“And then do what? Say he calls it off. Say we even take the next step, and murder him. Within a week, his son would have us hunted down and killed. Then he’d go ahead with the assassinations anyway.”
This was ridiculous. The two most important people in America were going to die tomorrow, and there didn’t seem to be any way to stop it. The same system that protected the President prevented Tom from helping him.
“So what can we do? Warning the President won’t work. Showing up at the speech, if we can even get in, will just get us arrested.”
“Jack had a ticket to Washington, so he was part of this. Attila and Vlad are probably part of it as well.”
Joan let the implication of her sentence weigh on Tom.
“So, we wait for them to show up, and kill them?”
Joan folded her arms. “They’re coming here to kill us.”
“And you can handle this?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s more than just the President. To be honest, I don’t even like the guy. But if Stang becomes the leader of our country, he’s going to start a war with China. You read the speech.”
Tom nodded. To say the speech was inflammatory was putting it lightly. It blamed China for the deaths, and then made demands that the Chinese would never meet—the Communist government stepping down, a formal apology, restitution, the disbanding of the Chinese Army… This was more than just their lives and the lives of some politicians. There were millions, possibly billions, of lives at stake.
“What if this goes deeper than Attila and Vlad? We don’t know how Stang plans to do it. He could fire a missile from miles away, for all we know. Besides, if they are the trigger men, they’re already on their way to their destinations. A plane ride to Montreal is at least eight hours long.”
“Then we somehow have to get the President and the Vice President away from those areas by 4:15.”
They brainstormed for a few minutes, batting ideas back and forth. Some were bad, some were impossible, and a few were ridiculous. Joan chewed her lower lip.
“How about we fake an attempt? Like fire a few bullets into the air? Then they’d get the President out of there.”
“We’d probably be killed before we could even fire the first shot. Scratch that, we wouldn’t even be able to get a gun anywhere near him. Where is this thing happening, anyway?”
Tom did a search for North American Energy Commission and found their website. He clicked on upcoming events.
“It’s indoors. Invitation only, some kind of formal dinner. We couldn’t get in if we wanted to.”
Tom took out his cell and dialed Roy’s new number. Maybe they had some ideas.
“How about we get one of those planes that do sky writing?” Roy suggested.
“The speech is inside. Last I checked, the Senate holds session inside as well.”
“Maybe it’ll be a nice day, they’ll hold it on the White House lawn. Hold on, Abe has an idea.”
Tom listened to some mumbling in the background. When Roy came back on, he laid it out. Tom was impressed.
“That’s so simple it just might work,” Tom said. “Do they have tours?”
“Bert says yes. He’s been to Washington before.”
“Will you be able to get what you need? It’s a long time until the Fourth of July.”
“Abe has got that covered. Think this can work for you, too?”
“I doubt it. We probably won’t even be able to get in the building. Plus we don’t have Abe. I’m not as recognizable in the public eye.”
“Good luck. Call when you figure it out. We’re going to stop by Abe’s, then go to the airport. Good thing I took out the extra insurance on that rental car.”
Roy hung up. Tom related their plan to Joan.
“Abe will probably get arrested. They’ll put two and two together.”
“He knows. But they won’t be able to hold him for long.”
“It wouldn’t work for us.”
“I know. But maybe we can use the same principle.”
Tom sketched out an idea. Joan listened, and added to it. After bantering back and forth a few times, they had something that might actually fly.
“We’ll need a sensor, or something that can pass for one. And uniforms.”
“No problem. I’ll call Stevie. He’s been the prop master on my last two movies. He can get anything. Just find a logo.”
Tom searched the internet for Canadian companies. When he found a suitable picture he saved it to the hard drive. Then he enlarged it in Photoshop and printed out a high resolution copy.
“Perfect. Let me use your phone.” Joan took it and left the room.
Tom searched through Bill’s programs and found a business card creator. With it, he made some cards using the Canadian logo. He left the phone number blank, then printed up six on some card stock, three with the name Tom Johnson and three with the name Joan Smith. They came out looking professional, though it bothered him the printing wasn’t embossed. Hopefully no one would notice. When he was finished, Joan approached the desk with a phone book.
“There’s one magic shop nearby, but they close in twenty minutes. Are we convinced Attila and Vlad are a no show?”
“We don’t have a choice. I don’t know if we can get what we need in Canada. What about the other stuff?”
Joan handed him a piece of paper. “This is Stevie’s email address. He wants you to send him a jpeg of the logo. If he gets it now, he can be ready in about two hours.”
Tom looked at his watch. He still had to stop back at the hotel for his laptop and luggage, and then go to Joan’s place. If they caught a late flight, they would get there late tomorrow morning, just enough time to get set up and work the kinks out of the plan. Tom emailed Stevie the logo.
“Do you have any other business you need to take care of before you go?”
Joan’s eyes clouded. “I called Marsha after I talked to Stevie. She’s going to close the business for a few days, make arrangements for Marty. The police found my purse, and they’re looking for me.”
“They want to question you, that’s all.”
Joan’s eyes drifted to Bill’s body, for the umpteenth time. Tom sensed her indecision.
