McKay: “Thanks, Gloria. Mr. Munson told me that the targets of the shooting were federal agents, Philip Kaminsky and Samantha Pederson.”
[Switch to video] Munson: “I don’t believe either of them was injured in the shooting, but the car they were behind was full of holes.”
McKay: “Do you know why the agents were here?”
Munson: “They told me they had come to for information about illegal purchases of C4 explosives. They showed me two photographs, and I recognized the one guy right off. They said his name was McKenzie Gardner. I want to make it clear that I had no previous contact with Mr. Gardner, and when he came to me, he had an ID and license that identified him as a legitimate explosives engineer.”
McKay: “You mentioned that they showed you another photo.”
Munson: “Yeah, the other individual had familiar, so I looked him up on the internet and I’m pretty sure he was former James Harrison University football coach, Jefferson Bednarik.”
[Live feed] McKay: “Back to you, Gloria.”
Gloria Hernandez: “It appears you may have uncovered the names of the two people that the police wouldn’t identify as suspects in the briefing earlier today.”
Noon Report – Channel 6
Day 16, 6:30PM
I knew better than to take the afternoon off. If I was going to brief the president in the morning, I needed to be prepared with a well thought out briefing, not an impromptu conversation. I didn’t get out of the office until after six.
The lights were off in the condo parking lot when I pulled into my space. That was odd. Getting out of the car in the dark made me feel prickly. I scanned the area, but in the incidental light from the road I couldn’t see any reason for alarm. I turned back to lock the car out of habit knowing full well that anyone wanting to get into the TR-6 could cut through the top with a dull knife.
Just then I caught a flash of movement and instinctively ducked. A baseball bat barely grazed my head. An inch lower and it would have scrambled my brains. The glancing blow hurt but didn’t knock me out. I regained my balance after staggering a couple of steps. I whirled around and saw my attacker as he swung the bat at me again. I dropped my hand bag and jumped back into a defensive stance. I managed to side step the blow, but I felt the wind from it. I heard a deep voice mutter, “Damn!”
Charging into him before he could recover, I hit him solidly in the midsection with my shoulder and rammed him into the side of the car with all I had. The blow flattened him across the trunk, and the bat flew from his hands. He doubled up in obvious pain. He was a big man, almost my height and weighing a good two fifty, his face obscured by a dark hoodie. Adrenaline gave me enough strength to pick him up and use a shoulder throw to heave him to the pavement. He landed flat on his back with a grunt.
Before I could turn around to run, a second attacker grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. The first attacker rolled over onto his hands and knees, cursing, and struggled to his feet while I tried to break free. He unceremoniously kicked my feet out from under me. The other attacker held on to my arms, wrenching my shoulders, and I landed face down on the pavement. Luckily, I managed to twist enough that I hit on my shoulder first, limiting the injuries to my face to some scratches. My heavy jacket absorbed some of the impact, but the landing was still painful.
I growled, “You sons of a bitch, that hurt,” and yanked my hands free. Before I could get to my knees, one of them planted a boot in my back, knocking the wind out of me and landing me on my face again.
I tried to get up, but the foot in my back held me down. One of them seized my wrists, pulling them together behind my back and wrapping duct tape around them. I recovered my senses enough to start screaming for help. They reacted immediately. One of them grabbed my hair and yanked my face off the pavement, and the other slapped tape across my mouth and around my head. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the taste of duct tape. Next, a burlap bag went over my head. Then one of them seized my left arm and yanked me painfully to my feet.
“Why don’t we just shoot her and get it over with?” The voice wasn’t familiar.
“No way, just think of the irony.” It was Gardner, behind me! “We were going to blow up another building to fake a terrorist attack. Now we have this bitch who was messing up our plans, and we can use her as the terrorist. She can deliver the bomb.”
Wait! What? I’m not going to deliver a bomb. What’re they talking about? But it was clear that was exactly what they had in mind. No way was I going to let them tie me up with a bomb strapped to me and blow it up in a crowd of people. I had to get loose.
