Megan

by C. R. Daems

  If I shoot him his muscles will relax and... If I punch him, he might tighten his grip for a second and maybe I could grab his hand, but if he didn't or I missed...raced through my mind as he laughed insanely. My vision narrowed as I focused on the switch in his hand, the red button his thumb rested on, and the black wire running to the blasting caps stuck into the four blocks of C-4 and a second black wire presumably to the battery.

  "Tell you what Judge: come with me quietly and you can save all these innocent—"

  The crack, crack of my Glock shattered the frozen silence in the plane as the bullets jerked the bomber backward. He ricocheted off the seats across the aisle, blood spraying as he twisted around and hit the floor.

  A lingering silence, as everyone awaited the explosion that would end their lives.

  "You idiot! That's a dead man's switch!" George shouted as he pushed forward and knelt next to the man, carefully examining the switch. "It must have been defective..." he said just above a whisper as the red button was no longer depressed.

  He had no sooner spoken than the first class passengers behind him were rushing to get out the cabin door.

  "STOP!" He drew his gun and pointed at the first person in the aisle.

  By now most of third class was up and wanting to leave. It took several minutes for him to convince the flight attendant to open the emergency exits rather than move the bomber.

  George sat in a vacant seat across the aisle, looking ashen and glaring at me. "You're crazy. If that switch hadn't been defective, the explosion would have killed everyone on this plane!"

  "I may be crazy, but I'm not suicidal," I said, but wondered if George was at least partially right. I had taken a huge risk. If I had missed that single wire—boom.

  "Is that going to explode?" Singleton asked as the passengers were being evacuated.

  "No. C-4 is very stable. It takes a shock from a blasting cap or extreme heat to get it to explode. But we should let the bomb squad dismantle it," I said as several men with "Bomb Squad" written on their jackets entered the plane.

  One man knelt next to the bomber and cautiously examined the device. "Who's the idiot who shot a man with a dead man's switch attached to C-4?" he asked, looking up at George.

  I raised my hand. "That would be me."

  "You either have more balls than my entire bomb squad or you're certifiably insane."

  "Probably, but our bomber wasn't a professional bomb maker, and it appeared obvious that the dead man's switch ran directly to the battery and the blasting caps. Therefore cutting either wire would make the switch inoperative—"

  "But if the bullet touched both wires the circuit would be completed..."

  "True, except standard bullets are made of Antimony, which is a metalloid and a poor conductor."

  He laughed long and hard. "So, you bet your life on the assumption your bullets were made of Antimony, were poor conductors of electricity, and you could sever...at least one of those wires with a bullet. Who are you?"

  "Kazak Megan," I said, holding up my arm for him to see my identification.

  "Well, Kazak, I wouldn't want to play chicken with you." He laughed again and turned to the two men behind him. "Let's get the bomb dismantled so the police can remove the body."

  It took several hours for the police to get statements, remove the body, and reload the passengers. I didn't mind answering questions but refused to repeat myself, which detectives are wont to making you do, maybe in an effort to trip you up.

  Judge Singleton was mostly quiet during the entire time. In the air and after a couple of glasses of wine, he sighed as if he had been holding his breath the whole time.

  "What if you had been wrong or missed what you were aiming at?"

  "You would have died." Silly question, but I guessed Federal judges weren't normally involved in assassination attempts.

  "As would have you and all the people on the plane!" His voice rose with each word.

  "My only responsibility is you, according to the Lynn Protocol. Otherwise, I guess I could have let him remove you and kill you someplace with less people. Given that, the risk was reasonable—if I let him take you, you died, therefore this was not only my best but, most likely, my only opportunity to save you." Perhaps the collateral damage would have been excessive in this case and the protocol would need to be reexamined, but for now those were the rules. "Judge Singleton, if I had any doubt about making the shot or the result, I wouldn't have taken the shot. I may be crazy, but I'm not in a rush to die."

