by David Archer
"That'll work just fine," Sam said. "Like I said, all I want is to go home to my family. If I can call on you now and then when there are problems, that would be cool, but mostly I just want out of this mess."
"I believe we have a deal, Mr. Prichard. I'll meet you on the steps in one hour to make our exchange. Do you know what I look like?"
Sam shook his head in futility, since Chandler couldn't see through the phone. "Nope. Not a clue."
"I'll simplify it for you then. I'll be wearing a red nylon windbreaker and a green baseball cap. The cap says Chemtronix on it. And don't worry, I know exactly what you look like."
"I figured you did, since I've already had to take out five of your people. One hour, then. Don't be late, or I'll be gone. This is a one-shot offer."
"Yes, I'll admit I was surprised that you were able to take them down. On the other hand, they were all fairly new; I should've sent more experienced people after you. If you cross me, I won't make that mistake a second time, I want you to be aware of that."
"I'm not planning to cross anybody, and I don't want to be double crossed, either. I keep telling you, all I want is to get out of this mess. If that's acceptable to you, then you can have Long and I'll go my merry way on home. I've got a wife and little girl waiting for me, and they both made me promise to come home safe. That's all I want to do, keep that promise."
"One hour, Mr. Prichard. See you then." The line went dead.
Sam took out his own phone and punched the icon of Elmer Fudd. Here he answered a moment later.
"Sam, Boy? What's going on?"
"We just set up a meeting with Chandler," Sam said. "Ken will be wearing some trick handcuffs that he can escape from, and the idea is that I'm supposed to let Chandler take him. Our story is that I just want to get out of the whole thing, and that I'm willing to betray him or you or anybody to get what I want. At the moment, I think Chandler is going for it. If he does, I'm probably going to be arrested for murdering him. I'm really hoping you can take care of that, if it happens."
"Son, if you can take him down, I'll get you out of trouble. Just be sure they take you alive, because I'm not real good at bringing people back from the dead." He ended the call without another word. Sam looked at the phone for a moment, then shook his head and put it away.
4
Chandler put down the phone and stared at it for a moment. Not for a single second did he believe that Sam Prichard truly intended to hand over Ken Long, and yet he was quite intrigued by the opportunity to find out what their game was. Prichard was Harry Winslow's man, and had already demonstrated some uncanny abilities for an untrained agent. There was a game afoot, but it wasn't the one they were presenting.
He picked up the phone again and dialed a number that would ring in another office within his section. "Stone? It's Grayson. What kind of eyes do we have on the Lincoln Memorial?"
The young man on the other end of the phone line made a polite chuckle. "There are twenty-two security cameras around that complex," he said. "I have digital access to all of them. What are we looking for?"
"I'm going to be meeting someone there in just a little while. I want you to be watching, and ready to notify backup if I need it. I also want to be sure we have a record of the meeting."
"Well, I can get video off security cameras. If you want audio, then you're going to have to wear a wire. There are a few microphones around the complex, but it's doubtful you'd be close enough that I could pick up any audio."
"Yes, I understood that. I'm leaving now, I'll stop by your office so you can give me a transmitter. Got one ready?"
"Yep. I've always got a few handy, all charged up and ready to go."
Chandler smiled into the phone. "Good job," he said. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
He hung up the phone and rose from behind his desk, slipped on his windbreaker and cap, then walked out past his secretary. She glanced up at him and smiled.
"Going out for a bit," he said. "Hold down the fort for me, will you?"
The woman laughed. "Yeah, sure," she said. "Are you going to be gone long? You got a few people who were hoping to see you this afternoon."
"No, I shouldn't be very long. An hour, maybe a little more. I'll be back by lunch time. Can I bring you anything?"
"No, I'm meeting my husband for lunch. Thanks anyway."