I couldn’t yell because of the tape on my mouth, but I yanked free from the grip on my arm and tried to shake off the sack. One of them (probably Bednarik) hit me in the stomach so hard I crumpled over. I fought down the urge to vomit, knowing I’d drown in it. One of them held me from behind while the other checked my pockets. He must have picked up my hand bag because I heard the door to the TR-6 being opened. Then I heard the door close. “Wouldn’t want anyone stealing her valuables, would we? Let’s move.” The voice had to be Bednarik.
Gardner was clearly the one holding my arms. I felt the brush of fir branches as he carelessly pushed me through a gap in the hedge between the parking lot and the street. Together both of them forced me out to the street and dumped me on the floor of a van. One of them climbed in beside me. When I started struggling to get free, he rolled me onto my stomach and taped my ankles to my wrists. I did what I could to make it hard for him, but eventually he had me bound so tightly that I couldn’t get loose. With nothing better to do I tried to rub the tape on the inside of the sack to get it off my mouth.
The drive seemed interminable, and I had almost succeeded by the time we came to a stop. I heard a scraping noise which I took to be a large door being rolled open. The van pulled forward and stopped once more. Again, more scraping noise. Then the back door of the van opened, and I heard Bednarik say, “You can carry her or cut her feet loose.”
Cold metal sawed back and forth between my ankles and wrists, and the tape gave way. My legs slammed down painfully. One of the men grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. He pulled me forward roughly. “Watch that first step.” Gardner said with a sneer in his voice. “Catch her.” He shoved me hard.
I stepped into open air and fell headlong into Bednarik. He stumbled backwards and almost fell down. “You stupid …” He must have been addressing Gardner.
I had enough of the tape off my mouth to get a garbled “Thanks, Coach,” out. Not that I particularly wanted to thank him, but I wanted him to know that I had identified him. I heard him swear.
He pulled the sack off my head and yanked the tape off my mouth. “Scream your head off. No one can hear you.” I didn’t bother.
As expected, Bednarik was a big man. About five-eleven he was stout rather than fat. He threw the hood of his sweat jacket back exposing a craggy face with a trimmed beard surrounding his mouth and a thinning head of brown hair. I guessed he was one of those former athletes who hadn’t quite let himself go after he quit playing.
I looked around. We were in a large open building, apparently an old warehouse. It was lit by bare incandescent bulbs that hurt my eyes after having a hood over my head for so long. The van was dark blue delivery with Drovers Plumbing painted on its side. A table littered with odds and ends stood near the far wall along with a single wooden chair. Trying for a show of bravado, I said, “I love what you’ve done with the place.” I wondered what old movie I had heard that in.
Bednarik barked, “Shut up.” He dragged me over to the table. The odds and ends turned out to be a vest with pockets and a stack of what were clearly C4 bricks intended to go in the pockets. I felt a stab of real dread.
Gardner had gotten hold of a pistol, a snub nosed .38 revolver, and was pointing it at me. He had his finger on the trigger and the hammer was back. The dread grew stronger. I was nearly hysterical. “Are you crazy? Careful with that thing!” I forced my
self to speak more calmly and deliberately. “Get your finger out of the trigger guard … now,” I ordered. “With it cocked like that all you have to do is twitch, and it’ll go off.”
He looked at the gun and back at me. “I know what I’m doing,” he said gruffly. “I’m not taking any chances with you. Make a false move and you’re dead.”
I glowered at him. “You’re an idiot. Tell him coach.”
Gardner’s face turned red. “Don’t call me an idiot. I’m the one who has the gun.”
“That’s what bothers me.” I looked at Bednarik. “If his aim is as bad as his judgment, he could miss me and hit you. I’d make him put it down if I were you. At least get him to take his finger off the trigger.”
Bednarik scowled at Gardner. “Keep the damn gun pointed at her, but take your finger off the trigger … idiot.” Gardner’s face turned even redder, but he removed his finger from the trigger. That eased my tension but not by much.
