These careful preparations should have been more than enough to prevent an assassin from succeeding in a mission.
But Skyler was no ordinary assassin, and her plan was no ordinary plan.
Even so, she had second thoughts. Not about whether the plan would work, but whether she wanted to go through with it. This morning after calling Anthony she was gripped with lightheadedness, just as she had been yesterday during her reconnaissance. Even now, waves of anxiety, coupled with a deep longing to be safely in Anthony’s arms, lashed at her like storm waves upon a beachhead. She had not felt this confused and uncertain since her indoctrination as a freedom-fighter under Alberto.
After a light workout to clear her head, she took a long hot shower. Drying herself with a towel, she put on the plush Taylor of London terrycloth robe provided by the hotel and drank two full glasses of cold artesian tap water. Then she went back into the elegantly appointed bedroom. Though she felt better now, she couldn’t seem to shake the guilt. It continued to gnaw at her.
She decided to call Anthony again. She punched in his number on her coded mobile, reaching him after two rings.
“I’ve been worried about you,” he said straight away. “God, how I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” she said softly. “But it will all be over soon.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves, Skyler. It will never be over. You’re CIA. There will always be guys like this looking for payback. Because of information you obtained about some important person, some technological innovation, some state secret. It’s all right—I can deal with it. Just don’t pretend the risk will simply vanish once this is over.”
Though his tone was stern, Skyler realized that he was deeply worried about her safety, and she was touched. “If I were to quit the Company, there would be no more threats. I’ve told you I’ve been considering it.”
“Would you really do that?”
“For you I would,” she said, and she meant it.
“Skyler, the way I feel about you...it’s like I’m in an old black-and-white directed by Billy Wilder. I’ve never felt this scared, or alive, in my whole life. And the thing is I like it. I like my stomach being twisted up in knots. I like waiting by the phone wondering if you’ll call. I like not being able to think straight when I hear your voice. I like worrying about you instead of the traffic on the 405 or some stupid production schedule. Am I rambling on like a Pat Conroy novel or do you feel the same way?”
Skyler was choked with emotion. “I feel the same way. And like you, I am powerless to stop it.”
“So I’m not crazy after all?”
“No, of course not.” She was so deeply moved she thought she would cry. “I love you, Anthony. If anything happens to me, it’s important you know that.”
“Don’t say that. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“But if something ever did, please remember that these last few days have been the best of my life. And that I love you.”
“Why are you even saying this? Nothing’s going to happen, okay.”
“Just tell me you love me. I want to hear you say it.”
“I—LOVE—YOU.”
He pronounced each word slowly, passionately, and Skyler felt a longing as never before. Suddenly, it dawned on her that if the plan didn’t work out, she might never see him again. She might be wounded, killed, or captured. She might be forced to run the rest of her life. Anything could happen, and these intimate words between them might be their last.
“I have to go now, Anthony,” she said, feeling like an astronaut about to be launched into outer space. “Goodbye, and remember I love you.”
She punched off before he could say another word. A tear trickled down her cheek and into her mouth. She wiped away the wet trace, pulled out her rosary, kneeled down, and prayed. When she was finished, she made herself a promise.
Whether you live or not, Angela, this is the very last job.
CHAPTER 126
HEADING NORTH ON I-25 in his Cadillac, Locke was on a mission from God. In his mind, what would transpire today in the Civic Center Plaza was most assuredly not murder, and he was no murderer. He was simply the instrument of God’s will. The Heavenly Father had deemed Fowler unfit for the nation’s—indeed the world’s—highest office, and it was up to Locke to execute His wishes. Fowler’s death would be an end, true, but it would also represent a new beginning.
The era of President Dubois. The very thought made Locke’s skin tingle.
He imagined the new Chosen One being sworn in before the Chief Justice, taking the oath of office: “I, Jackson Beauregard Dubois, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States...”
A feeling of euphoria swept through him as he pictured the historic scene.
It lingered in his mind for several minutes, bolstering his resolve and filling him with a patriotic fervor.
And then the fantasy drifted off like a cloud as he peered out his car window. Everywhere he looked he saw God’s magnificent handiwork, and it reinforced the view that he was on a righteous path. To the west, rising high above the naked plains, stood rocky escarpments and spiny ridges and perfect pyramids, the rocky precipices filled in along the flanks by shaggy forests of ponderosa pine. Clear-water creeks sliced through the rock and fed the pebbly rivers forming delicate lattice works across the Great Plains. Closer to the highway, he could see copses of still-leafy cottonwoods, their branches waving to him with melodic movements. There were also spectacular conglomerate monoliths and gently-dipping cuestas, shrouded with sweet-smelling sagebrush.
God’s handiwork—how magnificent!
His reverie was interrupted by his ringing coded mobile. He picked it up from the seat next to him and took the call. “Hello?”
“Benjamin, where are you? We need to talk.”
Skull Eyes! Locke wished he hadn’t answered his phone. But he wasn’t about to let the ex-CIA man or anyone else spoil his fine day. “You have some nerve calling me after what you’ve done. You murdered my daughter in cold blood. Believe me, you are going to pay dearly for that.”