Chandler smiled and walked away, turning down the hall towards the office where Gary Stone handled their electronic communications network. "Electronic communications" was a euphemism for the room where Stone controlled all of the electronic monitoring equipment that allowed him to tap into video and audio all around the city. It was also his electronics workshop, where he and his staff developed all sorts of gadgets that Chandler and his people found useful.
"Okay, Stone, what you got for me?"
Gary Stone looked a lot like the typical movie computer nerd. He stood about five foot eight, and wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses, just like the comedy sidekicks in most of the college movies. He looked like a kid who was always trying to get his grades up, but in truth, he had an IQ that probably rivaled some of the greatest thinkers in the world. Chandler considered him a terrific asset, and a particularly exciting feather in his own cap. He found this kid while he was still tinkering with science fair projects in high school, and recruited him even before his graduation.
"Here you go," the kid said. He handed Chandler a small device, about the size of an old book of matches. "Just stick this in your shirt pocket and I'll be able to hear everything within about ten feet of you. We'll record it all, so if we have to clean up the audio later, we can do that."
Chandler looked it over, and grinned. He slipped it into his pocket and patted the boy on the shoulder. "Good job," he said once again. "You're going to be on the monitor yourself, right?"
"Yep! When you said we were watching a meeting of yours, I figured you would want me to handle personally. So that's what I'm going to do."
Chandler glanced around the room, noting that several of the people there were sneaking surreptitious glances at him. That didn't surprise him, simply because none of these people would be there if they weren't the curious sort. He waved at them all, causing several to duck down behind their computer monitors in a hurry. That gave him a chuckle, as he turned and walked out the door.
He made one other stop before leaving the building, in the little office that dispatched his agents. The girl on the computer there told him that there were four men within a few minutes of the memorial, and he told her to have them positioned close by as soon as possible. He’d let her know, through Stone, if he needed them. He didn't bother to notify Stone, because he expected the boy to be listening already.
It was less than a mile to the Lincoln Memorial, just down Eighteenth Street, alongside the White House complex. There was no point in trying to drive, since most of the roads were blocked off due to unofficial traffic, and it was a nice day so he decided to simply walk. That would take less time than getting a car and going around the long way to come up to the memorial from the south. He hoped to get there in time to see Long and Prichard arrive, but he guessed they were probably already there and waiting for him.
That was okay. He didn't have any delusions that this meeting would actually result in the end of Ken Long's tenure as the thorn in his side. He didn't know what these guys were up to, but unless they were willing to commit murder right out in the open in broad daylight, he wasn't too worried. Besides, he didn't plan to get close enough for them to make a serious attempt, not unless he was absolutely certain that neither of them was armed. They were playing their game, but he was out to play his own.
* * * * *
Sam and Ken had left the coffee shop immediately after ending the call to Harry, and walked down Eighteenth Street toward the memorial. They had about an eight-minute head start on Chandler; he would be walking the same route in just a few minutes.
"He's going to want to frisk me," Ken said, "so I need to find somewhere to ge
t rid of this Colt."
Sam looked at him. "Just give it to me," he said. "I've still got room in my waistband for one more gun, it won't matter. Besides, we might need it." He reached out and accepted it, then slipped it into the left side of his back waistband. His light jacket hung down over it, concealing both of the weapons he had tucked there. "Worse comes to worst, you can drop those funny cuffs and snatch it out quick. If things go wild, I'm not going to bother with the thirty-two, I'm going for my big Glock. With this guy, I'm more interested in stopping power than stealth."
Ken nodded. "If the shooting starts, just put as many bullets into him as you can. And the more you can put into his head, the happier I'll be. Odds on, he's got some sort of body armor under his clothes. He's known for at least thirty hours that we were coming, so he's as ready as he could possibly be."
"Yeah, and in that case, you know he's got people moving into place on us by now. Do you think we can spot them again, and take them out? Good Lord, Ken, the Lincoln Memorial is going to be pretty crowded with tourists, isn't it? Do we really want to start shooting in a situation like that?"
