The Assassin's Trail

by J. C. Fields

  Kruger nodded. “Thanks, Charlie. We might be taking unnecessary precautions, but I would rather be prepared.” He paused briefly and frowned. “What can you tell me about this Imam you guys are watching?”

  Brewer chuckled. “Which one? We have several in the bay area on our watch list.”

  “The recluse who all of a sudden started making house calls.”

  “Oh, that one. I beefed up surveillance on him immediately after he started doing it.”

  “Do you know what sparked his sudden interest in visitations?”

  “We think it was a phone call he received last Thursday. The call was from a pay phone in Dallas.”

  Kruger nodded. “I was told about the call. One of our suspects was in Dallas at the time.”

  Brewer furrowed his brow. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

  “Politics. I wasn’t officially on the investigation. Wagner had me taken off after Dollar said I was interfering.”

  Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Brewer leaned back in his desk chair. “I won’t miss Wagner.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “The phone call was cryptic. The caller asked the Imam to send three individuals to help him.”

  “Did he say when he needed them?”

  Brewer straightened in his chair and started typing on his computer. “I can’t remember exactly; let me review the report.” He paused while he read something on the screen. “Looks like he said a week… which would be this Thursday. Why?”

  Kruger didn’t answer right away. Finally, he shook his head. “Not sure, but keep your eyes and ears on this guy. Something is going on; I just can’t put a finger on it yet.”

  ***

  Several vacant apartments in and around Grace Cathedral were available. After driving around the neighborhood and checking the angles of the various buildings to the church, he decided to check on the listing for an apartment building at Sacramento and Cushman. If the vacant room offered a view of the church, its location would be perfect.

  After parking several blocks away, he walked back to the entrance and checked with the building manager. As they took the elevator to the fourth floor, the man told him about all the amenities available to tenants of the building. Ortega nodded, not listening to him. Once inside he found the sliding glass door in the bedroom offered a direct line of sight view of Grace Cathedral. He turned back to the manager and said, “I'll take it. When can I move in?”

  “Well, I'll need your first and last month’s rent, plus a $1,000 deposit. Once the background and credit check come back, you can move in.”

  Ortega pulled out a roll of cash and handed the manager $5,000 in hundred dollar bills, which was a thousand dollars more than was needed. Ortega smiled, “I'd like to start moving in tonight. Would that be a problem?”

  The manager stared at the cash, then looked at Ortega, smiled, and said, “Not a problem at all. I need a few forms filled out and the place is yours.”

  By 9 p.m., Ortega had his equipment secured in the apartment. The view of Grace Cathedral with the sliding glass door open allowed him to place his Remington within the apartment without exposing the rifle to the outside. He scoped the distance at 457 yards, which was fine since he had sighted the Remington in at 500. Once the rifle was set up, he drove to a twenty-four-hour grocery store and bought beer, beef jerky, a frozen pizza, apples and a few bananas. No need for more. He'd be gone before noon tomorrow. He parked the Jeep several blocks away and positioned it so he could drive off as quickly as possible.

  Once back in the apartment, he ate the pizza, drank two beers, settled down and catnapped until morning. His thoughts turned to the coming day’s events. Would he be alive this time tomorrow? If his plan worked out, he had a good chance. If he miscalculated, he'd be dead in less than twenty-four hours. It was a concept he had lived with for the last five years.

  ***

  Wednesday

  Kruger stared at the digital clock, 4 a.m. His body was still on Central Time, so it was 6 a.m. to him. Rolling over he tried to get back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, he gave up. Sitting on the side of the bed, he pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. How many more days before he retired? The weariness of constantly waking up in hotel rooms swept over him. He thought about calling Stephanie, but didn't want his dark mood to rub off on her.

  After putting on a t-shirt and running pants, he walked down to the street outside the hotel and started his run. Hopefully the exercise would ease his mind and help him think. Running the hilly streets of San Francisco pushed Kruger to his limit. He ran until his legs felt like rubber, then staggered back to his hotel room. After a shower and several cups of coffee brewed in the room’s coffee machine, he called Clark.