  "You're crazy, but thank you, Megan." He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Four additional FBI agents were waiting when the cabin door opened at Pasadena, and everyone was asked to remain seated. A woman agent approached us without hesitation, obviously aware what seats we occupied.

  "Judge Singleton, Kazak Megan, I'm Senior FBI Agent Anita Roush. Because of the incident at San Francisco International, the director has assigned additional agents for your protection. If you will follow me, we have a car waiting to transport you to your hotel. Don't worry about your luggage, we'll take care of it for you," she said and stepped back for us to get out.

  Like a tidal wave, we swept through the airport, with Singleton and me surrounded by Roush and her three agents and George and his two agents clearing the way. Three cars were waiting by the curb and we were soon on our way to the Westin Hotel in Pasadena, where he was booked in the Rose Suites, which provided him a private bedroom and room for his security.

  "After San Francisco, Megan, you're going to be a legend. I understand the bomb squad there is running tests on your theory to see if it's one hundred percent reliable. It's difficult to claim it doesn't work." Anita laughed. The judge had retired, and it was just Roush and me in the living room. "I don't think I could have pulled the trigger even given I had the facts you did."

  "You and any of your team would step in front of the person you were protecting, wouldn't you?" I asked and when she nodded, I continued. "How is risking my life to save his any different?"

  "True, except there were a hundred others involved in your decision," she said, frowning.

  "What if it had been the President of the United States you were guarding?"

  "But Judge Singleton isn't... I see your point, sort of. Still, I wouldn't want to have to make that decision. I guess Kazak is out for me."

  "I'm sure some Congressional Committee, Homeland security, and the Committee that monitors the Kazaks will be debating the issue for years. Well, Anita, now that you are in charge of the FBI security, what are you planning?"

  "Normally, I leave one man in the room and another in the hallway...but you're here."

  "Ignore me. As you've discovered, my protocol is very myopic. You will want to do what you consider best to protect Singleton and your agents. And they need to understand my rules of engagement and that it's best I can recognize them," I said and smiled.

  "Your rules of engagement sound great until you think about them," she said after a long pause. "All right, two men on duty at night, one inside. Two following him when he goes out. And two to check out where he's going before he gets there. And make sure everyone knows not to try and arrest you no matter who you shoot." She left after introducing the agents currently on night duty.

  * * *

  Singleton went to the courthouse the next day for a pre-meeting of the eleven-person panel that would be hearing oral arguments, which was set for the next day. Much of their time was spent discussing the threat to Singleton—and me.

  "Kazak Megan, you aren't authorized in this meeting. You should wait outside with the FBI agents," said a white-haired man who looked to be in his seventies, after everyone was seated. I was leaning back against a wall so I could view Singleton and the doors to the room. All eyes were on me.

  "You have lawyer-client privileges with me and I have a right to accompany my client, in this case Judge Singleton, anywhere he goes. Judges, the threat is real and my presence may benefit you as muc
h as Judge Singleton."

  The subsequent discussion went on for hours because they knew it would apply to future meetings where a Kazak was assigned. In the end they agreed I could stay. It seemed to me the actual meeting had nothing of a secret nature: seating arrangements, who would be at the oral arguments, time limits, etc. I found it interesting but most people probably wouldn't. Singleton ate lunch in the cafeteria with a couple of his friends who were interested in hearing the details of his two assassination attempts.

  "I'd like to have dinner tonight with a couple of friends. Any restrictions?" he asked on the ride back to his hotel.

  "I would prefer tables to booths and inside away from windows, otherwise no. Agent Roush will want to know where so her folks can check it out beforehand." No sense making a big deal out of it as no restaurant was safe—some just less so than others.

  He nodded and used his cell phone to set up the dinner at Maison Akira, where he arranged for a rectangular table for eight near a wall. While he dressed that evening, I had room service send up a plain hamburger, French fries, and a glass of milk.