Bednarik stepped up to me. “Turn to your side,” he commanded. I did so, unhurriedly.
“Listen carefully,” he continued. “I’m going to cut the tape off your wrists, but if you make any sudden moves, Gardner will shoot.” Gardner nodded. He made as if he was using the sights to point the gun at me.
Bednarik quickly cut the tape off my wrists and stepped out of reach. “Take off your coat.”
I began fishing for ways to stall until I could come up with a way out of this mess. “Why? It’s cold in here. You can see your breath.”
“Take … it … off.” His words were colder than the air. He wasn’t amused, though Gardner did smile.
I thought of one last desperate chance: male weakness. I began humming "The Stripper" and started swaying my hips and shoulders to the tune, slowly unbuttoning my coat and easing towards Gardner. As I let the coat slip to the ground, ready to grab for the gun, Bednarik shouted, “Get back, you moron! She’s playing you.”
Gardner jumped out of reach, and the gun went off. The bullet barely missed my head. I thought I’d been scared before. Now I stood there shaking and sobbing, but my fear quickly turned to rage. Glaring at him, I yelled. “You stupid son of a bitch! You nearly shot me. What did I say about keeping your finger off the trigger?” He actually cringed.
Bednarik guffawed. “You tell him, girl. That outburst nearly makes me sorry we have to use you this way.” Then he turned grim. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
So close, not the bullet – the opportunity. If Gardner had been a little closer, my performance had mesmerized him enough that I could have taken the gun.
I squeezed the tears from my eyes and wrapped my arms around my chest to ward off as much cold as I could … and to keep things moving slowly.
Bednarik was clearly getting impatient. He picked up the vest from the table and, keeping his distance, held it out in my direction. “Take it.”
I shook my head. “Why should I? You plan to kill me anyway.” I kept thinking that I had to get control of the situation or I was dead meat, but how?
Bednarik grinned wolfishly. He reminded me of a giant predator about to spring on its prey. I wondered how his smile compared to the smile Reid had used on him. He showed even more teeth and said, “Where there’s life there’s hope.” I don’t think his smile was supposed to mean there was humor in that line.
“Clichés yet.” But I gingerly took the vest. I knew I was running out of time.
“Now put it on.”
I took my time looking it over and dragged it out as long as I could.
“Quit stalling and put it on,” Bednarik snarled. “Or should I have Gardner shoot you in the knee. You might look like a victim instead of a villain that way, but I bet you’d take more people with you.”
My mind flashed back to the smoking remains of the church. When I considered my options, there weren’t any that I could see. Unfortunately, Bednarik was right about what he had said about life and hope, and that was all I had working for me at the time. Besides I was fond of my knees. I glared at him while I put the vest on and fumbled with the clips that closed it.
“Hurry up.” If Bednarik had ever been patient, I could see he was rapidly losing the little he had left.
“I can’t. My hands are shaking because they’re too cold.” Truth be told, I was shaking because I was approaching the point of becoming hysterical. I fought to keep calm, or at least look like it. I desperately kept hunting for a way out of this mess, but all I could think of was Gardner and that gun. As long as he stayed far enough away I couldn’t do anything. Finally, I had to finish up or risk that they weren’t bluffing about shooting me in the knee.
Once I was clipped in, Bednarik had me turn around. I noticed he was careful to stay out of the line of fire. He inserted six of the bricks into the back of the vest and taped me to the chair with my hands behind the backrest. When I was thoroughly restrained, both of them quickly filled the front pockets of the vest.
Gardner laid a pre-wired harness across my shoulders and began inserting blasting caps into the bricks. I watched helplessly. He looked to be enjoying himself, which turned some of my terror to anger, so I decided to make him uncomfortable. “Careful, do that wrong and you could go with me.”
He smirked. “I know better than that. I studied this stuff thoroughly. It’s so stable it takes the blasting caps to set it off.”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty dry in here. How much static electricity would it take to set off a blasting cap?”
