by Bob Blink
The window broke as Bo shifted to the two women inside the room. He let the glass tumble, and noted the two heads turn toward the window. They'd been standing close, looking over something on the desk, and as the scope settled squarely on the chest of Mrs. Craig, he felt the sear release, triggering the second shot.
"Dead center," Jason said, a hint of wonder at the speed and accuracy Bo had demonstrated.
Bo realized the bullet would have passed no more than six inches from the secretary, something the ballistics people would probably work out which would support the idea she could have been the target later when the second half of this little skit played out. He watched as both women dropped out of sight. He'd seen the impact as well, and was certain the shot had been a killing one. There was no way to change anything now, even if not. He still wondered if it wouldn't have been simpler to simply nail both women now and be done with it.
"Move," he hissed at Jason, picking up the rifle and humping his way, crouched, toward the car. Jason was right behind him. They tossed both rifles into the back seat, climbed in to the vehicle, and slowly and as quietly as possible, drove away from the scene. A mere block and they'd be into the neighborhoods, isolated from the area where the two muffled shots had originated.
"Call Earl," Bo commanded as he drove. Jason was still wound up from the adrenaline rush, and wasn't thinking as clearly as he might. He'd never seen anyone killed before, let alone been an agent in the death.
"Done," he said when Earl answered. "Perfect shot."
"Assume so," he answered in response to Earl's question. "Dropped out of sight so couldn't actually see, but I can't see how it wasn't fatal. News should tell us soon enough."
Jason listened to the response.
"Right," he said. "We will meet you at the other place."
Earl hung up and turned to Abe who was sitting in the car next to him. "It's done. Let's get inside and wait for Bud."
Getting inside had become old hat for Abe, and the door presented mere seconds of delay, little more than if he'd had a key. They had a checklist of sorts for what needed to be done once the shot had been taken. In the garage they wanted to clear out the empty boxes where Bo had "borrowed" some ammo, and take the rifle case that had been left in place empty in case Bud were to glance inside the box. Abe took care of all this, bringing the rifle case into the house since they would be taking it alone to store the fired AR in Bud's truck where it would be found with his body at the appropriate time. While Abe was in the garage, Earl confiscated the little Detective Special along with the half filled box of ammo. That gun still had its work cut out for it. They wore surgeons gloves to protect against fingerprints. The scant DNA evidence they were leaving behind indicated that Bud had had visitors at some unknown date which was hardly something to be surprised at, and was of no value unless the cops had something to compare it to, and if things reached that point it was game over anyway.
Almost two hours later, the sound of Bud's pickup pulling into the driveway alerted them to be ready for when the man entered the house. Abe stepped out-of-sight into the side office, which really served as a storage area these days, checking the short-barreled Ruger .454 revolver in his belt. It handled the very powerful Casull loads, but today, as always, he had it filled with the much tamer .45 Colt cartridges. He had a speed loader filled with the more powerful magnum loads. When Bo had seen the loads he'd remarked, "One never knows when he'll have to deal with an enraged man-eating bear."
Satisfied, Abe picked up the syringe with the special drug Earl had brought back from Texas at his request. A little something he'd used off and on in another life. Earl stepped into the kitchen where he waited. He wanted Bud to get far enough into the house that he'd closed the front door before they engaged him.
"Who the hell are you?" Bud asked angrily when Earl stepped into view a few minutes later, his worn and scarred 9mm pointed at the man's gut.
Ignoring the question, Earl said, "Don't move and put your hands behind your back."
Bud stood just over six feet tall and weighed just shy of 230 pounds, a good bit of the weight resting in the gut that had been growing due to his poor diet the past six months. He was generally ready for a fight, but recognized that the 9mm was being held in a steady hand, which suggested resistance could well get him killed. Slowly he put his arms behind him, a bit of a snarl on his lips.