  "You could have ordered a steak or something interesting," Anita said, watching me eat. She had decided to accompany us to the restaurant.

  "I like food I can eat with one hand and that isn't messy. Seems ridiculous, I know. But Assassins are sneaky people. You never know when they will show up or how many friends they'll bring so you have to be ready all the time—seconds can make a difference."

  "That's extremely paranoid."

  "Kazak is an extreme sport," I quipped, producing a good-natured laugh.

  * * *

  The dinner went well. Singleton had invited three couples. From the discussions, it appeared they were old friends of his and of Mrs. Singleton, who normally accompanied him to Pasadena. When we exited the building, Anita had the two black Ford Expeditions double parked at the curb, waiting. The group stood talking for several minutes, which increased his exposure and my nervousness.

  While they talked I saw a dark colored Chrysler Town and Country turn right onto the street where we stood and the passenger window begin to lower. I swept my right arm across Singleton's chest as my leg swept in the opposite direction through his legs. He went airborne and landed on his back as I drew my Glock and attempted to track the Chrysler through the parked and double-parked cars. But even at a slow speed the spacing and height of the SUVs made it impossible until it passed the last SUV. I fired three times, shattering the side windows as the car accelerated away without firing a shot. Seconds later, Anita's team had clustered around the judge and the rest of the party had crunched down next to the parked cars.

  "Is it safe?" She asked while scanning the area.

  "We may want to change locations. Judge, where would you like to go?" I asked. To his credit, he wasn't hollering about being dumped on his back.

  "Was someone shooting at me?" he asked rather calmly.

  "No. They couldn't see you to shoot." I couldn't help but be amused at the shooter's frustration at not getting off a single shot while taking three.

  "For everyone's safety, I think the party is over for now," he said, and I helped him to his feet. With an apology and a quick goodbye, we entered one of the FBI's cars and sped off.

  "How do you know the car you shot up had someone trying to kill me? There were no shots fired from that car," Singleton asked as he sat drinking wine he'd ordered sent to the room. Anita and I were the only others in the room, and she looked as interested as he did.

  "People in new cars don't roll down their windows in ninety degree weather. They are either down or up. Of course, the barrel of an automatic weapon as they got nearer did resolve any doubt."

  "Do you think you hit anyone?" Anita asked.

  I closed my eyes, trying to visualize the damage to the windows. "If I didn't wound the shooter or driver, they were lucky. My three bullets went through the front and rear passenger side windows. I know because I saw the windshield and the back passenger side windows shatter."

  "Good, I'll get out a bolo on the car and gunshot wounds," Anita said as she left the room.

  "When is this going to end?" Singleton said more to himself than me.

  "When do you vote on the issue before you?"

  "In a meeting after oral arguments."

  "That's when it will end. No point killing you after you've voted." That seemed logical to me, and I hoped it was to the Assassin or whoever was paying him.

  "Two days from now," Singleton said as he rose and walked into his bedroom and called his wife.

  * * *

  The next day the judge decided to stay in his room and Anita provided extra security in the hallway, as the Assassin's opportunity to impact the outcome had narrowed to less than twenty-four hours. After an in-room dinner, Anita and I sat discussing security for oral arguments.

  "What do you think, Megan?" Anita asked. "You seem to have anticipated their actions so far,"

  I laughed. "If I had I would have had Judge Singleton hire a private plane to Pasadena. No, the best I can do is anticipate there will be an attempt and be alert. An Assassin has seven options: tonight, leaving the hotel tomorrow, while in transit to the court, walking to the courtroom, during oral arguments, walking to the conference room to vote, and during the vote."

  "What would be your choice?"

  "What would cause the most disruption to the En Banc process?" I asked looking toward Singleton.

  "After oral arguments. I would think they would have to select a new group and start the process over," he said while looking off in thought.

