The Cassandra Conspiracy

by Rick Bajackson

  The only problem was the weight. Empty it was lighter than his revolver; fully loaded, it weighed considerably more. Still, the new equipment enhanced his ability to protect the President, and if carrying another pound or two helped do that, it was well worth the effort.

  They had been in the air a little over an hour. Their anticipated flight time to Andrews was six hours, allowing for the tail winds. The President remained in his meeting, which showed no signs of concluding soon. Thiesse leaned back in his seat, and picked up the inter‑phone. He punched the extension for the galley, then asked the steward for a large mug of coffee. Located behind the Presidential staffers’ compartment, the main galley provided food for the President and his top staff and guests. The rest of his team took their meals from the aft galley that also fed the on‑board Air Force Security personnel, and the members of the invited press.

  Although he wasn’t overweight, Thiesse had been watching the scale creep up every time he stepped on it. If he cut back now, he’d avoid having to start a major diet. A few minutes later, one of the stewards handed Thiesse a steaming mug of coffee. “I held up your order while we brewed a fresh pot,” the man told Thiesse. The fresh coffee smelled good.

  “Thanks. It’s been a long day, and it’s not over by a long shot.”

  As the steward returned to the galley, Thiesse eased back in the seat. His mind wandered, finally settling on the time he first joined the Secret Service, twenty-three years ago.

  . . . . . .

  Allen Thiesse had begun his role as a Treasury agent not in the Secret Service, but rather in Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms, or ATF. After passing the Treasury Department’s law enforcement exam, he enrolled in the Treasury Law Enforcement School, where for three months he trained in the applicable areas of law enforcement.

  When he graduated, he was literate in the art of making arrests, testifying in court, gathering the information at a crime scene, and all the legalities that went with carrying a federal badge. Though ATF’s primary role was making sure the taxes were paid on alcohol and tobacco products, Thiess’s tenure at ATF’s New York field office was spent pursuing felons who thought that selling automatic weapons was an excellent way to enhance their standard of living.

  Married for over a year and a half, Thiesse and his wife were eager for an assignment to a field office in a city where they could begin to put down roots, and New York definitely wasn’t it. Their first major shock occurred when Thiesse realized that the cost of living in New York was higher than they had expected. Unable to find an affordable apartment in the city, the couple ended up moving to Long Island.

  Allen commuted to the city each day on the Long Island Expressway, known far and wide as a “parking lot” during both the morning and evening rush hours. With an hour‑and‑a‑half commute each way, Thiess’s days began early and ended late.

  His first case involved the sale of automatic weapons. Since the case also involved counterfeiting, however, the Secret Service too was involved. For a change everything went well. With the help of a local confidential informant, or CI, ATF was able to pinpoint the source of the guns. A benevolent judge issued the required search warrants; the resultant raid unearthed the hardware as well as a considerable stash of counterfeit currency.

  With the perps in jail, Thiesse had a few drinks with the Secret Service agent who had been working with him. Impressed by his counterpart at ATF, the agent suggested that Thiesse consider a transfer to the agency.

  A month later, Allen Thiesse had his first interview. The interviewer went over every job Thiesse had held since he was eighteen, verifying that there were no unexplained gaps. He was questioned about his parents, their parents, and the rest of his relatives. Since neither Allen nor his wife had any relatives living behind the Iron Curtain, that part of the session was straightforward. When it was over, three hours had passed, and the candidate had answered all the questions to the best of his ability.

  Thiesse also completed the myriad security clearance forms needed for his background investigation. The Treasury Department handles its security clearances in the same manner as the Department of Defense, with clearance levels ranging from Confidential at the lowest end, to Secret and then Top Secret. He would have to qualify for a Top Secret clearance. Since he could be in close contact with the President, he also needed to pass a Special Background Investigation or SBI, a microscopic inspection of the applicant’s entire background from birth to the present.

  In the civilian sector a Top Secret clearance with Special Background Investigation could easily take a year or more; the Secret Service however, expedites the clearance processing for prospective agents. His Top Secret Special Access clearance in hand, Thiesse reported to the Service’s James J. Rowley Training Center in Beltsville, Maryland, a scant three months later.

  With the move to the Secret Service, the Thiesses decided to rent an apartment in nearby Laurel on a monthly basis. If Allen’s career was going to be in Protective Operations, they could relocate closer to Washington. Meanwhile, they would be far enough out of the Washington metropolitan area for the higher cost of living not to affect them.

  The Beltsville Training Center was located along the Baltimore‑Washington corridor, closer to the Capital than its neighboring city to the north, and not far from Thiess’s new apartment. The Service had named the Training Center after a past director of the Secret Service who had established a formal training program specifically for Secret Service agents. All agents in training spent time initially, and later in their careers for retraining at the Training Center’s sixty-acre facility.

  In addition to a thorough grounding in the laws that the Service upholds, the agent‑trainees received expert training in the handling of various firearms. These included their primary weapon, the Smith & Wesson K-19 .357 magnum as well as the Remington 870 twelve gauge shotgun and the Uzi 9 millimeter submachine gun. When they weren’t honing their skills on the firing range, they were practicing the hand‑to‑hand combat techniques necessary to subdue an attacker, first on padded mats and later on simulated streets where there were no mats to prevent bruises or ease the falls.

