – Dutch beer, Russian borscht and Haitian pork, rice and beans.”

Sarah chimed in. “I don’t think I’m going to get on the scale for a few days.”

As they ate, the conversation turned to current events.

Paige turned toward Wellington. “Did you hear about the whack job on that Federal Reserve guy?”

Wellington perked up and adjusted his glasses with his right index finger and thumb. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

Paige decided to have a little fun with the topic. “What do you think about it?”

Sveta jumped in. “I think it’s terrible. This is America. They shouldn’t be assassinating people.”

Paige continued. “The mainstream media hasn’t said much about it, just that he got whacked and that there was a note or something.”

Wellington couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “Yeah. Actually, it was a message spread on the internet. He got whacked for debasing the currency. The Sons of Liberty took credit for it.”

Paige was not surprised that Wellington knew so many of the details. He wondered how much detail he knew and how involved he was in the killing.

“I don’t think those details were reported on TV. Where …”

Before Paige could finish his sentence, Wellington cut him short. “I read about it on the internet. It’s the source of all truth, you know.”

It was a joke Paige and Wellington had about the internet. Since the mainstream media had practically become the propaganda wing of the administration in Washington, most people no longer trusted what got reported by the mainstream media. They got their news from cable stations and the internet.

Wellington looked a little nervous. He fidgeted and didn’t look Paige in the eye. He looked like an Indiana prep school student about to be reprimanded by the principal.

Paige picked up on it but didn’t say anything. He wanted to probe a little, without being too obvious. “Do you think there will be other assassinations? This Sons of Liberty group sounds like it has an agenda. Do you know anything about them?”

“Just what I read on the internet.” His fidgeting became more intense. “Nobody seems to know who they are or where they’re coming from. Maybe they’re a rogue spinoff of one of the private militias in Florida.”

One of Paige’s undergraduate minors was history. He especially liked American revolutionary history. “I’m familiar with the name – Sons of Liberty. That’s the group that dumped British tea into Boston Harbor a few years before the American Revolution. Do you think they’re connected to the Tea Party?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. The Tea Party isn’t into violence. It’s not a homogeneous group. The only thing they have in common is the belief that the federal government has become too big. They take pride in being peaceful. I don’t think assassination is part of their platform, although maybe some individual members might like the idea.”

Paige became more curious by the minute. He perceived that Wellington wasn’t telling everything he knew, but the dinner table wasn’t the place to push the point. He decided to wait until a more appropriate time and place. One thing Paige was especially curious about was why Wellington seemed so nervous talking about the subject. It wasn’t like him to get rattled so easily. He would push a little, but not now. He wanted to find out how deeply Wellington was involved.