The Long Shot (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  As the secretary scurried away, Mulholland motioned to two grey sofas which were set at right angles to each other in the far corner of his office. The sofas faced a low, square brass and glass table on which were scattered half a dozen law-enforcement magazines. “Let’s sit over there, shall we, Cole, it’ll give us a bit more elbow room.” As the two men walked across the office, Mulholland slapped Howard on the back, a friendly pile-driving blow which almost rattled his teeth. “I’m really glad to have you on the team, Cole, you’ve done some great work on this. Great work.”

  Mulholland reminded Howard of a crusading general who’d happily lead his men into battle, rushing towards a hail of bullets in the sure and certain knowledge that he couldn’t be touched, while all around him his adoring troops fell dying and wounded. He inspired confidence, but Howard felt that he was a bit too gung-ho, and too lavish with his praise. Howard put his briefcase by the side of one of the sofas and sat down, smoothing the creases of his trousers. Mulholland pulled over a high-backed swivel chair and placed it facing the sofas. A balding man of medium height in a cheap brown suit came into the office. Mulholland introduced him as Hank O’Donnell, Jr, director of the Counter-Terrorism section. O’Donnell looked more like a career bureaucrat than an anti-terrorism agent, and when Howard shook hands with him he noticed that his fingers were stained with ink as if he’d been writing with a leaky pen. He had a file under his arm. As O’Donnell moved to sit down on one of the sofas, Howard saw that the seat of the man’s pants were shiny as if he spent a lot of time sitting down.

  Another man entered the office and Mulholland introduced him as an agent from the Counter-Terrorism (Europe) Division. Frank Sullivan was tall with sandy hair, a sallow complexion and a sprinkling of freckles across his snub nose. He explained that Don Clutesi was out on a surveillance operation and that he would be back in the office within the hour. Sullivan sprawled on the sofa while Mulholland eased himself into the chair like some omnipotent monarch taking his throne.

  “This is by way of a pre-briefing prior to a meeting which we’ll be having with the Secret Service in Washington later tonight,” said Mulholland, his massive forearms folded across his barrel chest. “I want to get a feel for exactly what we’re up against here. Cole, you’ve done the lion’s share of the work on this, why don’t you bring us up to speed?”

  Howard nodded and picked up his briefcase. He unlocked it and took out the files it contained, and dropped two of them onto the glass table. “Mary Hennessy and Matthew Bailey, both members of the Provisional Irish Republican Army, both wanted for murder by the British,” he said, “and both of them were filmed taking part in an assassination rehearsal in the Arizona desert.” He put a third file on the table. “Ilich Ramirez Sanchez, AKA Carlos the Jackal, the world’s most notorious terrorist responsible for a string of murders, hijackings and kidnappings. He was with Hennessy and Bailey in Arizona as they put three snipers through their paces.” He put the two Navy personnel files on the desk. “Rich Lovell and Lou Schoelen,” he said, “former Navy SEALs and expert snipers. Capable of hitting targets at a range of two thousand yards. The third sniper we haven’t managed to identify yet.”

  Hank O’Donnell coughed quietly. “I think we might be able to cast some light on the third sniper,” he said, and handed his file to Howard. “Dina Rashid, Lebanese, one of the Christian militia’s best snipers.”

  Howard opened the file. A colour photograph of a thin-faced girl with long brown hair, dark skin and black eyes was clipped to the inside cover. Howard remembered that the third sniper in the video had long hair.

  “According to our Middle East Division, Rashid has been missing from Beirut for the past five months, and there’s a general request out for information on her whereabouts,” O’Donnell continued. “We’ve no record of her entering the US, but then we had no record of Hennessy, Bailey or Carlos passing through Immigration, either. You’ll see from the file that she and Carlos are not exactly strangers.” He coughed, almost apologetically. “In fact, for a time they were lovers.”

  Howard nodded, and put the file on top of the rest. “We all know that Carlos was one of a number of terrorists summoned to Iraq by Saddam Hussein, and it’s generally assumed that they were briefed on a terrorist campaign aimed at the States and the United Kingdom.”