“You don’t have to go.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You can stay here, talk to the police, explain everything. I can manage in Canada without you.”
He couldn’t. Not by a long shot. But she was just a movie producer. She’d been through half a dozen traumas in just a few days. He had to give her an out.
“I’ve never run away from anything.”
“I wouldn’t call this a typical situation.”
Joan met his eyes. “We have to hurry. The store is only a few blocks away.”
Tom nodded, relieved. He gathered up what he needed and they headed for the car.
If they lived through this, he wanted to ask Joan if bravery came easily to her, or if she had to force it like everyone else. Tom had been forcing his since he arrived in LA. He wasn’t sure how much more he had left.
“Still no word from Jack?”
Phil Jr. took another sip of scotch. The tension was getting to him. He shouldn’t have been drinking—not only because he needed a clear head, but because alcohol had a lot of calories. One more thing to worry about.
“No, Dad. He didn’t check in when he was supposed to.”
“Then why the hell don’t you call him?”
Phil wanted to smash the speaker phone with his fist. The old man would never allow himself to be talked to like this, so why should he? They were cut from the same cloth. He bit his tongue and went over to the treadmill, putting his single malt in the beverage holder. Phil set the machine for a medium pace and began walking.
“We never call them outside of scheduled times, Dad. This is your rule, remember? So there’s no connections.”
“Use your brain, Junior. If Jack isn’t in the game anymore, one of the others has to replace him. It’s a long fligh
t from LA to DC. What’s that noise?”
“I’m on the treadmill. You told me to lose some weight.”
“Call Jack.”
“Fine.” Phil drained his glass and switched the treadmill off. He walked back to his desk and picked up his second line. As he punched in Jack’s number, he held up a chrome letter opener and looked at a reflection of his chin. That wasn’t fat. It was bad genetics.
“Yeah?”
Whoever answered didn’t have Jack’s voice. Dread crawled up Phil’s back.
“Who is this?”
“Detective Roy Lewis, Chicago Police Department. Who is this?”
Phil covered the mouthpiece. “It’s that cop, Tom’s partner.”
“God damn it!” Phil could picture his father’s face turning red, that one squiggly vein in his head bulging out.
“What should I tell him?”
“Just hang up!”
Phil put the receiver on the hook and relaxed a tad. It amused him to hear his father frazzled. He poured himself another two fingers and turned the treadmill back on.
“Dad, you need to calm down.”
“Call the others. Have Attila go to Washington. There’s make-up in the kit, he’ll have to cover up his tattoos. He trained on the equipment?”
“They all did. Have you seen it? Pretty cool set up. Those darts are wicked.”
“They’re called flechettes.”
“Yeah, the flechettes. They don’t even make a sound when they’re fired.”
“They use compressed air, a CO2 cartridge. That’s why I chose them. Silent, accurate, deadly. The perfect weapon of assassination.”
The Secret Service wouldn’t even know where the shot came from. The weapons were housed in fully functional digital cameras. Even if they were opened up, they looked perfectly normal. The flechettes were amazingly accurate, within a two inch radius from a hundred yards. Of course, they’d be fired at a much closer range. And even if the first shot missed for some reason, they each could fire four without reloading.
“They can actually take pictures, Dad. How would you like a snapshot of the President right when he gets a poison dart in the neck?”
Phil brought his hands up to his face, imagining he had the camera that killed the world’s most powerful man. Snap, you’re dead.
“Stay focused, Junior. Attila will need a press pass. You’ll have to get a picture of him.”
“Got one.”
“Without the tattoos.”
“The computer can take them off. Don’t worry, Dad. It’s under control. His press pass will be waiting for him at the hotel. He’ll be right up front, have a nice, clear shot.”
“And make sure their watches are synchronized to the second. Once one of them goes down, the Secret Service will rush to protect the other one. They have to die at the same time, or we won’t get them both.”
Like a broken record, his father.
“I’ll make sure, Dad. Anything else?”
“Call me when they’re in position.”
His father hung up. Phil turned the speed up all the way and ran for a few minutes. When he lost his wind he hopped off and finished his scotch. After his breath returned, he called Vlad.
“This isn’t one of the scheduled times.”
Another Type A. Phil decided to surround himself with yes men when he took office.
“I’m aware of that, Vlad. Jack is out of commission. Arthur will have to go to Washington. I want you guys to leave, pronto.”
“We’re on our way to Bill’s to take care of Tom and Joan.”
“They can wait.”
“Bill’s line has been busy for a while. We should check.”
“You should clean out your ears. I said they can wait. My father has a wild hair, and wants it done now. Besides, Bill always takes the phone off the hook when he’s writing. Doesn’t want to disturb the muse, or some such crap. Tell Arthur his ticket will be waiting for him at LAX. He’ll be flying American Airlines. I want you both to call when you arrive.”
“What happened to Jack?”
“No idea. I called him, that black cop answered. Could be in jail, dead, or on his way to DC himself. But we’re not taking chances. Does Arthur know where to go when he gets in?”