"There ain't much worth stealing," he said, but even before he finished speaking, Abe stepped out of the small room, the syringe jabbing crudely, but quickly into the Bull's upper left arm where Abe could see indications of previous careless injections under the sleeve of the man's short sleeve shirt.
"What the hell?" Bud yelled, his right hand coming up involuntarily to the wounded spot, but Abe had already withdrawn the insulin needle and stepped back. Bud looked at the syringe in Abe's hand frowning.
They had noted on an earlier search of the premises that Bud was diabetic and had a goodly supply of insulin syringes in place. That gave them a means to deliver their own drug without leaving unexplained puncture wounds. They'd simply inject him in the same area he used for his insulin. While the insulin needles were extremely thin and seldom left marks, there were occasional bleeds and some individuals, like Bud, were careless enough that the injection area was readily identifiable. Given the options for where the insulin injections should be given, it was also the likely spot. It would take some careful and insightful work by a Medical Examiner to discover the ruse, especially when Bud was going to die from an obvious gunshot wound. They didn't want anyone to tumble to the fact he'd spent the day or so before his death under sedation.
"We're friends of Carol's," Earl lied to distract the man.
"That bitch!" Bud snarled, his attention full on Earl.
"Yeah, that's the word you used for her in this nice little note," Earl said, holding out the handwritten scrawl they'd found in the back.
"I never sent that," Bud said, recognizing the paper and confirming what Earl hoped.
"We'll see that she gets it," he said."
"Why . . ," Bud started to ask, but then suddenly simply folded and collapsed.
"That shit takes long enough to kick in," Earl complained as he looked at the unconscious form on the floor.
"Hey, this ain't TV," Abe replied. "It takes the stuff time to get where it does its job."
"You couldn't suggest something faster?"
"There's some," Abe admitted. "A little faster, but this stuff metabolizes completely and rather quickly. It won't show up when the Medical Examiner does post mortem tests on him."
"How often do we need to shoot him up so he stays out?" Earl asked.
"Every ten hours or so. We can probably just mix the stuff with his insulin. Looks like he takes it several times a day."
Abe knelt down and recovered Bud's keys from his pocket. He showed them to Earl.
"Good. How about you go unlock the gate and bring his truck into the back yard. We'll load up what we are taking, and then pile him horizontal in the back seat. The cops aren't supposed to have a reason to come here, but seeing as his ex-wife nearly got shot you never know. I'd rather none of us were around if that happens."
Chapter 16
Washington, D.C.
"Oh, my God!" Rosa Flores exclaimed as she barged into the oval office where President Mark Pilcher was reading a bit of legislation that he was almost certainly going to veto. "Have you heard?" she asked. "Turn on the television."
"Rosa, what is wrong?" the President asked, shocked by both her entry and the magnitude of her distress. In the nearly four years they'd been together, he'd never seen her so distraught.
"She's dead!" Rosa exclaimed. "Someone shot her."
"Who's dead?' he asked, but by now he had a pretty good idea what was going on. Earl had finally implemented his plan. He stood and reached for the control that allowed him to turn on multiple televisions all preconfigured to the major news channels.
As the units powered on and before the Pr
esident could make any sense of the images on the various screen, Joe Taylor barged into the room, his face reflecting his distress.
"This is wrong!" he shouted pointing to the television. "I mean it helps us out considerably, but this isn't the way the country is supposed to work. "Who would do this kind of thing?"
Mark was pleased with his carefully maintained poker face as he spoke. "What exactly is going on? Rosa told me someone was killed, but so far I haven't heard who, or how."
"Nancy Craig!" Joe nearly shouted. "Someone shot her at her home in California."
"You've got to be kidding," the President replied, thankful for the politician training that allowed him to carry off such a ruse. "What do they know? Is there a suspect? Was anyone else killed?"
His eyes jumped between screens as he tried to take in as much information as possible given what he knew and these others didn't. He also had an act to play that would be important later.
