Adamarus started to get up, but Bugs extended its arm and stopped him, “I do not know if there is more than one shooter.”
Adamarus started to get back down, but the security guards had arrived and were surrounding them, pulling them up and rushing them away.
---
A security man halted President Wicker on his way to his next meeting and whispered in his ear, telling him of the attack.
Wicker’s eyes went wide. “My God. Was anyone hurt?”
Two more security personnel ran up and joined them then they all immediately turned and headed back to the president’s office. One of them, listening to an earbud, finally answered Wicker, “No. Everyone is okay. We are evacuating everyone right now. We’ll use the standard emergency egress caravan to get them to safety.”
“Good. What about the shooter?” Wicker asked.
The agent got on his radio. After a few minutes, he said, “The Loud named Bugs says that the shooter is dead. Bugs is getting ready to escort a detail to the shooter’s location via helicopter, which I understand is some three miles away.”
Wicker had many questions but he decided they’d wait. “I want full security details assigned to each of the special team. Who was the target?”
“Adamarus, it seems.”
“Adamarus?” Wicker said, shocked. “Adamarus’ wife and son are at the spaceport waiting for him. Get security on them as well as soon as possible and get them to a safe house.”
“Yes, sir.”
---
Adamarus and Evelyn were grouped together and taken in one direction while Leewood and Harrington were taken in another.
Adamarus asked, “Where are we going?”
One of the security guards answered, “We’re getting you out of here and taking you to a safe house.” Then Adamarus and Evelyn were shoved into a car with dark tinted windows and, among many other identical cars, they raced out of the Capitol Building compound, each of the cars heading in a different direction.
---
The helicopter landed on the ice plant covering the parameter of the spaceport. The avatar’s sub-nite domes had already mapped out the cave and backtracked the tunnel to the manhole cover. He walked directly to it, grabbed the fake manhole cover and ripped it off.
They proceeded down the ladder, broke out flashlights then proceeded through the underground pipe to the entrance of the cave. On the way, Bugs tried to explain how it knew exactly how to lead them to the hide. Bugs halted, stopping everyone outside the cave saying, “We don’t want to contaminate the crime scene, do we? At least that’s how it is on the video programs we’ve watched.”
The leader of the detail barked a laugh at this as he peeked inside the main cave, saw the body and the remains of the gun. “You’re right. We need to get forensics here.”
---
Adamarus and Evelyn were driven to a nondescript home an hour’s drive from the Capitol Building and, as agents took position around the house, they were escorted to an upstairs bedroom. There was a video screen, a love seat and two chairs, a dresser and a bed. An agent told them, “Stay in this room until we’re sure we were not followed,” then left, closing the door.
They looked at each other, then Evelyn hesitantly sat in one of the chairs. Adamarus went to the window and carefully looked out. It overlooked a central courtyard.
He heard a noise and turned back to Evelyn. She was shaking violently and hyperventilating. Adamarus rushed to her and put an arm around her. “Hey there, we’re safe now.”
“I know but, but, but Bugs said the bullet would have hit you in the head, passed through then hit me in the head. Oh, God.” She was slipping into shock.
Adamarus held her tight and kept talking to her. After a few minutes, she seemed to settle down.
She said, “I need to lie down,” and pulled Adamarus to the bed.
He pried her loose and laid her down. She went into a fetal position and started shaking again. He sat down on the bed beside her and held her. Soon she settled down again.
She opened her eyes—their faces were close together. Still breathing hard, she looked into his eyes then lowered her gaze to his mouth. Then, slowly, she moved closer, tilted her head and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her back. Suddenly it became desperate and hungry and they kissed each other harder and more frantically. Evelyn reached down, found what she wanted and started stroking it. Adamarus began caressing her breast. Her hand moved to his belt buckle and he moved to the buttons on her top, but before anything could be undone...there was a knock at the door.