  Mulholland leant forward, linking his fingers. “It’s more than an assumption, Cole. The IRA were among those who attended the meetings in Baghdad and only weeks afterwards they launched a mortar attack on Downing Street.”

  Sullivan nodded. “There were several known IRA terrorists reported in Iraq over Christmas 1990, and the mortar attack was on February 7, 1991. The British Prime Minister, John Major, was in the Cabinet Room with his War Cabinet, and they were damn lucky not to have been killed. One of the mortars landed in the garden of Number 10 Downing Street and cracked the windows. Margaret Thatcher had installed blast-proof net curtains some years previously – that’s what saved them.”

  “There’s no suggestion that Hennessy or Bailey were involved, is there?” Howard asked.

  Sullivan shook his head. “Special Branch have their theories, but neither Hennessy nor Bailey was mentioned. Bailey was in the States at the time, anyway.”

  “I remember the bombing, but I didn’t realise that Iraq was behind it,” said Howard.

  “That’s the way Saddam wants it,” said O’Donnell, quietly. “It’s revenge he wants, not publicity.”

  “Which brings us to the target,” said Mulholland. “Bob Sanger has already put the Secret Service’s Intelligence Division on full alert. But are we sure that the President is the target?”

  Howard sat back, his hands on his knees. “I don’t know, Ed. I just don’t know. I haven’t had time to put together a comprehensive list, but the British Prime Minister is over here in a few days, the Prince of Wales is here on a Royal visit next month. A number of British politicians and business leaders are coming, and many of them could be a target. Most of the visiting politicians are from the Conservative Party, and several of the businessmen are in defence industries.”

  Mulholland nodded. “Tell me about these computer experts you have over at the White House,” he said.

  Howard explained about Andy Kim’s work on the computer model of the assassination.

  “Have you thought about inputting different targets into the program?” asked Mulholland. “Could we do all the British VIPs?”

  “We’ve thought about it, but there are time constraints, and who do we put forward as targets if it isn’t the President? We don’t have the resources to run the model for every visiting dignitary, even if we restrict ourselves to the Brits. And what about other American possibilities? We could consider every member of Congress as a potential target. There are just too many names. And who says it’s a politician? There are plenty of likely targets in the military who Saddam would like to see blown away.”

  Mulholland nodded. “What are the time constraints you mentioned?”

  Howard explained about the telephone tap and that Lou Schoelen had told his mother everything would be over within two weeks. When he told the group about identifying the television station from the Star Trek episode, they laughed.

  “Outstanding,” said Mulholland.

  “Inspired,” added O’Donnell, slapping his own leg.

  “So, we know the hit is going down on the East Coast, and that it’s going to go ahead within the next two weeks. What are our options?” asked Mulholland.

  “We could cancel all the President’s public appearances for the next two weeks,” said Howard.

  “He’d never agree to that,” said Mulholland.

  “In view of the circumstances . . .”

  Mulholland shook his head. “I’ve already run the idea by Bob Sanger – his view is that Presidential security is already one hundred per cent, there is nothing more that can be done short of putting him in a nuclear shelter.”

  “We could put out a press release saying he had a me
dical problem,” suggested Howard.

  “That’s certainly been done before, but the view from the White House is that the President can’t run for cover every time we uncover a conspiracy,” said Mulholland. “If we did that, he’d never leave the White House. I gather there’s an element of pride, too. If Saddam Hussein is behind this, the President doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing that he’s afraid.”

  “What about putting them on the Ten Most Wanted List?” asked O’Donnell, his voice low as if frightened of intruding.

  “Who? The snipers or the terrorists?” asked Mulholland.

  “I thought the snipers,” said O’Donnell. “If they know we’re on to them, they might get cold feet.”

  “In which case they might try again some other time,” said Howard.

  “Cole’s right,” said Mulholland. “Plus, it’s Carlos who’s planning this, I’m sure, and if the snipers back out he’ll get others. This Rashid woman sounds like she’s got personal reasons for being involved, so she’s unlikely to be scared off. But we could put Bailey and Hennessy on the list. Carlos, too. They’re wanted terrorists.”