  “What time is it?” said a groggy voice.

  “It's late, if you must know it's almost nine your normal time.”

  “Why are you calling me? It’s six here in California. My alarm isn't set to go off for another thirty minutes.”

  “Tough, get up and let's get going. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  “I quit. Now let me go back to sleep.”

  Kruger chuckled and said, “Sorry, Ryan, put your suit on. We need to get going.”

  Three hours later, after a quick breakfast, they arrived at Roy Griffin's home. While Kruger met with Congressman Griffin in his study, Clark briefed the FBI team on the memorial service.

  Griffin argued with Kruger for thirty minutes about how extra precautions were unnecessary. Finally his patience exhausted, Kruger said to the congressman, “Let's assume I'm wrong, then nothing will happen. Everybody goes home safe. If I'm right, and we prevent any harm coming to you or your wife, everybody goes home safe.”

  Griffin stared at Kruger, his head tilted slightly to the right. “I see your point, but it still seems like a waste of the FBI’s time.”

  “I'll take the blame for wasting everybody’s time.”

  The congressman smiled and said, “Okay, Agent, I'll cooperate.”

  Kruger placed the congressman and his wife in the lead Suburban with Clark and the driver. He, a driver and two other FBI agents rode in the trail Suburban. Upon arriving at to the church, Kruger and two agents exited their vehicle and surrounded the lead Suburban. Kruger surveyed the various buildings, making sure the three sniper teams were on alert. Each team was scanning the area with binoculars and rifle scopes.

  Once he was satisfied with the situation, he nodded to an agent standing by the rear passenger door, who opened it to allow Clark and the Griffins to emerge. The agents immediately surrounded the husband and wife, and hustled them up the concrete stairs into the cathedral.

  ***

  Ortega observed Griffin and his wife exit the Suburban through his rifle scope. As the group hurried up the steps, he centered the scope on the back of the congressman’s head, allowed for a lead, and started squeezing the trigger. Suddenly one of the men in front of his target turned his head. It was the cop from St. Louis. Surprised, Ortega looked up from the scope. Before he could get back on target, the group disappeared through the sanctuary doors at the top of the steps. He raised his eye from the scope again and looked at the scene. Thinking through his options, Ortega decided the cleanest shot would be as they descended the steps after the ceremony.

  How much did the FBI know? Rubbing the back of his neck, he stepped away from the rifle and stared at the cathedral door. Apparently the two agents from St. Louis were still tracking him. Unfortunate for them, if he had the opportunity, a few extra rounds would thank them for their diligence.

  He glanced at his watch and decided he had at least an hour before he had to get back on the scope, maybe more. He almost drank one of the beers left from last night, but decided against it. He casually walked out onto the apartment’s balcony eating an apple. There was a SWAT team on top of a building three blocks to the east surveying the taller buildings. Two more teams could be easily seen, one on the roof of the building next door, and another on the roof of a building one block to right.
That made a total of three teams. He was impressed, but it didn't matter. He would still make the shot.

  The presence of the sniper teams altered his escape plan however. He'd have to leave the rifle and use the fire escape situated on the opposite side of the building. The Jeep was a short walk from the apartment building. Five minutes after making the shot, he’d be driving to the airport. Not enough time for anyone to figure out where it came from.

  Putting on surgical gloves, he wiped the room for prints, including the Remington, scope and cartridges. Once that was done, it was time to settle behind the rifle and wait. The scope was centered on the stairs just below the entrance to the church. He had decided on the position while watching several other groups of people enter the church. The shot would be easier with the congressman walking down the stairs.

  Fifteen minutes after noon, the doors of the cathedral opened and attendees started exiting the church. Twenty minutes later all was quiet as the last attendee’s walked down the stairs. Finally he noticed one of the FBI agents from St. Louis open the door and step out to survey the area. Both black Suburbans pulled up and parked in front of the church steps. The driver of the lead vehicle jumped out and opened the passenger doors, then immediately returned to his driver’s seat.

