The Third Coincidence (12 page)

“No, sir. I can tell you nothing encouraging, except that we do know more today than we did yesterday.”

“And just what would that be?”

“LW has a passion he’s dying to talk about. I’m expecting there’ll be more communiqués. If we listen carefully, the odds are decent he’ll eventually put his foot in his mouth.”

Schroeder leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “I can see your wheels turning. Come on. Give.”

“The first three killings were only the officials. The most recent two included family members. This escalation could be intentional to ratchet up the level of terror or an indication that this guy is los- ing it.”

The president rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “How can I help?” “The likely future targets seem to be the eleven remaining governors and justices. We need to cover those officials and their

the third coincidence 87

families twenty-four hours a day. Electronic surveillance should be installed to see and hear anyone approaching their homes, offices, and cars. I’d like you to have the agencies handle that. Expanding my team to include protection would slow and distract us from catching this bastard. Excuse my language, sir.”

The president grinned. “I would’ve said worse. The Supreme Court Police is charged with protecting those justices. However, the demands here may exceed their manpower. The U.S. Marshal’s Of- fice is responsible for protecting all our other federal judges. I’ll ask them to assist and have them both coordinate with the FBI.”

“I’ll need an agent from each protective detail with whom we can interact, Mr. President, in the event we develop any informa- tion that suggests the next target.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Yes, sir. Before electronic surveillance is installed, we need to go over their homes, cars, offices, and any other places they predictably visit to look for listening and explosive devices.”

Schroeder rose and closed the drapes over the west windows to shut out the late afternoon sun. “I’ll call the chief justice. You said, ‘seem.’ The eleven ‘seem’ to be the targets. What did you mean by that? Or did I misread your inference?”

“No, sir, you did not. We know the identities of those killed, but that doesn’t mean LW won’t branch out beyond those target groups.”

“Who else?”

Crockett, the president’s collie, trotted over to lie next to his master.

“Wild guesses are all we could have at this point, sir.” Jack spread his hands wide.

“Let’s have them.” The president said, reaching down to pet the top of his dog’s head.

Jack lowered his eyelids, his brows moving closer together. “I think the Federal Reserve Act originally provided seats for the Sec- retary of the Treasury and the Comptroller of the Currency. My rec- ollection is as ex-officio members. However, you should have my

88 David M. Bishop

recall checked for accuracy before relying on it. If I’m right, those two are possibilities. LW could blame congressional leaders. In ad- dition, the Federal Reserve has district banks, each of which has a president. They could be targets. He could come after you, sir. People have a way of blaming the top guy.”

“Sack the quarterback, eh?”

“Something like that.” Jack grinned, joylessly.

Even though the president’s body language telegraphed that the meeting had come to an end, Jack decided that there was one other matter he needed to discuss.

“There is one more thing, sir. I’d like a letter over your signature authorizing and instructing all federal, state, and local personnel, including the military, to give my squad immediate cooperation. Please include a phone number they can call if they wish to verify or complain. Otherwise, they’re to fully comply with whatever we say. I don’t want us losing time over turf issues or foot dragging.”

“I’ll have the letter brought to your office,” Schroeder assured him. “What did Harriet Miller tell me you call it?”

Jack felt his cheeks redden, “The Bullpen, sir. The name pro- motes a bit of esprit de corps. Millet Yorke came up with it. I’m not too sure he didn’t have that purpose in mind before I realized it.”

The president chuckled. “Before you go, any advice on this for my press conference in the morning?”

“Don’t bait him, Mr. President. I know you’ll need to say his de- mands will not be met. Say it plain. If and when it becomes neces- sary to call out this LW, that’ll be my job, sir. And I don’t know enough yet to play that card.”

“I’d still like to tell him to go take a flying—but I see your point.” The president patted Jack on the shoulder as he escorted him to the door. “Didn’t LW’s communiqué use the term ‘stand down’?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a military term. Could his background include military service?”

“That term along with his knowledge of explosives, could point

the third coincidence 89

in that direction,” Jack admitted. “That’s very observant, sir. I wish you had the time to be a full-time member of our squad.”

“Now, your sounding like a politician,” the president said, scoff- ingly. “Leave that unpleasant task to me and get on your way. I want this LW and his militia put out of business, and as soon as possible. We don’t need to lose any more loyal Americans.”

chapter 20

Rumors continue that the president is meeting regularly with his secret McCall squad.

—Atlanta Constitution, June 10

“Welcome back, Jackman. What’s the word from Numero Uno?” Millet asked as the squad gathered at their oblong conference table. “The president has authorized a check for bugs and bombs in the haunts of the remaining big money guys and the Supremes—as you call them, Millet. He’s assigned the protection and surveillance

primarily to the FBI. We have only one job: stop LW.” Rachel gave Jack a thin smile.

“What did you guys come up with?” he asked.

“In his communiqué,” Colin said, “LW used eliminate, not kill, murder, or assassinate. We saw this as consistent with his delusion of a higher purpose. His use of several terms suggested that the militia has at least a few members. This may be further supported by the ge- ographic spread of the two most recent killings, the honeymooning Breens in Oregon and the Taylor family in Cleveland. Maybe the agencies will have more.”