One of the channels had an aerial view from their news helicopter. Mark could see a vast number of official vehicles parked randomly in front of the Craig house and blocking most of the street for at least a block. Most were police cars with their colored lights still flashing, although it was obviously far too late for that to help. He could spot three of the familiar dark SUVs which almost certainly had to belong to the Secret service, so all of the assigned agents must be at the residence. Other vehicles, mostly without identification, had to belong to the F.B.I. agents, or police officials such as the Medical Examiner or members of the brass who would be on-site for such a high profile killing. The news vehicles could just be seen scattered around the perimeter at the far end of the block.
He could also see the hillside where the shot had to have come from. Mark spotted the small clearing that Earl had briefly described to him on an earlier call. They would check it carefully, looking for clues and DNA traces that might yield any clue as to the identity of the killer. Earl had made it clear they had taken appropriate steps to deny them any such samples. For a moment he wondered why they hadn't set fire to it or some such to ensure the forensic experts didn't stumble on the fact it hadn't been the secretary's husband who had been there, then he realized that would be dumb. If the man were going to commit suicide, why would he bother with such precautions. It was important that they didn't find anything belonging to someone other than Carol Marshall's husband, as that would destroy the false narrative they were working so hard to sell. Absently, he wondered why he hadn't heard from Earl, but he might have problems of his own, or guessed that the President would be surrounded by people and unable to converse at the moment.
"You're certain she is dead?" Mark asked, knowing it had to be true, but wanting someone to confirm it for him.
"Absolutely," Joe replied. "Her secretary was interviewed a short time ago. She'd been standing right next to Mrs. Craig, nearly getting hit herself. She was covered in blood and indicated the wound was horrendous.
"See, they are bringing her out," Rosa said, her voice a bit shrill as she pointed to one of the screens where a gurney supporting a black rubber-bagged corpse was being moved to one of the ambulances.
"You are going to have to make a statement," Joe warned the President. "The people are going to be curious what your reaction to her killing and whether you will claim it was politically motivated or some kind of random shooting."
"It can't have been random," the President said, just as a number of other White House officials hurried into the room. "Given the target and the way it appears to have been planned, it must have been someone that disagreed with her, and was fearful of her standings in the polls."
"How do you address this, given that you were been shown on all the networks as likely to lose to her," Ted Banning asked.
"It's going to take some careful thought," the President admitted, which was in fact a lie. He had already written the core elements of a speech based on the expectation that Earl was going to be successful, and it was firmly ingrained in his mind. There were political points to be made out of this incident, and he intended to use them, subtly, but pointedly. "Have the networks give me an hour. I'll need a few of you to help me." He'd take their inputs and weave it into what he believed needed to be said.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the continent, Earl and his team had gathered at the small house near Beaumont where they would hold Bud alive, but unconscious, until he was needed to complete their operation. The unconscious man had been placed on a small cot in the smallest of the bedrooms, unrestrained as they didn't want any signs on his body suggesting he had been bound at any time. His truck was hidden away in the garage, with the AR rifle and a partial box of ammunition in the locked tool carrier located in the bed of the vehicle. All other items had been removed. Great care had been taken so as not to leave any traces of genetic material that could show someone other than Bud had been driving the vehicle. They only had one more short trip to make in it.
"Have you seen the news?" Bo asked when he and Jason arrived and made their way into the house. "They'd been listening on the radio, but he wanted video and a more thorough report of the state of affairs.
"Your bullet hit her center of mass," Earl said. "She was gone when the bullet struck. They seem convinced at this point that it was a political hit, and they have already located the shooting point and found the two brass cases you were careful not to pick up."
"Single shooter?" Jason asked, knowing how important it was that they bought that aspect of the killing.
"No one has said anything about that," Earl replied. "It's too soon. They have too much to process, and heads will roll if someone thinks a mistake was made. I don't think we will hear anything about that kind of detail until morning."
"What about the secretary," Abe asked. "We aren't done with them until we finish with her and her hubby in the other room."