  In the classroom, Thiesse learned more about the manufacture and counterfeiting of U.S. currency than he ever thought possible. The instructors carefully explained how counterfeiters go about applying their craft, as well as how to spot counterfeit greenbacks. Thiess’s instructors emphasized the scientific evaluation of counterfeit bills by the Secret Service’s Washington labs, and how to put a counterfeiting case together for trial.

  Protective Ops training included a crash course on psychology that explored the theories of crowd dynamics. The men and women assigned to protect the President or vice President had to be able to read the signs that indicated that their protectee was in imminent danger. The tenets of Protective Operations were drilled into each would‑be agent’s head: sound off, arm’s reach consideration, cover and evacuate.

  Agents selected to drive the Presidential limousine got trained in evasive driving. They practiced evasive maneuvers by driving out‑of‑commission limousines through a maze of rubber traffic cones. They learned how to handle scenarios in which the attacking vehicle blocked the road in front of the President's car. Various types of road surfaces and shoulders allowed the agents to hone their driving skills. Handling the limousine was one thing; learning how to cope with the stress that went with the job was something else. Drivers who couldn’t deal with the nerve-racking stress of driving down a street constantly alert for an attack ended up in other assignments.

  Finally the students “graduated”, and Thiesse received his custom‑made earphone. Agents working a protection detail had earphones attached by a wire to a jack that in turn plugged into his belt‑mounted communications transceiver. A second wire connected the small clip‑on microphone, which generally was attached to the agent’s cuff, to two‑way radio. Fully equipped, Allen Thiesse was ready to take on his first assignment.

  Thiesse had hoped for a protec
tion assignment, but the Service worked in strange and sometimes not so wondrous ways. Someone in the Service’s upper echelon figured that if Thiesse had lived in the New York area while he was with ATF, then that would be the best place to send him. So Allen Thiesse was assigned to the Service’s largest field office as a “newbie”, the greenest member of the team.

  Thiesse promptly found himself lost in the shuffle of routine work handled by the office, most of which centered on tracking the sources of counterfeit bills or tracing stolen government checks. But on occasion, when the President or vice President visited the Big Apple, Thiesse supported Protective Operations. In spite of its size, there wasn’t much excitement in New York. Two years later, the Thiesses found themselves packing their belongings: the movers took the furniture and boxes; Thiesse and his wife drove the car. Their destination was Washington, D. C. He’d be working the vice President’s protection detail.

  Soon the agent’s life had become one of pacing limousines and standing guard duty at whatever post the Special Agent in Charge (SAIC) or Assistant SAC (ASAIC) assigned him. He watched countless hands of faceless people until his head hurt. He was always on guard, looking for faces that didn’t belong–someone who was sweating when it was cold, or someone who was too cool in the heat of the day.

  He looked for anyone who seemed out of place, always waiting for the radio message he feared most– “Gun Left” or “Gun Right”. Wanting to be certain he’d recognize any of these people if he saw them in the crowd, Thiesse memorized the faces of the active threat makers. He worked the crowd before the limo arrived, then continued his surveillance until the vice President was safely at his destination. There were other occasions where he arrived with the vice President. Thiess’s first act after getting out of the car was to unbutton his jacket. Nothing in the way of reaching his gun should the need arise.

  Many agents assigned to Protective Operations “burned out” from the heavy travel, the long hours, and the pressure. These people were transferred off the high intensity Protective Ops teams. But Allen Thiesse seemed to flourish with each assignment. He learned how the Service protected the President and the vice President, each new trip a challenge.

  Throughout the time that he spent guarding the elected leaders of the United States, Allen worked hard on his marriage. Whenever he had time off, he and Diane spent it together. Fortunately Diane had her own career, so she wasn’t left “high and dry” while Allen “advanced” the next vice Presidential trip. Their marriage became stronger. When he looked back on the years spent in Protective Ops, he credited Diane’s career with contributing to the glue that held their relationship together.

  Election years posed the biggest problems for the Service, heavily taxing the agents. Every four years, the organization had to find extra agents to supplement those protecting the President and vice President while they were on the campaign trail. And that didn’t include the details needed to protect the candidates.

  Manpower limitations were severe, and stayed that way right through the general election. Although the candidates and their spin doctors looked forward to Secret Service protection, the Service didn’t provide round‑the‑clock protection until after the man was a leading party candidate or until the White House ordered it. Every campaign manager coveted Secret Service protection. It was always more impressive when the candidate arrived in a Secret Service motorcade than in a private limousine.

  Thiesse worked Daniel Varrick’s protection detail as ASAIC during the candidate’s campaign for the Oval Office. When personal illness resulted in the reassignment of the team’s top man, Thiesse took over as Special Agent in Charge. Throughout the remaining months of the campaign, Daniel Varrick leaned heavily on Allen Thiesse. Thiesse harbored no illusions about being appointed PPD’s SAIC, and was surprised when the President‑elect pushed for his appointment to the post.