Ken shrugged. "What you got to get to your head is that the most important thing to think about at this moment is putting a stop to Chandler. That's not just something we want to do, it's what we have to do. That's the mission, and anything else that gets in the way is what we call collateral damage. It sucks, but it happens."
"Okay, well, now you've run up on the part that I can't just wrap my head around. I know we need to stop Chandler, but I can't do it at the cost of innocent lives. If he's got people on scene, we can't open fire in the middle of a crowd of tourists; I'm not saying I won't return fire, but I won't start the shooting."
Ken glanced at him, but kept walking. "Okay, I can live with that, but don't get in the way of what I have to do. I promise you, I will never deliberately let an innocent person get hurt, but if the only shot I've got at Chandler has to be through someone else, then I'm going to take the shot."
Sam didn't say anything, but kept walking alongside. It was only a few moments more before the World War II Memorial came into view, and Ken pointed off to the right. The famous reflecting pool was laid out in front of them, and Sam saw the Lincoln Memorial at its other end.
"That's where we're going," Ken said. "Keep your eyes peeled for potential shooters. Odds on, they're here."
"Oh, gee, and I was hoping you were going to tell me we were all clear. I'm watching, don't worry."
The two of them turned and began walking across the National Mall toward the Lincoln Memorial, following the walking paths around the lake at Constitution Gardens and making their way across the grounds. The path they were on took them past the Vietnam Women's Memorial, and they stopped to admire the statue of a nurse holding a fallen soldier.
"Two men watching us, over by the Vietnam Wall. See them?" Ken asked.
Sam nodded. "I do now," he said. "Think they're his?"
"Too early to tell," Ken said. "Let's just keep an eye on them, see what they do. Come on, let's go on."
They started off again toward the granite building that housed the statue of our sixteenth president. Sam tried not to act like a tourist, but since it was his first visit to DC, he was having trouble not gawking at all of the sights. Ken elbowed him. "Come on, Buddy, hold it together. If we get through this alive, I promise to bring you back and get you a guided tour.”
Sam sneered at him. “Don't be a smart ass,” he said. “I'm on the ball, I just never saw this stuff before, and if things go wrong here, today, I might never get another chance.”
Ken grinned, but it wasn't pleasant. “You actually have a good point,” he said. “If Chandler gets his way, this will probably be a UN World Heritage site before long, and then us Americans may not be allowed to come and see it at all!”
"Yeah," Sam said, "so I got to take advantage of it while I can. Who knows if I'll ever get another chance?"
"You won't get one if we're dead," Ken said. "Gawk all you want, just make sure you keep your eyes open for the real threats. Those two back by the wall aren't watching us anymore, so I don't think they were any risk, but I'm sure there are others here that are. Peel those eyes, Man."
They made it to the steps of the Memorial without incident, and Ken preceded Sam up the stairs to get a good look at the giant statue of Abe Lincoln.
"It looks like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders," Sam said. "I wonder how he'd feel if he knew the kind of thing we're up against, today. Terrorism, nuclear threats from all around the world, racial violence all around the country — I just can't help but wonder what he'd think of what has become of the country he fought so hard to keep together."
Ken shook his head. "I don't know, but don't idolize the man. If you studied your history, you know he wasn't quite the hero he's made out to be today. The entire Civil War was fought not because of slavery, like kids are being taught today, but because the president and the federal government completely disregarded the rights of the states who chose to secede from the union. Thousands of Americans on both sides had to die because Lincoln and his cronies simply threw out the Constitution. Every state has the right to certain levels of self-determination, according to the Constitution; unfortunately, ever since Lincoln's day, the federal government has disregarded those rights. Any attempt by states to run themselves the way they see best is met by threats of withholding federal funding that the states have become dependent on. The national Highway system, the welfare program, so many things that seem commonplace today are federally funded, so if the state decides it doesn't want to play ball the way the feds want, they simply cut off the funding and then that state has to fit all those bills itself. The states don't have that kind of money, because unlike the federal government, they can't create it out of thin air. Better go back and read your history, before you start worrying about what Mr. Lincoln might think of our America, today."