They quickly broke apart and Adamarus sat up. Evelyn curled up and hid her face in her arms. Both of them were breathing hard.
The door opened. An agent peeked in. “Are you okay in here?”
Adamarus just looked at the agent for a moment and then he got up and walked over to him. He was having trouble controlling his breathing. He exhaled then, in a lowered voice, said, “She’s...well...pretty shook up...probably in shock.”
“You don’t look too good yourself, sir. We’ll get a doctor to look at both of you. We don’t believe we were followed. I think you’re both safe now.”
“Good,” Adamarus said, turning to go back to Evelyn.
“Sir?”
Adamarus turned.
“Do you want to contact your wife?”
Adamarus paused and then said, “In a few minutes.” He gestured toward Evelyn, “When I...when she’s settled down some more.”
“Okay.” The agent left, closing the door.
Adamarus returned to the bed, Evelyn sat up and they hugged each other tightly.
After a while, Evelyn’s breath returned to something like normal. She separated herself from him and said, “I’m sorry.” Her face was still flushed. Her chest rose and fell.
Adamarus held her hand. “It’s alright. I’m sorry too.” He was having trouble keeping his eyes off her breasts as they moved up and down. He smiled, “But...” he let out a breath and squeezed her hand, “maybe not...that sorry.” They smiled tentatively at each other. “Hey, it’s a natural reaction many people have...I mean to violence and/or life threatening situations.”
“Getting frantically and uncontrollably horny?” she asked with a laugh.
“Exactly, look it up. It’s true.”
“Oh, good,” she said in a small voice, “For a moment I thought it was just us.”
Adamarus laughed a little but said nothing. He just squeezed her hand again and smiled sadly.
---
De Bella ground his teeth as he watched the breaking news story in silence. He couldn’t believe that Aaron Tower had failed. The word he had gotten was that Tower never failed. Now everyone would be covered with airtight security and be completely out of reach.
De Bella turned his mind to another serious concern—how carefully he had insulated himself from today’s event. He had thought it over many times since he’d decided to hire Tower...but now he went over it all again. He was safe...wasn’t he? Well, if not, he’d planned a drastic but final and hopefully foolproof way out long ago, and thinking about it now, he realized that, though drastic and somewhat scary, it had a lot of advantages.
He sipped his brandy and thought it all through again. When he finished, he found he was no longer watching or listening to the unfolding news story—he was looking at his antique wall clock. He was watching the second hand slowly work its way around the dial.
Yes, he decided, it was time to take that final way out—time to make the big move. Then time really would be on his side and then...he would destroy Wicker and his administration as well as their big military buildup from the inside.
Yes, he mused, he would still have his revenge.
---
Pierce Everson, the Director of the FCB—The Federal Crime Bureau—stood before President Wicker’s desk. “His name was Aaron Tower,” he said. “Arguably the best assassin still around. We believe he was responsible for at least six assassinations and we suspect he may have
been involved in others. Primarily these have been Southern Continent gang-related hits; the last was three years ago.”
In the President’s office, standing with the FCB’s director, were Vice President Hollingsworth, Secretary of State Ed Fisher, and Secretary of Defense Sally Barrington.
Everson continued, “The forensic team is still going over the site and we should have more soon.”
The President came around his desk saying, “All of you, please...sit.” Everyone took seats in the couches and chairs surrounding a large coffee table. The President remained standing and leaned back against his desk. “He was three miles away...what kind of rifle can shoot three miles?”
The director of the FCB consulted his PDA. “He was using what seems to be a custom made copy of the Army’s Q27 computerized cannon. It has an accurate range of up to four miles. We’re already trying to find out who made it.”
“Who’s working on it?” Wicker asked.
“We’ve put Special Agent Carl Clavain in charge of the investigation, sir. Carl’s one of our best.”
---
Special Agent Carl Clavain studied the vine covered cliff face through binoculars from the hovering helicopter. He could barely make out the slight difference between the imitation ivy covering the cave and the real stuff. He was impressed.
