by Bobby Nash
Growing up in Atlanta, Snow once knew the streets like the back of his hand. Unfortunately for him, there had been a lot of changes while he was away. Thankfully, he had been reminded the day before that the one thing that remained constant in this city was Interstate 75/85, which merged together in Atlanta, but then split off in separate directions on both the north and south sides of the city. The route the sniper’s car took would put her on the bridge to the northbound lane. It was a one way street that went nowhere else.
If he was fast enough, he could get ahead of her by following the road that ran alongside the mall. For once, Atlanta’s one way streets worked in his favor. There was a chance he could get ahead of the getaway car.
He was almost completely out of breath when he reached the end of the street, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. He hopped the fence and slid down the grassy embankment to the bridge just in time to see the car he was chasing turn onto the ramp.
He was too late.
If there was one constant to Atlanta traffic, it was how bad it was. Snow cursed. It was just his luck that today was not one of those moments. Of course, he realized that Mac’s guys had probably stopped traffic, which worked against him. It did, however, leave him a clear shot.
Snow opened up with the gun and fired the remaining shots at the sniper’s car. The rear window shattered, as did the taillight. He’d scored several direct hits, but it wasn’t enough to do more than superficial damage to the car.
“You okay?” Mac asked as he came to a rest next to him.
“I’ll live.” He clutched at his chest. “I think.”
“Did you get her, at least?”
“No,” he said, panting around gulps of air. “Ran out of bullets.”
“I’ve put out an APB. We’ll get her.”
“I hope so.” Snow eased down on the grass, his chest aching from the exertion.
Mac sat down next to him. “The bomb?”
Snow held up the plastic pieces and dropped them into Mac’s hand. “It’s a dummy,” he said. “Just like me.”
Mac blew out a breath. “That’s a relief, at least.” He shook his head and laughed. “The fake bomb part. Not you being a dummy.”
“Yeah. Well, she suckered me good.”
“You weren’t the only one, pal,” Mac said. “My SAC is not going to be too happy with me.”
“I’ll back you up with the special agent in charge,” Snow said.
“I appreciate that,” Mac said. “Not sure that’ll do much good. You aren’t Bureau.”
Snow smiled. “No, but I do have a connection or two.”
Mac laughed. “Sit tight. I’ll call us a ride. I’m not anxious to hike back up that hill.”
“Neither am I,” Snow said. “Neither am I.”
6.
Matters hadn’t quieted down at the hotel by the time they returned.
Agent MacClellan had used his fancy FBI badge to commandeer a taxi to get them back to the scene without waiting for someone official to come pick them up. Abraham Snow was happy to get out of the cab. He knew that Mac was worried about him. He couldn’t blame him. Snow was worried too. The pain in his chest, brought on by the exertion, no doubt, had eased but was not gone completely. Mac’s insistence on calling a medic to check on him had grown tiresome before they had made it even halfway back to the hotel. Snow finally agreed to talk with one of the paramedics just to shut his friend up.
He was cleared and released by the medic but with a stern warning to take it easy.
After checking on Samantha and making sure she was all right, Mac badged them through the crowd and vouched for Snow. They were ushered through the barricade with no fuss. One of Mac’s men came over to him as soon as he caught sight of them.
“What’s going on here, Fitz?” Mac asked.
“We’ve got one DOA. Security for one of the delegates,” Agent Fitzkirk said as he fell into step with Agent MacClellan.
“Salizar’s man.”
“Yes.”
“Is he our only casualty?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve got other injuries but nothing too serious. There’s also—”
Mac stopped. “Great. Start pulling camera footage.” He pointed to several of the cameras that were placed around the entire hotel. “This place is covered top to bottom, save for inside the rooms. We’ll get a good timeline document of events.”
“Already on it. There is something else,” Fitz started.
Mac held up a finger, cutting him off. “Follow up on the APB. My guess is the shooter got away, but keep on state and local LEOs. We need to keep moving on this.”
“You got it. There’s one more thing.”
“What is it, Fitz?”
Agent Fitzkirk pointed toward a small gathering of people near the bridge to the elevator. “Simonson’s here, and he’s looking for you.”
“That didn’t take long,” Mac said with a shake of his head. “You get on those cameras and APB. I’ll brief Arthur.”
“Who is Simonson?” Snow asked once they were on the move.
“Special Agent in Charge, Arthur Simonson,” Mac said. “He runs the local office. This probably won’t be pleasant.”
“There you are,” Simonson said when he saw Mac approach. Snow immediately sized him up as a career bureaucrat. He knew the type and had crossed swords with more than one in his career. If he were to get hold of the man’s file, it would no doubt say that he was intelligent, probably top of his class at whatever Ivy League college his scholarship, named after someone in his family tree, paid for in full. Snow would be surprised if he was anything other than a lawyer. What he lacked in actual fieldwork experience, he made up for in having memorized the FBI rule book backward and forward.
Snow immediately took a dislike to the man.
Special Agent in Charge, Arthur Simonson, spread his hands out to take in the damage all around him. “I’m guessing you’ve got a good explanation for this screw up, Agent MacClellan,” he said. From his tone, he was looking for someone to place the blame on, and Mac was the lucky winner.