“Come on, Benjamin, you know damn well we had no idea she would be there.”
It was Colonel Heston, and by his hollow, distorted voice, Locke could tell that both he and Skull Eyes were talking into a modulated speakerphone.
“You have overreached, gentlemen. You took matters into your own hands and acted without the Coalition’s authority.”
“We told you it was an accident,” protested Skull Eyes.
“An accident? That’s all you have to say for yourselves. Have you gone completely mad? Don’t you understand what you have done? You killed not just innocent people, but my own daughter! All so you could oust me as chairman!”
“Words cannot describe the sorrow we feel over Susan’s death,” said the colonel. “But it was an accident.”
“No, it was a flagrant abuse of your authority and has perhaps drawn unnecessary attention to the Coalition. Do you have any idea the damage you’ve caused?”
“You’re the one to blame for everything that’s happened,” snarled Skull Eyes. “When we elected you chairman, you took an oath that you would hold yourself to the highest standards of personal conduct, competence, and leadership. But you have failed us completely. You have violated our trust and must step down once and for all.”
“So I’m the one who’s being punished for your crazy scheme?”
“The Committee has voted and you are hereby relieved of your duties as chairman.”
“Without my vote or that of Senator Dubois? Everyone on the Committee knows I wouldn’t kill my own daughter. I’m afraid your plan to overthrow me has failed, gentlemen.”
“The vote was by a quorum of the Executive Committee and cannot be overturned. We’re still deciding whether to remove you from the Coalition altogether.”
Locke could care les
s; once Dubois was in power, he would be restored to his rightful place as chairman. “If I may be so bold as to inquire, who is the new chairman?”
“I am,” affirmed Skull Eyes.
“Well then, enjoy your new position while it lasts, Mr. Chairman. I give you, at most, one week to live. And that goes for you too, Colonel. Mark my words, your days are numbered, gentlemen.”
There was a strained silence. Locke could tell that he had put the fear of God in them both and they didn’t know how to respond. The lopsided smile of a slightly unhinged man took hold on his face. The death of his beloved daughter and his wife abandoning him had sent him into an emotional tailspin, and all he truly cared about now was lashing out in a momentously Biblical-like fashion at his mortal enemies.
He expelled a little sigh. Then, rolling down his window, he embraced the earthy fragrance of sagebrush and needle pine. Again, he absorbed the drowsy beauty of the landscape, the sun ricocheting off the quartz-rich sandstone and conglomerate spires.
God is truly with me today!
“Where are you, Benjamin?” asked Truscott. “We need to meet with you in person to discuss this situation.”
“What, so you can terminate me? I’ll be the one doing the terminating if you don’t mind, gentlemen.”
“Where are you, Benjamin? Just tell us so we can help you,” pleaded the colonel.
“Oh, let’s just say I’m out for a drive, taking in the pleasant fall air.”
“Come now, Benjamin,” pressed Skull Eyes. “We need to know where you are. We know things have not turned out as planned and that you’re upset. We want to help. Where are you?”
Locke’s grin widened. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. I bid you adieu , gentlemen. I have to sign off now.”
“Benjamin, please!” the colonel pleaded. “You must tell us where you are!”
Silence.
“You wouldn’t really kill us,” sniffed Skull Eyes. “You don’t have the stomach for it. That’s why your time as chairman is finished. You’ve become not only incompetent but gutless.”
“All I can say to that, gentlemen, is one thing. By the end of the week you shall both be no more.”
“Not if we get to you first, you bastard!” hissed Skull Eyes.
“Then let the contest begin,” pronounced Locke, and he punched off.
He smiled with saintly self-confidence as he set the phone back on the plush Corinthian leather car seat. Skull Eyes and the colonel were going to die all right, but not quite yet. Locke had more urgent business to attend to first.
All he needed was a single bold stroke.
And today, at 2 p.m. Mountain Standard Time, he would get his opportunity.
CHAPTER 127
IT WAS TOO LATE FOR BREAKFAST, so Patton concocted a huge Swiss cheese–porcini mushroom omelet and called it brunch. Pan-seared potatoes, English muffins, and piping-hot coffee rounded out the meal, which he and Jennifer ate in front of the curved bay window overlooking the park. With the FBI evidence response team cloistered in the apartment until the wee hours of the dawn, they had gotten only a few hours’ rest, so the meal and coffee provided a welcome spark.
After breakfast, they went over the case again with John Sawyer. He had come by last night with the ERT and police, but Patton had not had time to go over the investigation with him in detail, focusing instead on the break-in. Patton was still disappointed about his removal from the case, but at least Sawyer was keeping him on unofficially. They had agreed to keep Sharp out of their little secret for the time being, although Sawyer had briefed the ASAC on last night’s attack.
It was noon when Sawyer left the house. Five minutes later, one of the two FBI agents posted outside walked into the kitchen. “You have a visitor,” he said to Patton.