  “And what would we put on the wanted poster?” asked Howard. “We don’t have fingerprints, and they haven’t committed a crime in the US.”

  “There was Bailey’s attempt to buy the missile in LA,” said Sullivan. “There are legitimate reasons for the FBI being interested in Bailey and Hennessy.”

  “Hardly justifies putting them on the Ten Most Wanted, though, does it?” asked Howard. “You’re going to get a lot of questions from the media, too, especially if we let it be known we’re searching for Carlos. I assume we’re not going public on why we want these people.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Mulholland. “But we could just push the terrorist angle. Cracking down on the IRA as part of a joint operation with the British.”

  “It’d be a first,” said Howard. “The media would be sure to start asking questions. And I doubt if it would get results quickly enough. You have to remember the two-week deadline.”

  “What about the British?” asked O’Donnell. “Are we bringing them in on this?”

  “What are your feelings, Hank?” said Mulholland.

  O’Donnell shrugged. “Relations aren’t exactly cordial between the Bureau and MI5 at the moment,” he said. “Too many cooks, you know?”

  “But we’re keeping them informed, right?”

  “There are information memos in the system, but not red-tagged,” said O’Donnell. “We’ve told them that Bailey and Hennessy have been seen, but we haven’t told them about Carlos yet. I hadn’t thought it necessary at this stage.”

  “Do you have any thoughts as to why the IRA have teamed up with Carlos?” asked Mulholland. O’Donnell chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully and Mulholland smiled. “Just shooting the breeze, Hank. Nothing written in stone.”

  O’Donnell nodded. “At this stage of the investigation, anything has to be conjecture,” he said slowly. “If you were to press me, I’d say that the IRA is smoothing the way for Carlos, that he’s in charge and they’re arranging passports, driving licences, hotels, the infrastructure that would be required by an operation of this nature. Carlos hasn’t operated in the United States before. As far as we’re aware, this is his first time in the country. The IRA, however, has a long tradition of involvement in the US. Much of their fund-raising is done here, and the US is often used as a safe haven when things get too hot for them in Ireland. The Irish community also networks better than almost any other minority group. There are legal networks offering jobs, advice and support, but there are underground networks too, supplying weapons and counterfeit papers. Carlos wouldn’t be able to plug into those networks, but Hennessy and Bailey would.”

  O’Donnell’s views were greeted by a succession of nodding heads. Mulholland cracked his knuckles, the small explosions echoing around the office. “It goes without saying that the capture of Carlos would be a major coup for the Bureau. However, I agree with Cole that we can’t launch a manhunt for Carlos without facing some pretty awkward questions from the media. And as he pointed out, going after the snipers won’t get us anywhere. Lovell and Schoelen appear to be nothing more than hired guns. Bearing in mind the time constraints, I think we should go all out to find Bailey and Hennessy, on the assumption that they are with Carlos. But Carlos is our prime target. And I mean target, gentlemen. Whether we apprehend him dead or alive isn’t the issue.”

  Mulholland looked over at Sullivan. “Frank, you’re going to have to put pressure on your informers – find out where Hennessy and Bailey are, what ID they’re using, who they spoke to, the works. Put the squeeze on anyone who’s overstayed their visa or who’s working here illegally. Anyone who doesn’t co-operate gets put on the next Aer Lingus flight back to Ireland. And I want you to contact all our offices in those cities with large Irish communities and get them to put feelers out. Don is going to be coming with us to Washington, but I’ll assign you all the manpower you need.” Mulholland saw that Howard wanted to speak. “You have something in mind, Cole?” he asked.

  “Just a thought,” said Howard. “I don’t think putting Hennessy and Bailey on the Most Wanted List will produce results in time. Why don’t we go public instead? Run their photographs on one of the TV shows – America’s Most Wanted or Unsolved Mysteries – the shows that get viewers to solve crimes.”

  “I don’t think going public on an assassination conspiracy is the way to go,” said Mulholland, frowning.