Mac cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve got an explanation, but I wouldn’t call it a good one.”
“This is no time for jokes, agent. A man was killed right here.”
“I am aware of that, sir,” Mac said, going on the defensive. He pointed a few feet away. “I was standing right there when the bullets started flying.”
““Watch your tone, agent,” Simonson said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, sir,” Mac said, clearly biting back the words he really wanted to say. Snow had known Mac since they were kids. His mouth had gotten them into quite a bit of trouble back then, not to mention a few fights as well. Young Mac wouldn’t have reined in the comment the way his mature older self did when confronted by his boss. Snow wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or sad.
As Mac explained that he was pulling camera footage and had engaged local law enforcement to help in the search for the sniper, a voice whispered from beside Snow. “Are you okay?” He had seen his grandfather approaching, concern etched on his face.
“I’m fine.”
“Now who’s a bad liar,” Archer said, keeping his voice low. “You look like you’re ready to pass out.”
“I’ll be fine. How’s everyone?”
“They’re okay. Douglas is sticking close to Samantha. She’s good.”
“Thank God,” Snow said.
Before Snow could say anything more, SAC Simonson noticed him. He pointed in Snow’s direction. “And who are you?”
“Abraham Snow.” He stuck out a hand, but the FBI agent did not shake it.
“Would you care to tell me what you’re doing at my crime scene, Mr. Snow? I’ve been told that you’re responsible for a lot of this mess.”
“I just happened to be in the right place at the right time to help,” Snow said.
“I see we’ve got another jokester here. Unless you want me to have you arrested, Mr. Snow, I suggest you stow your poor atte
mpt at humor.”
“Now you wait just a minute,” Archer said, leaping to his grandson’s defense. “I suggest you watch your tone, son. We’re all on the same team here.”
Simonson shook his head. “And you are?”
“Archer Snow. Snow Security. This man is my grandson.”
“You must be so proud,” Simonson muttered.
“You got a business card?” Snow asked his grandfather before the old man could say anything more.
“Sure.” Biting back a retort, he handed one over from his shirt pocket.
Snow took out an ink pen and scribbled a name and number on the back of the card then stepped forward and offered it to Agent Simonson.
“What’s this?”
“Call the number on the card and ask for General Henry Pinkwell,” Snow said. “Ask him about me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I can help you. Plus, I have a feeling Homeland’s going to show up and try to take this case away from you shortly. Hell, I’m surprised they aren’t here yet. Having me here will help smooth that transition.”
“I think I can handle Homeland Security, Mr. Snow.”
“I highly doubt it,” Snow said. “Call the number.”
Simonson let out an exasperated breath then pulled out his phone and dialed.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mac asked.
“Trust me,” Snow said.
“Yeah. Like that never gets me in trouble.”
A few seconds later, Agent Simonson walked back over to them. There was a definite change in his demeanor. Instead of an angry man throwing his weight around, his expression now resembled that of a chastised child. He held out the phone for Snow.
“He would like to talk to you,” Simonson said.
“Thank you.” Snow took the phone. “Snow,” he said plainly into the phone, trying hard not to smile in front of the humbled FBI SAC.
“Still making friends I see,” General Pinkwell said. He had been one of Snow’s superiors in his former profession.
“Yes, sir. You know me.”
“This Simonson guy wants to string you up by your entrails, son. I’ve got him toeing the line for the moment, but you watch your step around him.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve set him straight. Had POTUS give you an endorsement since he’s here in the office.”
“I hope I didn’t interrupt an important meeting, sir.”
“Nonsense, son. You feel free to call anytime. I’m never too busy to talk to you,” the general said. “I take it you saw Salizar.”
“I did indeed.”
“Tread carefully, Abraham. You know what’s at stake here.”
“Kid gloves, yes, sir. All I want to do is have a conversation. I need intel on the shooter, and I can’t think of a better source, can you?”
“Not at all. Just watch your six.”
“Always,” Snow said.
“You think he’s involved?”
“Not sure, sir. He was clearly the target, but beyond that, I’m uncertain.”
“Our lives might have been a bit simpler if you hadn’t intervened and let the shooter take out his sorry ass,” the general reminded him.
“You know me, sir. Always leaping before I look.”
“That’s why you’re one of the good guys,” Pinkwell said. “It also makes you a giant pain in my ass.”
“Well, you did tell me to get a hobby, sir.”
The general laughed. “I guess I did.”
“Sorry to interrupt your meeting. Please give Traveler my regards.”
“I will. He asked me to send along his regards for your recovery as well.”
“Tell him I appreciated the fruit basket.”
“I will,” Pinkwell said. “Agent Simonson shouldn’t give you any more trouble, but if he does…”
“You’ll be my first call,” Snow said, smiling for the first time since he took the phone from the frustrated FBI agent, who was staring daggers at him. “I appreciate the help, General.”
“Listen, I’ve got to get back in there. There’s a package headed your way, something I think might help speed matters along. It should be there any minute now.” The normally hard-bitten military commander’s voice softened. “How are you feeling, Abraham?”
