I, Weapon

by Vaughn Heppner

  Griffith nodded.

  “He likely left in a taxi, bus, on foot or in a stolen vehicle,” Doris said.

  “An aerial reconnaissance of the airport’s perimeter should eliminate the possibility that he’s on foot,” Griffith said.

  “I can corroborate that,” a lean operator said, a man with sunken cheeks and slicked-back hair. His name was Horne.

  “TSA has already lofted a UAV?” Griffith asked.

  “They have,” Horne said.

  “Bannon could be hiding in the grass or weeds near the runways,” Doris said.

  “Inform TSA to send out foot patrols,” Griffith said, “and to increase the intensity of the air sweeps.”

  Horne picked up a phone.

  “What about taxis and buses?” Griffith said.

  “It will be difficult to check each one,” Doris said.

  “We might not have to,” Horne said, with a phone cradled against his ear. “If we run the IDs of the cabs that have come through the airport in the past hour, say—”

  “Don’t tell me about it,” Griffith snapped. “Start doing it.”

  With the phone still cradled against his ear, Horne began typing on his keyboard and using the touch-screen.

  “Just in case we miss anything,” Doris said. “I suggest we alert the cab companies.”

  “And tell them what?” Griffith asked.

  “To be on the lookout for a suspected murderer. Don’t cab companies have suspect lists?”

  “That would be against the law,” Griffith said. “We don’t allow profiling.”

  “I’m sure they’re doing it anyway.”

  “How many cab companies service San Francisco Airport?” Griffith asked.

  Horne typed and looked up. “There are a lot of them, sir, especially if you include the minor companies.”

  Griffith tapped his chin. “Start calling them, the major ones first.” He sat straighter in his wheelchair and spoke louder. “Bannon has eluded us, but we’re going to catch him, people. We must apprehend him or take him down before he can slip away into anonymity. That means we get it done now!”

  The chamber increased with activity as the operators phoned, searched leads, ran programs and spoke with other members of ATS. They had done this before and they would do it again, but this one…

  It’s big, Griffith knew. He had confidence in his people. And there were plenty of traps ready to snap on Bannon and cage him like a beast. He grinned tightly. Then we put the man out of our misery.

  -38-

  Bannon’s plans changed as he remembered something critical. There was an underground passageway from Great America to the ATS Institute across the street from the theme park. There would be cameras, of course. Fortunately, he had a way past those…

  From the back of the cab, Bannon glanced outside. They were on the San Mateo Bridge, crossing the Bay onto the Hayward side. The water was calm, although he spied a sailboat half a mile out cruising parallel with the taxi. He doubted a man with a telescope peered at him from there, although it felt as if someone watched him from somewhere.

  The little trick in the airport would undoubtedly show Parker that Bannon was back and no longer Gemmell. Should he call her again, pretending to be Gemmell? He had watched, as it were, Gemmell in action. He could mimic that.

  The SF Airport officials, the CHP roadblock earlier on 17—how much force did Parker have at her command?

  Bannon continued to watch the sailboat as his musings deepened. It would be better to lure Parker out of the building than to go in after her. Where would they have put his wife? Did she think he was dead? Why would they have separated?

  I can’t believe we divorced.

  Bannon lacked memories of such a thing. Could that be the key? Had he divorced? Would a divorce have shattered him enough so he would have agreed to become an ATS assassin? What would have become of his little girl?

  Bannon scowled, and he noticed the cabbie glancing at him through the rearview mirror. He checked and saw that the man’s name was Abdul. Had Abdul been on the radio earlier? The dispatcher had spoken quietly. Abdul now wore earbuds. What had the dispatcher told the man over them?

  “Can I help you with anything, sir?” Abdul asked.

  “I’m fine.” Bannon tried to analyze if the man’s voice sounded different from earlier. Maybe.

  “You look troubled,” Abdul said, “if you do not mind me saying so.”

  “I’ve had a bad day,” Bannon said.