  Having a Secret Service protection team was entirely new to the candidate, who recognized that these people had a job to do. A modest man, Varrick felt there was little threat to his personal safety. Not wanting to make their job any more difficult than it already was, he cooperated fully with the Secret Service.

  . . . . . .

  As the meeting broke up, the voices of the President and his staff interrupted Thiess’s reverie. Thiesse checked his tie, and then placed the empty cup on the table adjacent to his seat. As the President left the conference room, the agent noted the haggard look on Daniel Varrick’s gaunt face.

  The President, shadowed by Thiesse, made his way forward. Before Daniel Varrick went into his office, he turned to Thiesse and said, “This is going to be a tough one, Allen. The nation’s business interests are not going to be happy with our new program.”

  “I’m confident you can handle them, Mr. President,” the agent said supportively.

  The intercom buzzed as Thiesse watched the door close. He reached over to answer it. It was Col. Mark Haggerty, the Air Force One pilot. “Allen, we’ll be landing in about a half hour.”

  “Thanks,” Thiesse said hanging up the phone.

  Thirty minutes later, the most recognized symbol of the presidency gently rolled to a stop near the specially built operations and maintenance building. Thiesse waited patiently outside the President's office for him to emerge. From Andrews, it would be a short helicopter ride to the White House South Lawn. Once the President was safely back in his private living quarters on the second floor of the White House, Thiesse could call it a night.

  After the ground crew had maneuvered the mobile ramp to the front cabin entrance, one of the on­board crewmembers opened the door. Thiesse stood at the top of the ramp until the rest of his detail was in position. There had been plenty of times when Allen Thiesse wasn’t really sure why he put up with the hassles of his job and the strain on his marriage. But there were other, quieter moments like tonight, when he looked with pride at the dark blue letters spelling out The United States of America on the fuselage, and the Presidential seal next to the cabin entrance. They served as clear reminders of his weighty responsibilities to the man who led the most powerful nation on earth.

  Thiesse checked to see that the agents were at their posts. Keying his two‑way radio, Thiesse commanded, “All posts say status.” As each agent checked in, Thiesse visually checked the positioning of the Air Force security officers who supplemented his people when Air Force One was at Andrews. The Sikorsky VH-3D that would ferry them back to the White House was only a few feet from the 747. The agents who accompanied him on the trip were already in position near the helicopter. Everything was secure.

  Thiesse knocked once on the President's door. “We’re ready when you are, Mr. President.”

  As Daniel Varrick left the airborne Oval Office, Thiesse led the way to the forward cabin door. “We’re moving,” Thiesse spoke into the microphone in his sleeve.

  CHAPTER 7

  September 28th

  John Grant’s ice‑blue eyes glanced down at the computer screen. They had agreed upon the encrypted message system during the project’s preliminary planning stages, and it had served them well, maintaining the security so essential to a successful mission.

  Of the Committee’s entire membership, Grant knew the identity of only the Chairman. The reverse also held true, in that only Charles Wingate and his chief of security, Bill Parker, knew their hired assassin. Therefore all of Grant’s communications with the Committee went through its chairman, which was exactly how Grant wanted it.

  When the Committee first decided to act, Wingate tasked Parker with locating the right man for the job. It took Parker less than a month to screen several candidates, finally deciding on Grant. Wingate’s initial contact with the assassin took place between two phone booths–both selected at random. The basic arrangements were made, the deal struck, and money transferred from one equally anonymous Swiss bank account to the other. Grant was a strong believer in “need‑to‑know”–if you didn’t need to know the information to do your specific job, then you didn�
��t have access to it.

  Grant paused for a moment, letting the significance of their ‘go’ decision settle in his mind. He had ample money for his expenses. More important, he had a basic plan of action. He had only to complete his planning and begin the implementation stage. During the past months, he had reviewed the basic plan over and over again, and Grant didn’t anticipate many changes. He had spent countless hours working out the details and developing a plan that would swing the heavily weighted odds against their success into Grant’s, and thus the Committee’s, favor.

  Grant had sifted through the mass of data provided him by his newest employer. Someone definitely had access to all the right information. Grant had been briefed on the target’s security arrangements, he knew what frequencies his security personnel communicated on, how they were deployed, not to mention how many people were used, and how they were equipped. A plan had slowly evolved in Grant’s head, taking shape over the following months. Then he polished it until there was nothing left to question. Finally, he could proceed.

  He was not quite sure whether he was happy or sad. His reaction to the news surprised him in that he always was up for a mission, but this time it was different. Maybe it was the old score that would finally be settled. Maybe it was the gravity of the task he was taking on. Either way, he had to complete his detailed plans now if he was going to meet the Committee’s schedule.

  He had already given some thought to his objective and how he could best carry off the hit. Selecting the approach was absolutely critical, and Grant always preferred a carefully placed rifle shot. His target was well protected, which meant he wouldn’t be allowed to get in close. Besides, even if he did manage to get within pistol range, he’d never escape. The target’s security also ruled out bombs. X-ray scanners and bomb sniffers–both electronic and four-legged–checked every parcel and envelope that made it to the target’s hands. Notwithstanding, Grant had an idea. He’d have to test the waters to see if it would work, but on the surface it looked promising.