He told the pilot to land and the helicopter made its way to where four other helicopters were located on the top of the cliff. As soon as the craft touched down, he opened the sliding door, hopped into the ice plant, and, with some difficulty, walked to the group of agents waiting to greet him.
Even at the age of 29, Clavain looked tough and weathered with a deeply tanned face and the muscled body of a weight lifter. Standing exactly six feet tall, his black hair was kept in a buzz cut that matched a seemingly perpetual four o’clock shadow. He wore all black except for the bright orange parka with FCB in large letters on the back.
Inside the group of helicopters, it seemed warm, but a howling wind could be heard mixed with the sounds of the distant spaceport.
One of the six men waiting for him stepped forward, offering his hand, “Carl, glad you’re here.”
Clavain shook the agent’s hand. “Hello, Scoot. Good to see you again.”
Scoot turned, “Carl, this is Rod and Sharon from FCB...”
“We’ve met,” Clavain said with a smile, shaking their hands.
“And this is David Laski, Space Port Security, and Russ Molder and Bert Comings, Presidential Security.”
After shaking hands, Clavain asked, “So what do we have?”
Scoot motioned and the group started walking. “Oh, wait till you see this setup, Carl. Like out of some kind of surreal dream.”
Molder spoke, “A nightmare, you mean.”
It wasn’t easy walking through the thick ice plant. Upon stepping outside the shelter of the grouped helicopters, a cold wind hit the group, making progress even harder and causing everyone to zip up their coats or parkas and put their hands in their pockets.
A dozen or so men and women from different agencies stood around in the ice plant, some performing tasks, some talking. Clavain immediately noticed the Loud avatar coming toward them. To make its way through the ice plant, the five-foot robot was jumping up several feet with each step. It looked comical as hell.
Scoot turned to Clavain and had to speak loudly to be heard, “That’s the infamous Bugs, the hero of the day.”
Clavain nodded, “Yeah, heard about that.”
Bugs came up to the group and stopped. “Special Agent Clavain?”
Clavain nodded and said, “Bugs, a pleasure.”
The five-foot high avatar barely cleared the ground cover. It said, “All of you please listen carefully. Do not turn and attempt to look, but my sensors have detected a man on top of the tallest building on your left. He appears to be trying to conceal himself while watching us through binoculars. I detected him five minutes ago.”
---
Jake’s insides felt hollow. He’d seen the Feds carry the body bag out and, still in a state of shock, numbly watched the distant cliff top through binoculars.
He didn’t know what to do. He’d seen the fifth helicopter land and then saw the ridiculous looking Loud walk-jumping toward the group. He wasn’t really paying much attention as his mind raced, trying to imagine what had happened to Aaron. He had no idea how he’d missed his targets, how he’d been detected or how he’d been killed.
The Loud and the group of Feds paused as they met, then one of the men got on his com unit.
For no apparent reason, Jake felt he’d overstayed his welcome—he could learn no more and it was time to leave. Staying crouched down, he made his way to the stairwell door and then hurried to the elevator. He’d jammed the door open with a book he’d been carrying around pretending to read so the elevator was waiting for him. The 22 stories down to the ground level actually passed quite quickly. He exited and made his way quickly out of the building’s front door and started walking down the sidewalk toward his car, which was parked a block away.
The sun was low and people were getting off work. The sidewalks were getting crowded.
He had reached his car and had just pulled out when suddenly lights and movement in his rearview mirror caught his eye. Stunned, he watched half a dozen police cars, lights on but sirens off, merge on the building he’d just left. They came from all directions and screeched to a halt in front of the building’s front door. A dozen officers jumped out and ran into the building.
“Fuck,” Jake muttered, as he realized how narrow his escape had been. The fear sent chills through his body and his heart pounded in his chest. Hands shaking and suppressing the urge to floor the accelerator, he drove slowly away.