  “I have many of those, sir. I am from Lebanon. Perhaps you have heard of my former country?”

  Bannon nodded. Cabbies were supposed to be talkative, so maybe this was natural for the man and wasn’t just a case of nerves.

  “It has been bad in Lebanon for long time,” Abdul said, “even before the trouble in Syria with the younger Assad. We had civil war. I mean in Lebanon, not in Syria where things have become very bad, very crazy as you say in America. My parents fled Lebanon in the 80s and we came here to America. This is good land, good country full of peace.”

  “Sure,” Bannon said.

  “You are a citizen?”

  “Sure.”

  “I have been naturalized. My greatest day came when I said my Pledge of Allegiance to my new country for the first time.”

  Bannon grunted. It seemed Abdul liked to talk. All cabbies did, didn’t they?

  Abdul glanced at him through the rearview mirror. It reminded Bannon how “Gemmell” had used the mirror to stare into his eyes. Abdul’s dark eyes showed worry.

  “What do you think happened at the airport?” the cabbie asked.

  “Trouble,” Bannon said. Abdul’s inflection had risen while asking that. “There’s always trouble these days. It’s not the same, not like it used to be.”

  “That is true, very true I am sad to say.”

  “I’m going to shut my eyes,” Bannon said. “I’m tired. I need some rest.” Shutting one’s eyes often disarmed people’s fears. If there was something more going on, Bannon would let the man make his move. He would listen for it.

  “I will drive,” Abdul said, sounding relieved. “You rest. Rest is good.”

  Before lying back, Bannon glanced through the front windshield. They neared the row of tollbooths for those using the east side of the bridge. They neared Hayward.

  Bannon lay his head back and shut his eyes. If he had climbing gear, he could wait for night, climb and hide in the ATS Building, waiting for Parker to return in the morning. But what if she wasn’t going to stay there much longer? It would be logical that ATS had operatives stationed around the building, watching the best surveillance locations. They would know his patterns and would react accordingly.

  With his eyes shut, Bannon grinned. He didn’t notice, therefore, as Abdul glanced at him once more through the rearview mirror.

  Abdul tilted the mirror, giving him a better angle on Bannon. The man glanced at the daypack, his gaze lingering there. As if coming out of a daze, Abdul hurriedly twisted the mirror back to its proper position. A half a minute later, he drove off the San Mateo Bridge, heading for Hayward.

  -39-

  Max stood on the roof of the ATS Institute, looking down at the parking lot and scanning the street. At his feet lay his sniper rifle, with scope and sound suppressor. Farther back on the building’s helipad, a pilot smoked a Lucky Strikes cigarette. The chopper was ready for liftoff.

  The implant in Max’s ear crackled. “See anything?”

  It was LeBron. Like Jim, he was on the ground with Snow’s Security team. They prowled like lions in the high grass, searching for Bannon. They had staked out the best places for surveillance and now they waited for the assassin to make his move.

  Max shook his head. People’s responses often surprised him, as people did the stupidest things. In Bannon’s place, he would have run for Mexico and then into the wide world. At this point, the man was scot free, but likely, he didn’t even know it.

  Max chuckled softly. He used to ask people where the
term “scot free” came from. Most smart people figured the term originated with the Dred Scott Decision of 1857. Dred had been an African American slave who had sued for his and his family’s freedom. His master had moved to states where slavery was illegal and Scott thought he could bring about his emancipation under the Missouri Compromise. The Supreme Court decided against him 7-2, finding that neither he nor any other person of African ancestry could claim American citizenship. Educated people usually figured the term had originated with this case. They were wrong. “Scot” was an old Viking or Norse term. Scot had been a type of tax. So to go “scot free” meant one didn’t have to pay the tax.

  The term was like many things. People thought they knew the answer, but they didn’t have a clue. They weren’t even in the ballpark.

  For all his gifts, Bannon was a sucker. Like a moth at night, the assassin was going to circle the building as if it was a bright light. Parker had assured them the assassin would come, that his “autosuggestions” would kick in.