  Once the vehicles were in position, the agent at the door nodded to someone behind him. The door opened further, and the congressman and his wife exited. One of the FBI agents from St. Louis was in front of Griffin and the other one was behind him. There were other agents on both sides. Ortega centered the crosshairs on the congressman's head, gave him a slight lead, took a breath, and applied pressure on the trigger as he exhaled.

  The shot went low, hitting the agent in front of Griffin. Before Ortega could fire another shot, the congressman was smothered by the rest of the agents. Ortega thought briefly of taking more shots, but dismissed it as a waste of time. His opportunity to get the congressman was lost. Accepting the situation, he stood and walked out of the apartment. As he was running down the fire escape, he realized his error. Provo, Utah, was a city almost a mile in elevation, while San Francisco was at sea level. The air was denser and the bullet dropped more than in Provo. A simple mistake, but a mistake that kept his mission from being completed.

  ***

  When Clark opened the cathedral door; the steps were empty. The last of the loitering attendee’s now gone. Satisfied no one else would be in danger, he radioed for the Suburbans to move into position at the bottom of the steps. Once the lead vehicle was in position with the passenger doors open, it was time to get the congressman and his wife out of the cathedral. Clark was in front and Kruger behind the congressman, with the two other agents on either side.

  The bullet struck Clark in the upper right shoulder with the force of a sledge hammer, pushing him back into the congressman before he even realized what had happened. The other agents reacted immediately and practically carried Griffin and his wife to the waiting safety of the Suburban.

  Clark sat on the steps, stunned. There was no pain, but he had no feeling in his right arm. Time stood still as he watched the other agents move in slow motion herding the Griffins into the Suburban. His trance was interrupted as the lead Suburban squealed its tires and sped away. Finally he glanced at his shoulder, where the blood flowed freely. The question of what had hit him started to form, but he grew dizzy and lost consciousness as his body slumped back onto the steps.

  As the now departing Suburban moved rapidly away, Kruger rushed back up the steps to Clark. He was unconscious and losing blood rapidly. Kruger applied pressure to the wound, saying, “Ryan, hang on, buddy, the EMTs will be here soon.”

  Off in the distance, the sounds of a siren could be heard. The direction was undetectable as the sound echoed off the surrounding buildings.

  While he held Clark’s head off the concrete stairs and applied pressure to the wound, Kruger was overcome with a feeling of helplessness. Fearing the worst, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for his friend. Finally after what seemed like hours, the ambulance arrived. Two EMTs ran up the stairs and took over. Kruger stood, stepped back and stared unthinking as they worked on Clark.

  Once stabilized, they gently placed Clark on a stretcher and prepared to transport him to the waiting ambulance. As they secured him to the gurney, one of the EMTs handed Kruger a card with the name of their destination hospital. The EMT smiled and said, “Don’t worry, we’ve got him. He’ll make it.”

  Kruger watched as they loaded his friend into the ambulance, closed the doors and started the run for the hospital with sirens screaming. More San Francisco police arrived and took control of the scene. Kruger walked down to the bottom of the steps toward several officers. He glanced at his hands and saw they were soaked in blood. Without hesitation, he wiped them on his suit coat and asked to speak with the commander of the SWAT teams. After Kruger was briefed, the commander handed Kruger a tube of baby wipes he kept in their command truck.

  Charlie Brewer arrived twenty minutes later and joined Kruger in the apartment the SWAT team had located.

  “What’ve we got, Sean?”

  Kruger pointed to the Remington 700. “One shot was all he got off. I have two of your agents interviewing the building manager. He’s not being cooperative at this point.”

  Brewer nodded. “There’s no way anybody could have seen the set up this far into the room. We’re lucky he didn’t take any more shots.”

  They were both quiet as they watched a forensics technician photograph and catalog the contents of the apartment.