  "Then that would be my choice," I said, not that I could afford to ignore the other options. I convinced the judge and Anita that we should leave immediately, which should eliminate the first four of the seven options. And we could control access in the court building. It meant a long night for the judge, but he consented as it reduced his risk.

  We left by the front entrance as if we were going out to eat. When we arrived at the court building, we went directly to the room where the oral argument would be held, and the judge found a comfortable chair and tried to sleep. By then, Anita had ten FBI agents on duty, and I had been introduced to each agent and memorized their faces. They would be controlling the hallways and courtroom access.

  People started filing in at nine a.m. Each participant was scanned with a hand-held metal detector. The Justices appeared exactly at ten and took their seats. Singleton had been sitting off to the side like a spectator. He rose, put on his robe, and joined the others.

  The oral arguments were fun to watch. Most of the judges had at least a question or two for the appellant and the appellee. I imagined all the court watchers were listening carefully, hoping to get a clue which way each judge would likely vote based on his or her questions. Both presenters were articulate and had persuasive arguments, but I didn't hear anything new. I decided you couldn't win your case during oral arguments but you could lose based on how you responded to the justices' questions.

  After the oral arguments were finished, the justices remained while the room was cleared, the hallway cleared, and the doors locked and guarded.

  "This is a bit unusual, but in the interest of everyone's safety the FBI has decided it would be safest if the voting be conducted in this room," the chief justice said to everyone's surprise. "Once we've voted, the threat to Judge Singleton should be over, as well as any threat of an assault on the conference room, which could involve us."

  The voting went smoothly and afterward the waiting reporters were told the vote had been taken and the issue resolved. Of course, the result wouldn't be announced until the end of the court's current session. Singleton and I flew back to San Francisco the next day, and five days later I flew back to Richmond.

  CHAPTER TEN

  An Experience To Forget

  "That was very innovative and incredible. The San Francisco bomb squad has been trying to replicate your...unique method of disarming a dead man's switch." Witton shook his head l
ike a dog after a bath. The meeting was a review of my after-action report, which had taken me three days to write. "They agree with the theory but have only had random success disarming similar dead man switches."

  "Because they aren't replicating the situation," I said, mentally smiling at the memory.

  "What do you mean? The FBI worked with the bomb squad to ensure they had the same type of switch the bomber had and they used our standard Glock and ammunition. What did they miss?"

  "The switch wasn't connected to four blasting caps imbedded in four blocks of C-4."

  "Of course not!"

  "Believe me, that's when you find out if your meditation has helped you attain a peaceful mind. You have to believe it's the right course of action and that you can make the shot. You can't have any doubts." I said, believing that was the reason I'd survived several of my close calls.

  "How do we teach that?" Witton sounded frustrated.

  "I don't know, but I'm convinced it has saved my life several times. Panic kills. If you can stay calm and not question your intuition, you act with confidence—and the bullet cuts the wire." I shrugged.

  * * *

  "Congratulations, Kazak Megan, on living through the experience. Many of the Kazaks have been trying to decide if you're lucky, crazy, or super clever," Harry the Tiger said. I think the consensus is that you are crazy and lucky.

  As usual, the week was enjoyable. I worked out with available Kazaks and spent hours on the range and in meditation. By the end of the week, I was ready for my post-assignment vacation. I decided I'd like to see Lake Tahoe and the Reno area. Ann Marie booked me my normal first class travel and standard accommodations.

  For the first week, I stayed at the Cedar Glen Lodge and explored Lake Tahoe: took a boat cruise, water skied, attended a performance by the Reno Philharmonic Orchestra, and went hiking in the mountains. Then I decided I needed some excitement and switched to the Peppermill Resort and Casino, hit the nightclubs, and did a bit of gambling. I don't know what I was looking for—to get lucky I guess. There were plenty of men roaming the clubs and casinos, but an hour or two with one of them and I was bored. I wanted a hookup, but one I could tolerate when we weren't in bed. The first two nights I failed and went to bed alone.