Sam turned and looked at Ken. "Good grief, Man, is there anything about this country that you won't complain about? Seems like no matter what we talk about, you've got to be a downer. No wonder nobody likes you that much."
Ken shrugged. "I face reality, my friend. I suggest you learn to do the same."
Sam shook his head. "We better find a position, and take it now. Remember, you're supposed to be my prisoner, and as far as Chandler knows, I'm keeping a gun pointed at you. Maybe we better make it look good, don't you think?"
Ken nodded towards the front of the building. "Let's go to the bottom of the stairs, and you stay a good five feet away from me. Get your pistol in your hand, but keep it tucked under your jacket and stand so that it's aimed at least loosely in my direction. The idea isn't that you've got me covered every second, but that you've got a weapon you can bring to bear to shoot me quickly if you had to. You watch me, and I'll watch everyone else. If for any reason we get separated, remember that you can communicate with me through the earpiece."
They made their way down the steps, and took a position toward the south end of the building, at the bottom of the stairs. As instructed, Sam stayed about five feet back, and turned so that the Glock in his hand could be pointed quickly in Ken's direction. Ken stood there with his hands covered by his jacket, which was draped over where they were cuffed in front of him.
The crowd was fairly dense, and moving around a lot. Because they were standing still, Sam and Ken were conspicuous, and they knew it. Sam had to fight the urge to keep looking around, and keep his eyes on Ken the way he would if he were really the man's captor.
"Ever feel like a bug on a plate? That's sort of how I feel right now," he said softly.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Sort of feels like the whole world is watching us right now, doesn't it? Of course, they could be, there are enough video cameras around this place to put us on every TV screen in the whole freaking world."
Sam glanced around instinctively, but then caught himself and looked back at Ken. "Video cameras, you say?" he asked. "You mean,
like security cameras? The kind that are recorded everywhere?"
Ken nodded. "Yeah, why?"
Sam snatched out his phone and dialed quickly. He whispered a silent prayer, hoping that he had just a few moments to pull off a miracle. He heard ringing through the phone, and then it was answered.
"Sam?" Indie asked. "Sam, are you okay?"
"Babe, I don't have time to talk. Listen to me, and listen close. I'm standing on the National Mall in DC. Right in front of the Lincoln Memorial, in fact. There are security cameras all over this place, is there any chance that you and Herman can hack into them Like, quickly?"
"The Lincoln Memorial? Holy cow, Sam, I don't know. Why?"
"We're about to come face-to-face with Chandler," Sam said. "Now I'll be honest, and there's a chance this could go pretty bad, Baby, but the big risk is that he's got people watching us that we can't see. If you could get into those cameras, maybe you could spot a problem before it becomes one we can't handle."
"I'm feeding Herman even as we speak," Indie said, "and he's pounding all of the video security systems in DC, right now. There's a chance — okay, bingo, we got a hit! Those cameras are monitored by the security office of the National Mall and Parks Service, we're hunting a backdoor now. Come on, Herman, you can do it," she muttered. "Come on, come on — yes! We're in! There are, let me see, thirty-two cameras there close to the Lincoln Memorial. All I can do is scan them one at a time, Babe, can you stay with me on the phone?"
"I can for at least a few moments," Sam said. "You're looking for probably two guys together, and there will be something about them that says they're dangerous. If they seem to be talking to their hands, that's a big red flag. Scan fast, and tell me what you see."
"I'm scanning, I'm scanning! Nothing there — nope, nothing there — I'm checking the cameras closest to the memorial first — nothing there — okay, whoa! I've got two men, both of them look like they belong in some spy movie, and I swear they're both trying to hide behind a lamppost. If I've got their position right, then it looks to me like they're looking toward the front of the memorial. Is that where you're at?"