“Five by five, sir,” Snow said, choosing his words carefully as all eyes were on him.
“After you finish up there, give me a call when you’ve got time to talk. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”
The general ended the call, and Snow passed the phone back to Agent Simonson.
“You’ve got some influential friends, Mr. Snow,” Simonson said. “I’ve been asked to turn over control of this investigation to you.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Agent Simonson,” Snow said. “You should continue doing what you’re doing. I’m only here to help.” He looked toward the entrance and saw someone approach.
“And what will you be doing?” Mac asked.
He pointed to the approaching agent. “First off, I’m going to confer with Homeland Security. Then I’m going to have a little chat with Owen Salizar. I’d like Agent MacClellan to accompany me, if that’s okay with you, Agent Simonson.”
“Fine,” Simonson said.
“Mr. Snow?” the new arrival asked.
“You got him.”
“Agent Redding, Homeland Security.” They shook hands. “General Pinkwell sends his regards. At this time, I’m turning operational control of the scene over to you.”
“Thank you,” Snow said. “But you don’t need me telling you how to do your jobs. Do what you need to do, and we’ll debrief after I talk with the sniper’s target. I will need a full dossier on Salizar, his security team, friends, family, the whole nine. I’ll also need use of your van.”
“You got it,” Redding said. He handed over a small box. “I’ll have everything ready for you in the van. Anything you need, call me. These are for you.”
Snow took the box. “Thank you.”
Without a word to any of the various law enforcement officers standing nearby, Agent Redding did an about face and headed back the way he’d come.
“What the hell just happened?” Agent Simonson said.
Snow pulled a gun, radio, and wallet from the box. He slipped the hard plastic holster onto his belt and slipped the two extra clips into his pocket. The radio went onto the opposite side. He flipped open the wallet. Inside was a freshly minted ID card identifying him as an agent of Homeland Security. A badge accompanied the card.
“I think you’ve just been promoted,” Archer Snow said when he saw it.
“Looks like,” Snow said. He turned to Mac. “What say you and I go talk to Salizar?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Mac said.
7.
A quick elevator ride whisked Snow and Mac to the top floor of the hotel, the forty-third. The level contained only suites, including one currently occupied by Owen Salizar and his party.
“I don’t think you won any points with Simonson,” Mac warned once they were alone inside the elevator car.
“I can’t tell you how not worried I am about that man,” Snow said.
“Yeah, well, I love sticking it to the brass as much as the next guy,” Mac said. “But I still have to work for this guy after all of this is wrapped up and you’re out of the picture. The last thing I need is to be reassigned to some shithole gig because you pissed in his Cheerios.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything blow back on you,” Snow assured him.
“If you say so.”
Snow smiled. “Trust me.”
“Okay,” Mac said, rolling his eyes. “Now I’m worried.”
Snow knocked on the door. He was about to repeat the gesture when the door opened, and the angry security guard he had exchanged words with earlier filled the doorframe. It was the same guard who had refused to give him a weapon downstairs while
they were taking fire.
“What do you want?” the guard said.
Snow flipped open the wallet to show the badge and ID. “I’m Homeland Security. He’s FBI.” He chucked a thumb in Mac’s direction. “We need to talk to your boss.”
The guard seemed to expand, leaning forward and flexing his position, a clear show of strength. Before he could say anything more, a voice called out from inside.
“It’s okay, Erich,” Owen Salizar called from inside. “Let them in.”
Reluctantly, the guard stepped aside and ushered Snow and Mac inside. His frown deepened as they passed. Owen Salizar was sitting at a table at the far end of the room eating a bowl of soup. Next to him, on the end, sat his brother, Jamal. Snow offered the ID wallet again for the man to see, but he barely paid it any attention. Despite that, Mac also showed his credentials.
“Like I told your dog at the door, I’m Agent Snow with Homeland Security. This is Agent MacClellan. He’s with the FBI. We would like to ask you a few questions about the incident downstairs if you have a few minutes.”
Salizar looked up from his soup and fixed the interlopers to his domain with the kind of disdain that men of his ilk brandished like a weapon. They were used to scaring off those beneath them with nothing more than a stare.
“Incident?” Jamal Salizar said, defiant in the face of the agent’s insult to his employer, teeth barred in anger.
Salizar’s aide stood from the chair he was sitting in nearby and put himself between the angry Jamal and Snow. His demeanor was much more calm than Jamal’s. “Is that what you are calling the attempted assassination of Mr. Salizar… an incident?”
“An unfortunate incident,” Snow amended. “And you are…?” he prodded.
“Daniel Keihall. I’m Mr. Salizar’s executive aide.”
“Well, right now, you can aide him by sitting down and staying out of the way while your boss and I chat.”
Properly chastised, Keihall sat down, but only after a small nod from his boss gave him permission to do so.
“Once again, I am astounded by the propensity for rudeness you Americans seem to have in abundance,” Salizar said. “Daniel was merely inquiring, in his own way, if you have succeeded in catching the perpetrator who killed one of my men and tried to kill me and my brother.”