“The president had their reports,” Jack said. “They have noth- ing.”

Rachel kicked off her shoes. “We had one more idea.” “Give.”

“We develop a timeline for the Breen murder in Oregon and

the third coincidence 91

work up a list of all passengers who flew into the major West Coast airports in Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco, also the smaller air- ports, that match up with that timeline. We do the same for the other killings, screening passengers out of the airports in Cleveland, Pitts- burgh, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, D.C., and Baltimore. It’ll be a big job but it puts us on the offense. Millet says he can write programs to cull out the passengers and flights that could fit at least one of the assassinations. We gather background information on as many of those passengers as possible in order to pare down the list. We can also build a database of the passengers’ descriptions to have on hand for when we find someone who has seen this guy or one of his mili- tiamen.”

“Once we have those names,” Millet added, “we can check car rental agencies to see which of them rented cars with mileage ade- quate for a round trip to the murder scenes. And match up the car rental names with the air passengers.”

“How about the military and law enforcement angle?” asked Rachel.

Jack turned to Colin. “Get us a list of current and former agents and military personnel with a history of violence. And get confirmed locations on the dates of the killings for current personnel that fit that criteria.

“Frank,” Jack continued, “you and Nora visit the Oregon and Cleveland crime scenes. Rachel, arrange a military jet to meet them at six in the morning. Take a copy of the president’s letter. There should be experienced homicide cops in Cleveland who’ll likely open up to you more than they might to the feds. Depoe Bay, Ore- gon, is much smaller so the locals won’t likely have much experi- ence. And find us some witnesses who saw something. Anything.”

The night wind crossing the CIA’s parking lot tossed Nora’s hair. “Colin Stewart,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “Is that

Scottish or Irish?”

92 David M. Bishop

“Colin’s Scottish, probably ancient Gaelic.” “Is Stewart Scottish too?”

“Stewart’s just a name I took.”

“What do you mean a name you took?” Nora asked, looking at him askance. “What’s your family name?”

“My parents left me on the doorstep of a Catholic orphanage. I grew up there and when I got old enough I claimed Stewart as my last name.”

“Why Stewart?”

“An old man who worked at the orphanage died the night be- fore my tenth birthday, well, my anniversary of coming to the or- phanage. I use that as my birthday. He told me he had no family. He was kind. A good man. I took his name.”

“So you have no known family?”

“The old man. We had each other. Now the U.S. Army is my family.”

Nora had lost her mother, but still had her father and grandpa.

She couldn’t imagine growing up without the roots of a family. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“For what? The orphanage was swell. I got no complaints.”

The faces of some of the punks Nora had arrested who had used their disadvantaged upbringing as an excuse, flashed through her mind. She looked at Colin and thought,
You’re a good man, Char- lie Brown.

She unlocked her car door using her remote, then looked back at him, the wind pushing her hair back from her face. “Try to get some sleep,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll fall asleep thinking about you,” he told her. “I’ll be thinking about you too.”

“Then take me home. Doing is better than thinking.”

“Oh, Colin, I’d like to. Really I would. I mean, our first night— but maybe we ought to cool it for now. That first time we didn’t know we’d be working together. You know?”

the third coincidence 93

“Meet me for breakfast.”

“Frank and I are flying to Oregon and Cleveland in the morning, remember?”

He looked at her then in a way she had never seen him look at her before, and knew that she had disappointed him.

chapter 21

Jealousy infects the intelligence community. No one likes McCall answering only to the president.

—Headline News, June 10

Rachel got out of her car outside her apartment building a few min- utes before midnight. She dropped her purse, and swore as the con- tents spilled out over the pavement. After gathering up her lipstick and wallet and other odds and ends, she went upstairs and got blinded at the top of the landing by the streetlight that shined just over the roof of her building. It had happened before. She groped for the keyhole in her door, then felt the key stagger into the lock.

“Jingles. I’m home,” she called out. Then suddenly felt wary. With her vision still impaired, she couldn’t see her cat, but she should have heard his familiar squeaky meows.

Jingles is always right at the door.

She shut her eyes tight and saw the dancing dots of lights. She considered turning on the lights, but her instincts told her not too. She pressed her back against the wall, extended her foot over and pushed the door until she heard it latch. Her breathing went shallow. And she waited, wishing she were invisible while her eyes hunted for enough light to let her see.

I always leave the drape over the side window open so Jingles can lie on the sill to catch the morning sun. But it’s closed. Someone has been in here. Maybe still is?

Fear wet her armpits. She slipped off her shoes, braced herself by

the third coincidence 95

spreading her legs and leaning hard against the wall and drew her Sig Sauer. She reached over with her hand to confirm the door to the front coat closet was closed. It was; that door always creaked, so she could move past it and trust her ears. She eased down into a squat with her back still against the wall. Her eyes found enough light for her to see the outlines of her living room furniture, the kitchen, and the hall reaching back toward her bedroom and bath. She focused down the center and relied on her peripheral vision.