His smirk disappeared and his face turned grim, but he continued plugging in the blasting caps, maybe a little more cautiously. Then he put the burlap sack over my head. Finally, he pulled away and said, “Now we wait.”
“At least put my coat on me.”
“Now, why should I do that?” The smirk was back, in his voice. “I’m going to get some rest. You ought to sleep too, while you can.” But he draped my coat over my shoulders.
Sleep was the last thing on my mind.
Chapter 38
“This just in: DC police report that an explosion occurred in the Metro at the L’Enfant Plaza station. They were unable to provide details or an estimate of casualties. We’ll bring you more as additional information becomes available.”
– 5:13 AM – WSKY-FM
Day 17, 3:45AM
I had struggled unsuccessfully for a while with the tape holding my hands behind the seatback, but I was taped in such a way that I couldn’t move enough to do any good. Somehow the terror of the night had transmuted to exhaustion, and I went to sleep despite my circumstances.
“Wakey, wakey, sleepy head.” Gardner’s voice woke me out of fitful slumber to new fear and a stiff neck.
I felt the coat come off and the tape being removed. When my hands were freed, they were almost numb from being taped to the chair. When I reached for the sack over my head, someone slapped my hand, and Gardner said, “That’s a no-no. The sack stays on for now.”
“Why? I already know who you are and you’re going to kill me, so you don’t have to worry about me identifying you.”
His voice held a hint of smugness. “Let’s say it makes you easier to control. Plus in the event you miraculously escape, we don’t want you to be able to tell the cops where you were.”
He grabbed my arm and lifted me to my feet. “Now it’s time for you to meet your destiny. And remember we have a gun.” As if to emphasize the point, one of them shoved the muzzle of the gun into my back.
“It’s cold outside, so you’ll need your coat.” Gardner wrapped the coat around me and shoved my hands into the sleeves. As he started buttoning the coat I grabbed for his hands.
He was surprisingly calm about it. “Ah, ah. Gun remember.” I let his hands go.
When he finished the buttons, there was that ubiquitous tape again, wrapped around my wrists so the sleeves could cover both hands. “There, you look presentable for a public appearance. Let’s go.” He gripped my left elbow and began guiding me.
When someone opened the squeak
ing door, the blast of cold air took my breath away despite the bag over my head. Gardner marched me outside and ushered me to a waiting car. I heard the door open, and he unceremoniously pushed my head down and shoved me into it. “Slide all the way over, and remember I have a gun.”
I eased across to the right side, noting that the car had to be Garner’s beater. Bednarik’s Boxster didn’t have a back seat. The right door opened noisily and rough hands attached my seat belt. Then I heard the other seat belt click. That put Bednarik in the driver’s seat and Gardner behind him on the back seat. Could I unlatch the seat belt without him seeing and bail out after we had gone a few blocks? I nixed that. Gardner’s car was old but it still had automatic door locks. Besides, they must have some way of remotely detonating the vest. I lost any hope I had left and sat there too numb to think anything but, I’m about to die and they’re planning for me to take a bunch of people with me.
◆◆◆
Day 17, 4:30AM
“Here’s the deal. If you try to leave the platform, kaboom.” Gardner smiled broadly as he showed me the red button on the burn phone he held. “If you get on a train, kaboom. If you talk to anyone, kaboom.” He held a finger over the red button and flashed an even more evil grin.
They had pulled the hood off after driving a few blocks, probably so I wouldn’t look conspicuous in the car. Now we were standing in a Metro station in the heart of DC. Because of the hour there was no one near us.
I stared at Gardner, and struggled to keep from giving him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. Even though I knew he wouldn’t set off the vest while he was still near me, my heart, which was already speeding like a runaway freight train, beat even faster. My knees were so weak that if Bednarik hadn’t been holding both my arms in a vise grip, I would probably have collapsed right there. I called on all my self-discipline and forced myself to stand up straight and stare into Gardner’s eyes, calm and in control. I felt a brief glimmer of satisfaction when an angry frown crossed his face.
Damage Control Page 26