"Nothing much said about her, at least that I've heard," Earl said. A brief indication that she and Mr. Craig being in the house, along with a single Secret Service agent.
"Boy, I wouldn't want to be him," Jason said.
"Yeah," Earl said uncomfortably, thinking of CC who thankfully was back in Washington. "We can't know for certain, but I don't think they are worried about Carol Marshall, or the husband. They've got it pegged that the target was successfully taken out, and the others in the house weren't being targeted. That says once the questions are finished and it gets late enough no one can think of anything else to do tonight, they'll be free to go where they want. I can't see anyone staying at the house though."
"Hopefully the secretary goes back to her house," Abe said.
"I suppose she could check into a hotel if she didn't feel safe, but why. As we said, she wasn't the target, and most people feel better in familiar surroundings. Home is safety. But remember, she survived the attack. The shooter fired once, and made no attempt to try and shoot her when he had a chance. One shot and it was over. She has very reason to believe there will be no more attacks."
"What about the media bugging her?" Bo asked. "That could make it impossible to move on her."
Earl shook his head. "The place she is staying since breaking up with Bud isn't hers. Her name isn't on any records. She's renting it from a friend, so they'll play hell trying to locate her. You'll remember when we had to tail her to find out where she was staying. I'm certain the cops will take her home so the media can't follow."
"So tomorrow we go and find her where we expect," Jason said. "We have the bug and small video camera we planted inside the house, so we'll be able to verify she's home. If not, we may have to wait her out a day or so, but I'm betting that won't be necessary."
"I hope not," Abe groused. Keeping Bud under for a couple of days would be annoying, and we could lose him if he's on that stuff too long."
There was nothing else for them to do but watch how things played out. The President made a speech that went over surprisingly well given he and Craig were political adversaries, and her death clearly open the way forward for
his presidency. He promised to put every effort into finding those responsible, and to try and see some of her better ideas implemented.
As the night progressed, the idea that the killing was a single shooter, politically biased against the Democrats and the very real possibility of Nancy Craig winning in the fall, surfaced in the media. Speculations were rampant as to the renewed likelihood that Pilcher would now retain his presidency, which left the Republicans gleeful and the Democrats outraged.
Very early the next morning, the foursome made their way into Lakewood where Carol Marshall was expected to be staying. They brought all of the vehicles including Bud's truck, which Abe was driving, his unconscious passenger on the backseat covered by a blanket. Once in the beach city they went in three directions. Bo headed toward El Segundo, and closed out their apartments, loading the car with the items to be taken, and transported everything to the private airport where Earl's plane waited. Abe drove half a dozen blocks from the rental house, and parked in an alley. Meanwhile Jason and Earl were able to activate the previously planted monitors and verify that Carol was indeed sleeping inside, and after an hour of monitoring, that there was no police watch on the residence.
While Bo was engaged in moving and Abe was waiting patiently in the silent pickup as the drug worked its way out of his victim's system, Jason and Earl made their way inside the darkened house, forcing the door an earlier trip had shown to be susceptible to breaking, and hurried quickly into the bedroom before Carol, awakened by the break in, was worriedly looking for her purse to make a 911 call. She had time to look up and see the two men before Earl fired three rounds into her chest from the short barreled .38 that belonged to Bud. As she fell back onto the bed, Earl dumped the letter from Bud onto the bed, allowing it to slide out of the ziplock bag where he'd been storing it. Jason had already recovered the monitoring devices, so they simply slipped out of the house, walked the two blocks to the rental car, and headed to the alley where Abe waited with their final victim. Once there, they moved the semi-conscious Bud into the driver's seat, and Abe took the Detective Special and holding it in his and Bud's hand, fired one round up through Bud's chin into his brain, allowing the gun to fall naturally to the floor of the vehicle. Four of the six shots had been fired, and the weapon would quickly be traced to the death of Craig's former secretary. Abe walked casually to where Earl and Jason were waiting, climbed in the back seat, and the threesome headed toward the airport where Bo would be waiting.