“Who?”
“Mary Locke. She said it’s urgent and she’ll only speak to you.”
Patton went straight to the front door and, after a minute’s worth of uncomfortable preliminaries, showed Mrs. Locke into the living room. At that moment, Jennifer walked out of the bathroom. Her mouth opened wide with surprise.
“Mrs. Locke!”
The silver-haired woman stiffened, and said nothing.
Jennifer walked over to her quickly. “I am so sorry about what happened to Susan,” she said. “I feel horrible about the entire...” Her words trailed off sadly.
Mary Locke acknowledged the consoling remark with a tilt of her head, but Patton could tell she was deeply troubled by Jennifer’s presence. Obviously, she blamed Jennifer, at least partly, for her daughter’s death.
“Would it be better if we spoke in private?” asked Patton.
Before the woman could answer, Jennifer said, “I’ll be in the bedroom.” She started off.
“Wait,” Mary said, her lower lip trembling.
Jennifer stopped and turned around, slowly.
“Before I talk to Agent Patton, I need to know what happened to Susan. You must tell me everything.”
CHAPTER 128
IT TOOK JENNIFER ten minutes to tell the story. As she spoke, she felt a host of conflicting emotions: guilt, anger, sadness, outrage—each vied for space inside her, twisting her like a washrag, leaving her emotionally drained. She hadn’t talked Susan into having an abortion, but she still felt responsible for her fate at the clinic. She wished she could have somehow saved the poor girl and felt guilty for surviving the ordeal when so many other innocent people had perished.
When Jennifer was finished, Mary Locke covered her hands with her own. “I was angry at you,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “I thought you had planted the seed of having an abortion in Susan’s mind. I thought, if only she hadn’t befriended you these past few days, none of this would have happened. Now I realize my anger was badly misplaced. It is my husband, not you, who has acted unconscionably.”
Patton leaned forward in his chair. “Are you saying he had a hand in the attack at the clinic?”
“No, I’m sure he tried to stop it. But that’s not the point. The point is that he knew about it.”
“Is this what you’ve come here about—the incident at the clinic?”
She shook her head and her eyes turned down to the floor.
“You have to trust me, Mrs. Locke. I’m here to help.”
Mary’s lower lip trembled again. Jennifer could see the emotions running amok through the poor woman as she struggled to speak. “I think my husband’s involved in something…something terrible,” she said finally, her voice faltering.
Patton tried to draw it out. “Something terrible?”
“The Kieger assassination.”
“You think your husband was somehow behind it? Or involved in some way? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, but there’s more.”
“More?”
She reached down, opened her purse, and pulled out a small leatherbound book. “It’s Susan’s diary. I went through it after she…she…please just take a look at the page I marked.”
Patton took the book from her and opened it to the page with the yellow Post-it note. There, in Susan’s own hand, he and Jennifer saw the startling revelation.
“My God. Your daughter thinks your husband…but how did she—?”
“I don’t know, Special Agent. But we have to do something.”
“We’ve got to get down to Civic Center Plaza right now,” said Jennifer, feeling a sudden sense of urgency.
Patton slowly nodded. “The speech—so that is the plan after all.”
“Yep, and we have to stop it,” said Jennifer. “We have to stop it right now.”
CHAPTER 129
PATTON DIDN’T WASTE A SECOND. He sprinted into the kitchen, grabbed his cell phone, and dialed the number for the Denver field office dispatch center. “This is Special Agent Patton. I need to track down John Sawyer. Is he in?”
“Yes, but he told me to forward all calls to Agent Sharp’s office. I’ll connect you.”
“No, wait!” Patton crie
d, but he was too late. The call was being transferred.
Shit, I don’t want Henry involved in this. What should I do?
“Sharp here.”
Though Patton wanted to hang up, at the last second he decided against it. “Henry, this is Ken. I need to talk to John. Is he there?”
“You’re on a ten-day suspension, Special Agent. Whatever you have to say, you’d better say it to me.”
Patton looked at his watch. Damn! There’s no time to argue. “Okay, Henry, here’s what I’ve got.” He quickly gave him the rundown of the situation.
“Where are you?” Sharp asked.
“At my house. Look, Henry, we have to cancel the event. Fowler’s life is in jeopardy.”
“Now just hold on. We can’t shut this thing down based on a dead teenager’s diary entry or the word of some emotionally distressed woman. Mary Locke probably holds her husband responsible and is trying to—”
“No, it all fits, goddamnit! Locke had Kieger killed and now he’s going after Fowler!”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would he do that?”
Patton told him all the reasons.
“All right, I suppose these allegations do warrant looking into,” Sharp conceded. “But I’m not going to embarrass the Bureau by inciting panic. I’m going to have to speak to the Locke woman myself to verify this. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes? By then it could be too late!”
“No, it won’t. The speech doesn’t start until two. That gives us plenty of time to call off the event, if necessary. But you are in no position to make that call. Capiche?”
The Coalition: A Novel of Suspense Page 42