“Yes.” There was a wet sigh. “I’m really itching to get my hands on Joan.”
“She’ll be waiting for you when you get back. You can have all the time you want with her, do whatever sick shit comes in your head. But right now, keep your eyes on the prize.”
Phil hit the disconnect button, then dialed Bill’s place. Busy. Odd that he’d take the phone off the hook when there was so much going on, but writers were a strange breed.
With Tom and Joan safely locked away in Bill’s cellar, the only thing left to worry about was that black cop and the clones of Lincoln and Einstein. Phil mulled it over, but couldn’t see how they could possibly be a threat. Even if they knew everything, there was no way they could stop it. Still, it was always smart to hedge your bets.
Phil flipped through his Rolodex and found Jerry’s home number.
“Hello?” He sounded as if he’d been asleep.
“Jerry? Phil Stang. Look, I hate to bother you at this hour, but this is kind of an emergency.”
“The Bureau is at your service, Mr. Speaker.”
“I just had a phone call, two cops from Chicago. I think they’re connected to the mob somehow. They wanted me to do something for them, I refused, so they threatened me.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But you can imagine. Calling my home number, saying they’d kill me. I’ve got my Secret Service guys on it, but I’d like it if you folks threw in as well.”
“We’ll make it a top priority. Do you know who they were?”
“Their names are Tom Mankowski and Roy Lewis. Go all out on this.”
“When I’m done, even the Sheriff in Wasilla, Alaska will know their names. You mentioned organized crime. Do you know which family they’re connected to?”
“No idea. But I’m sure you can find out. That’s why you’re Director of the FBI. They may have some accomplices as well. Let me give you some names. Albert Blumberg, Abraham Wilkens, and Joan DeVilliers.”
“We’ll take care of this for you, Mr. Speaker.”
“Thanks, Jerry. I knew I could count on you.”
Phil hung up. He would make more calls, to Justin at the Secret Service and Horace at the NSA. Then he had to get a ticket for Arthur and set up the press pass. But first; jogging or scotch?
He chose the scotch. During his last check-up, the doctor had cautioned him that he was in the early stages of cirrhosis. That didn’t bother Phil in the least. Donor organs were easy to come by. He poured himself another drink and looked around his den. Even though the condo was among the best in DC, he wouldn’t miss it at all.
His new accommodations were infinitely preferable.
When they finally settled in at the hotel, Bert had time to sort through his lures. He and Abe had gathered as many as they could, abandoning those stuck in Jack. The numbers were grim.
“What’s the verdict?”
Bert shifted on his inflatable donut and made a face. “I’m out about two hundred grand.”
Abe frowned. “You should have let me try to get the rest of them. We still can. The body probably won’t be discovered for days. In fact, they’ll be easier to remove when he’s all bloaty and rotten.”
Bert didn’t care to dwell on that image. “In all honesty, I really don’t care right now. The first time I lost my fortune, I was suicidal. Now, I just feel melancholy.”
Abe sat on Bert’s bed and began flipping through the cable guide.
“Near death experience. It’ll do that to you. Your partner has been acting pretty laid back himself. He was stuck underwater for about five minutes. I thought he was dead for sure.”
“Have you ever almost died?”
“Once, in high school. Some guys bet me that I couldn’t stick my wh
ole fist in my mouth. I did it, but couldn’t get it out. Cut off my air. Some jock on the football team saved me. He had to step on my forehead and yank my arm.”
“Did it change the way you looked at life?”
“Hell yeah. I haven’t gone to a football game since. I still have the cleat scars.”
“I meant in a more meaningful way.”
Abe looked up from the magazine. “Like, did I analyze my life and decide to concentrate on things that were important like family and friends and stop wasting all my time sitting at home watching TV?”
“Did you?”
“For about a week. Now I think I watch even more TV than before. In fact, why am I here talking to you when I’ve got that big TV in my room?”
Roy came in through the side door. The three suites they’d rented were adjoining.
“The first four star hotel I ever stay in, and it’s the Watergate. Remind me how I got talked into this.”
Abe got up and clapped Roy on the shoulder. “We don’t have time to play around. A hotel like this, everything is done for you. I need my suit cleaned, my hat blocked, the flyer copied, and a haircut. Plus, it’s three in the morning, and they have 24 hour room service.”
“These rooms cost more than our airfare. And we paid for yours.”
“All in the name of patriotism. I’m ordering some prime rib. Anyone else want one?”
There were no takers. Abe nodded a goodbye and went back to his room, via Roy’s.
Roy watched him leave. “That guy is a piece of work. You think he’ll be able to pull it off tomorrow?”
“He doesn’t have a choice. How about you?”
“We got the easy part. How’s your ass?”
“The bleeding finally stopped. I could use another Vicodin.”
“Way ahead of you.” Roy handed him a pill bottle and turned to leave. Bert didn’t want him to go just yet. He was overcome by a feeling that nothing should be left unsaid.
“Roy… Tom told me, the other day, about you losing your brothers.”
Roy stopped and waited, silent.
“I had a brother too, died when I was a kid. I know what it feels like.”
J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) Page 45