  “You a statue up there?” asked LeBron.

  Max lifted his walkie-talkie. “All’s clear, so you don’t have to piss yourself worrying about Bannon.”

  “I don’t see you on the ground,” LeBron said.

  “I know you can’t be scared, so why are you sounding like one of the dickheads?”

  “Hey,” LeBron said. “You and I both know he’s good at sneaking around. The guy’s a genius to have gotten around us last night.”

  Max scowled. He didn’t need reminding of that. He still didn’t see how Bannon had managed it. Yeah, the assassin was good at sneaking around in the dark.

  I guess you ought to expect an assassin to be good at that.

  “But if I get my hands on him—” LeBron was saying.

  “Shoot him in the stomach,” Max said. “Don’t get fancy. Just plug him: one, two, three.”

  “When did I ever play games in the field, huh?”

  “Just saying,” Max told him. Lowering the walkie-talkie, clipping it to his belt, he lifted a pair of binoculars and scanned the street and the amusement park starting on the other side of the street. He followed the turnoff to the parking lot and then to the main center of Great America. There were roller coasters, a skyline, drop zones, twirling seats… Look at all them fools on the rides, searching for quick thrills. This was the thrill, hunting a man, a killer.

  How far was Bannon going to get before he plugged the man? The assassin was good, but he was only one man, and now he was going up against Max and his team. Snow was good, too, but not like LeBron and Jim.

  Max scanned the street and he checked the places where Bannon should go if he wanted to study the ATS Building.

  There were butterflies in Max’s stomach, but it felt good because it meant he was alive. This was life, hunting the most dangerous game: a man with a gun. He’d read a short story in high school about that. It was the only piece of fiction he remembered from school. The rest of the stories had been crap, not the sort of things a teenage boy would want to read. He wondered why the schools tried to turn boys into girls. It didn’t make sense.

  “How long is this sucker going to take?” LeBron asked.

  “Quit bitching,” Max said, using the walkie-talkie again. “At the craziest time, he’ll pop up. Then you’ll wish you were somewhere else.”

  “Come down onto the street and tell me that.”

  “Give it time, my brother. He’s coming. That’s what the doc says, and you know she’s never wrong.”

  “She’s a piece of work,” LeBron said, “tail with brains and an attitude. That’s the kind of broad you want to stay far away from, I’m telling you.”

  “Yeah?” Max asked.

  “Too bad her father’s the Man.”

  “Quit jawing,” Max said. “You’re giving me an earache.”

  “You’re a big talker from up there, brother, but I got to run now anyway, over.”

  Max lowered the walkie-talkie. When was Bannon going to make his move? Why was the man taking so long? Max was itching to get this puppy started.

  ***

  From in the back of the cab, Bannon opened his eyes, and he found Abdul watching him through the rearview mirror. He noticed the mirror was at a different angle than before.

  Bannon nodded. Abdul looked away. Zipping open the daypack, Bannon counted out ten one-hundred dollar bills. He slipped a rubber band over them and dropped the bundle over the seat beside Abdul.

  The cabbie glanced at them. “What is this?”

  “A choice,” Bannon said, sticking the tip of the silencer behind the cabbie’s ear. He yanked out the man’s earbuds. “You can either accept my apologies and money or I can kill you and drive the cab the rest of the way.”

  “Ah,” Abdul said, nodding. “I was right. You have acted strangely from the first. This I recognize from Lebanon. You seem to me like a man on the run.”

  “I still haven’t heard your choice.”

  Abdul shrugged. “We learned hard lessons during civil war in Lebanon. One of the most important was to listen, how you say, to your inner warnings. I have also listened to my company’s radio. A description has gone out of the terrorist who escaped from the airport. You match it, and they say you are very dangerous. They said we should detain you or call in, but that is risky. You are a murderer they say.”

  “You keep your calm. I like that. What’s your full name?”

  “Abdul Arafat.”

  “You’re Palestinian?”