  Howard shook his head. “We fake it,” he said. “We run their photographs and descriptions, but we say we’re hunting them for armed robbery or drug smuggling. Get the viewers to call in if they’ve seen them. Some of those shows have really high success rates.”

  “That’s an idea,” said Mulholland. “They do owe us favours, that’s for sure. It’d be a rush job, though. Let me speak to a producer I know; if it can be done in time we’ll go for it.” He slapped his knees with his big hands. “Okay, let’s get to it. Hank, grab Don when he gets here, we’ll meet downstairs in forty-five minutes. Make sure that everyone knows that for the next few days we’ll be based at the White House. Katie will have the numbers. Frank, thanks for sitting in on this. We’ll be depending on you to get some sort of handle on Carlos.”

  O’Donnell and Sullivan left the office, but when Howard made a move to follow them, Mulholland grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “Wait a moment, will you, Cole, I’d like a word?” He closed the door behind the departing agents and then stood leaning against his desk, his legs crossed at the ankles and his huge forearms folded across his chest. “First, I just want to repeat that I think you’ve done a first-class job on this investigation so far. I’m not the sort of director who takes credit for his operatives’ hard work, I want you to know that. When this is all over, credit will go where it’s due, I promise you.” He smiled, showing chunky white teeth that were so close together they seemed to be a seamless strip across his mouth. “Nail your colours to my mast, and I’ll back you all the way.”

  Howard nodded, unsure whether or not the director was being totally honest. He’d been in the FBI long enough to know that it was action that counted, not words. “I sure appreciate that,” he said.

  “Secondly, I wanted to talk to you now about our meeting with Bob Sanger. I gather you two have met?”

  “Once, to brief him on Andy Kim’s computer model.”

  “What did you think?”

  Howard watched Mulholland’s eyes, sensing a trap. For all he knew, Mulholland and Sanger could be bosom brothers. He shrugged casually. “He seemed very professional. He was keen to move the Kims into the White House to give them access to Secret Service data. But as you said, he seems to think that Presidential security is above reproach. I think he was humouring me.”

  “Yeah, that’s Bob’s way,” said Mulholland, grinning. “You’ve got to remember that Bob Sanger has only one function in life – to protect the President.
He’s not interested in arrests, in solving crimes, in tracking down fugitives. All he cares about is getting the man through his term of office in one piece. Bob is like most of the top echelons of the service, he came up through the ranks. They start with the quarterlies and the watch lists, clearing the way in advance of a presidential visit, then they move up to actual bodyguarding, running interference in crowds, standing around the motorcade, escorting him wherever he goes. They spend their entire time waiting for some maniac to take a pot-shot at the President, and they know that when that happens, they have to throw themselves in the path of the bullet. That’s what the Service is there for – to take the bullet meant for the President. Something happens to the men who take on that job. You get to see it in their eyes, it’s the same thousand-yard stare you see with Vietnam veterans. But something changes behind the eyes, too. Their perspective alters, after a while they start to think of themselves as above the rest of the law enforcement agencies. They think they’re an élite, and that there’s nothing they can learn from anyone else. They forget that we have a quarter of a billion people to protect, with millions of offenders. I’m not saying Bob Sanger’s gone that way, but I’m not surprised that you thought he was humouring you. When we meet with him I want you to remember that his interest, his only interest, is to protect the President. It’s the Bureau that wants to capture Carlos, Hennessy and Bailey. We’ll be working with the Secret Service, but their objectives are different. They’ll be just as happy for Carlos to leave the country as they would be if we captured him. Bob is more likely to prefer to put Carlos on the Ten Most Wanted list than to try a softly-softly approach. If he tries to suggest that, let me handle it, okay?”

  “That’s fine by me,” agreed Howard.

  “Good man,” said Mulholland. He pushed himself up off the desk and slapped Howard on the back. “Okay, Cole, let me phone my producer friend and then we’ll get that chopper to Washington.”

  The ringing phone jolted Patrick Farrell awake, but it took several seconds for him to clear his head. He was a deep sleeper and it took a lot to rouse him. He reached over for the receiver and grunted.