  “I underestimated this guy, Charlie. We had the area covered by sniper teams and he takes the shot anyway.”

  Brewer placed his hand on Kruger’s shoulder “Not sure what else you could have done, Sean. The Congressman’s still alive.”

  “Let’s hope Ryan makes it.” He paused and surveyed the room again. “I have to get to the hospital. I’ll call Seltzer and brief him when I get there. Keep me posted on what you find.”

  Brewer nodded.

  At the hospital, Kruger was directed to the surgery waiting room. An elderly woman sitting at the information desk outside the surgery area was unable to provide him with any updates on Clark's condition. He paced for a while, sat for a while, drank several cups of coffee secured from a snack and beverage area next to the waiting room and then paced some more. Three hours later, a doctor emerged dressed in surgical scrubs. He spoke to the lady at the information desk, who pointed at Kruger. The surgeon introduced himself and said, “Your friend’s out of surgery. He's stable, but lost a lot of blood. Were you the one who applied the pressure after he was shot?”

  Kruger nodded.

  The surgeon smiled, patted Kruger on the shoulder and said, “You saved his life. If he had lost any more blood, he would have died at the scene. The bullet ripped an artery, that's what took us so long to repair. There isn't a lot of muscular damage, just the artery. He’ll be fine after some physical therapy.”

  “How long before I can talk to him?”

  The surgeon smiled and said, “We're going to keep him sedated for now, so probably tomorrow morning.”

  Kruger nodded, thanked the doctor and walked to an isolated area of the waiting room. Pulling his cell phone out of his suit coat pocket, he dialed Seltzer's private number, who answered on the second ring.

  “How's Clark?”

  “Stable. I can talk to him in the morning.”

  “Okay, tell me what happened. Brewer briefed me, but indicated he wasn’t there during the shooting.”

  Without hesitation, Kruger said, “My fault, I didn't take enough precautions.”

  “That's not the assessment of Brewer or the San Francisco Chief of Police. They both said Ortega had the hide set up deep inside an apartment. There was no way the teams on the roof could have spotted him. They both commented on how difficult the location was to secure. Considering all those stairs, you probably saved the congressman's life. A second shot was impossible.”

  “
Yeah... Tell that to Clark. He's the one in the hospital. I wasn’t able to convince the congressman about the danger. I hope he realizes his stubbornness resulted in a good man being injured.”

  “He's a politician, Sean. He’ll spin it to his advantage.”

  Kruger smiled and said, “I'm sure he'll make himself look like a hero.”

  Seltzer was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “We all know the dangers of the job. Clark knew. It didn't stop him from helping us out, did it? He volunteered to do this because it was important. You need to recognize that and stop kicking yourself.” He paused briefly. “You're still the lead on this investigation, Kruger. Stop acting like the victim. Get back out there and catch this guy.”

  The words stung. Seltzer was right; he was feeling sorry for himself. “I'll call you after I talk to Clark in the morning.”

  Chapter 37

  San Francisco International Airport

  Wednesday afternoon

  After running down the apartment building fire escape stairs, Ortega paused at the exit door, took a breath, and walked casually to his Jeep. During the drive to the airport, he repeatedly checked the rearview mirror for police cars. He saw nothing suspicious. Forty-five minutes after leaving the apartment building, he was parking the Jeep in a long term lot at the airport.

  Once inside the terminal, he checked the departure board, found a Delta flight to Tulsa, purchased his ticket and casually walked through security. No one stopped him and he arrived at the gate without incident.

  Sitting in the last row of first class next to a window, Ortega wondered, as he watched mountains pass underneath the plane, how the FBI knew he was in San Mateo. What had he done to tip them off? He was traveling under the name Duane Horton, and the American Express card had not been used until purchasing the ticket for this flight. Paying cash at cheap hotels had allowed him to register under different names, so that wasn’t the reason. It had to be something else. Billy. It was the only explanation.