  “There are many Palestinians in Lebanon, but I was not one of them.”

  “You don’t like answering straight, do you, Abdul?”

  “I will take the money.”

  “That’s a wise choice. Now keep your eyes on the road and everything will be all right.”

  ***

  “That one,” Griffith said. He sat in his wheelchair beside Doris’s screen. He pointed at a dot indicating a cab heading from San Francisco toward Santa Clara. “What do you know about it?”

  “This is the taxi’s latest heading,” Doris said, the red-haired lady. She indicated the dot. “It isn’t real-time, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Griffith shook his head. He’d already known that.

  “We don’t have any electronics on or aboard the taxi,” Doris said, “although we can ask the cab company to supply us with the latest radio transmissions and retask an NSA satellite to keep track of its position.”

  “Who’s in the car?” Griffith asked. “I want detailed information.”

  “I’m on it,” Doris said, picking up a phone.

  ***

  The cab’s radio squawked and the dispatcher used the vehicle’s call numbers.

  “You might be earning your pay right now,” Bannon said.

  Abdul took the microphone and answered.

  “What is your present destination?” the female dispatcher asked.

  Abdul gave her the San Jose address Bannon had given him at the airport.

  “Are you indisposed?” the dispatcher asked.

  That was an odd question. Bannon guessed it was a code word, or a kind of a code word. He pushed the silencer against Abdul’s ear.

  “We can speak freely,” Abdul told the dispatcher.

  “Okay. That means your passenger can’t hear you, right?”

  “Roger,” Abdul said.

  “I need a description of your passenger,” the dispatcher said.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Abdul glanced at Bannon. “I have already told you,” he said into the microphone.

  “You told us he’s white, male and around thirty-five. I need more details.”

  “Heavy,” Bannon whispered into Abdul’s ear. “The man is balding and has a bad limp. I had to carry his luggage into the car because he wasn’t strong enough to lift it.”

  Abdul told the dispatcher what he heard from Bannon.

  “I’m writing that down,” the woman said. “Oh, and Abdul, is working the airport anything like the civil war in Jordan?” />
  “Not Jordan,” Abdul said, in apparent exasperation, “but Lebanon. How many times must I tell you?”

  The dispatcher chuckled. “Thanks, Abdul. Out.”

  “You did well,” Bannon said, as he glanced up at the ceiling. ATS was hunting, meaning it was almost time to switch cars. Somebody was making shrewd guesses as to where he was.

  ***

  Griffith listened as Doris read to him the passenger’s description. “It’s definitely not Bannon,” he said.

  “But the cab is headed in the right direction,” Doris said.

  Griffith nodded. Should he send the ATS helicopter into the air, chasing down the cab? That was flashy and Martinez hadn’t wanted that. He’d already broken one of the Director’s orders. Did that mean he should do it all the way, breaking every command?

  Moderation in all things, Griffith told himself, quoting Ben Franklin. Did that mean he should show moderation following moderation? That might imply extremism. Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice. Barry Goldwater.

  “What other leads do we have?” Griffith asked.

  “If you’ll look at this,” Doris said, using a touch screen, changing the picture. “TSA has spotted a man hidden near one of the SF runways.”

  Griffith watched from a surveillance camera. The screen showed a long, fuzzy shot, but the man he was looking at might be Bannon. Could Bannon have tricked them, deciding to head to a runway to wait things out?

  “Airport security is checking it,” Doris said.

  “What about a UAV?”

  “It’s still sweeping the perimeter of the airport.”

  “The airport is covered then,” Griffith said. “This cab…hmm. Check with the cab company in another ten minutes. If it continues for Santa Clara, we’ll intercept it. Now what’s next?”

  “If you’ll look at this…”

  -40-

  Bannon climbed out of the taxi near a used car lot. “Do you want to know what this is about? I’ll tell you.”

  Abdul stared him in the eye. “I am curious, yes.”

  “I’m a government assassin they’ve screwed over so many times it would make your head spin.”