Chapter Three – The Grand Getaway
“Virtual particles pop in and out of existence, creating vacuum energy. About ten thousand times smaller, s-strings dance and tangle to generate space-time. For s-strings to interact, they must have the same internal alignment. If an s-string that’s part of you, has a different internal alignment from an s-string right next to it, those s-strings cannot interact—a good thing if that s-string happens to be a part of a star. To you, that star is a light-year away. However, what’s important is that the only reason it’s a light-year away from you is that its s-strings have a slightly different internal alignment. That difference in alignment is what emerges as that space-time between you and the star.”
The Loud Named Bugs
Opening Speech to the 23rd Annual Symposium on Quantum Physics
Source: The Archive
President Wicker shook each person’s hand as the seven men filed out of the conference room. Secretary of Defense Sally Barrington stood next to Wicker, helping him with the farewells.
Barrington was a tall thin woman with shoulder-length brown hair, brown eyes and a perpetual serious, no nonsense expression.
When at last their guests were gone, Wicker closed the conference room door and looked down, composing himself. Focusing on the meeting—forcing himself to put the assassination attempt aside—had been stressful. It was clear the attendees knew nothing about the attempt and Wicker had decided not to tell them.
Yes, just another totally in control day here at the capital, he thought.
The representatives were from the three companies that mined the moons of Aster and Serena. Wicker and Barrington had told them that they would have to bring on more employees and equipment because Amular would need every resource from those moons for the defensive buildup within the next fifty years.
They could not tell them about the black hole on its way that would pass so close to both gas giants that most of their moons would be pulled out of orbit and flung across the star system necessitating their destruction before that happened.
“Well,” Barrington said, “I think that went okay.”
“It was a bit awkward though.” Wicker looked up at her, “Do you think I should have said something to them about the shooting?”
“No, it would have distracted them and that’s one meeting we needed to get out of the way.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
There was a knock on the door and Wicker opened it. It was a member of the president’s security staff. “Sir, they’re back from the site and waiting for you.”
Wicker nodded then looked at Barrington, motioning with his head that she should follow him.
As they quickly strode down the hall, Wicker leaned in toward Barrington, “Our mining friends are probably finding out right now. Wonder how they’ll take the news.”
The tall woman nodded, “They’ll be absolutely dumbfounded. They’ll think back to how you conducted the meeting the whole time knowing that someone had just tried to kill Admiral Maximus.”
They turned into the president’s reception area—Wicker gave his secretary a look and she responded, “They’re waiting in your office, Mr. President.”
Wicker said, “Thank you, Sharon,” and he opened the door and they walked in.
The group inside turned toward them as they entered. It included Vice President Hollingsworth, Secretary of State Ed Fisher, the director of the FCB, Pierce Everson, and Special Agent Carl Clavain. Also in attendance were the heads of security for the president, the Capitol Building and the Axis Spaceport. Finally, in the center and looking out of place was Bugs.
“Everyone, please take a seat,” Wicker walked around his desk and sat down. “Mr. Everson, your report?”
Everson had just sat down and he considered standing again, but changed his mind. “Forensics is still going over the site, Mr. President; however, what we know now is that a man named Aaron Benton Tower was the shooter. He was killed…” he cleared his throat, “when the weapon he was using exploded which, if you don’t mind, we’ll get into later.”
Wicker had already gotten the unbelievable story of Bugs intercepting the bullet and sending it back where it had come from. He nodded.
“Tower is a well-known assassin considered by many to be the best in the business—we’ve been after him for years. The weapon he was using was a custom-built job with computer-aided sighting. Using the weapon’s computer, which was undamaged, we are currently locating and collecting a half dozen wind sensors placed between it and the target area. Obviously, last night’s fire was staged to clear out the trees bordering the helicopter pads.” Everson looked down and shook his head.
Countdown Amageddon (The Spiral Slayers Book 2) Page 7