I text my driver to have the car in front in twenty minutes; I want to have one more martini. I’ll have a light one. I’m feeling that I’ve almost had enough; I’ll sleep well tonight.
CHAPTER 31
One Too Many Martinis
Gabrielle felt the gin working a wobble into her stride. Her bladder requested a pit stop to the ladies’ room. Trips back to Washington, D.C. always made her fall in to an old habit of one too many drinks at the end of the day. The stress of making, or being a part of, world-changing decisions affected her ability to relax, so drinking became an unhealthy habit. Tonight she had followed through on a life-changing decision. The new stress helped maneuver her hand to lift too many gin-filled martinis.
Strolling out of the ladies’ room and heading out to the town car, people recognized her—as they should have—some of whom she knew and had associated with. She nodded and gave purposeful waves goodbye, as she didn’t want anyone to stop her. She knew she’d had too much to drink. A conversation with someone would be embarrassing. She was done for the day.
Her security man met her at the door. The hotel door man opened the door. The night air gave her a surge of alertness like a caffeine shot. She stopped to wave to one of the few black female congresswomen and her Chief of Staff grandson as they were going in another door.
The other security person was not at the door of her car. The security escort in front of her looked around and opened the door himself, and moved to let Gabrielle get in the car.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Three gunshots.
Screams loud enough to shatter glass filled the air. Shattered glass surrounded Gabrielle’s body lying on the ground in a pool of blood.
About ten minute minutes later, a little more than a mile down the road—
Pish…another gunshot.
And about two minutes later, Pish…
CHAPTER 32
Unclear and Present Danger
USA Today, May 14, 2014
FORMER SECRETARY OF STATE GABRIELLE BRANDYWINE WOUNDED BY GUNMAN
Psalms read the online news on his Kindle tablet, passing a newspaper stand as he walked through a small private airport terminal outside of Washington, D.C. He and Suzy Q had flown in on a private jet, since tools were not allowed on commercial airlines. Although it was fifty shades of blackness outside, they both wore their trademark sunglasses in and out of the terminal.
UNCLEAR AND PRESENT DANGER
That was the subtitle written for the online article. It spoke of the dangers many former public officials go through in places they could imagine. Are they safe, if ever? The story told of others who’d had close calls. The story told of private security and its cost, and how some former public officials couldn’t afford the A-Team. Often, others felt their lives were less at risk as the years had gone by. The story went on to note that opposing factions might hold lifelong grudges, whether inside America or from a foreign source. Maybe some would lie in wait, almost like a sleeper cell.
Every news channel made soft and hard claims as to who might be the gunman or gunmen. Information was sketchy; no statement from the FBI had come forth. One cable news channel made claims that some dark-skinned men were the assailants. Another station, known for its racial attacks and extreme conservative views, suggested that it might be a militant, revolutionary black man, who hated the former Secretary of State Gabrielle Brandywine because she wasn’t black enough.
The President and the First Lady had come out to the front lawn of the White House to ask for prayers and healing for all of America. The former president whom she served under made a plea for justice, and sent his best wishes for a speedy recovery to his friend.
• • •
Before flying from Seattle, Mintfurd warned Psalms to be about business. “Keep it straight from the gate, and not about emotions so you can control the justice sought—and for the future protection of your lady.” Outside the terminal, a dark-blue SUV awaited Psalms and Suzy Q.
After they had put their bags in the back, Suzy Q got in the front and Psalms in the backseat.
“Commander Psalms Black, I’d like to say it’s good to see you, but under the circumstances, I’m sorry that you are here.”
EL’vis Dean was at the wheel. He looked in his rearview mirror and saw Psalms’ gold-colored, steely eyes, burning bronze with focused control. “EL’vis, although I appreciate your respect, I’m not your commander. Call me PB.”
“Yes, sir—I mean PB.”
“EL’vis, this is Q. If you have something to say to me, you can say it to her, and I advise you to do just that. She is everything we are, and don’t doubt her.” Suzy Q’s face looked mummified; she didn’t appear to be breathing. “Where are you taking us?”
“Sir, I have a bunker in the Maryland suburbs. I can assume Madam Brandywine is safe from any other possible attacks. Phil Armstrong is assigned to her protection. You can call him at any time.”
“Dial him, please.”
“Your Bluetooth connect code, sir?”
“Pusher man 2014.”
EL’vis tapped the steering wheel in the middle and spoke the code. “Bridge-Water Overpass-Air-Span 4 to 4…search Bluetooth Pusher man 2014.”
“Sir, your phone should be ringing into Phil Armstrong’s phone in thirty seconds.”
“Phil, this is Psalms Black. Thank you.”
Phil connected Psalms and Gabrielle after five minutes. They talked for ten minutes mostly in coded words in case. She let him know she was grazed across both breasts by a bullet. Her moving at the right time and the position of her body helped to keep the bullets from going directly into her heart. She would have two nasty scars.
A doctor was ready to perform cosmetic surgery to minimize the scarring, but Gabrielle declined. She wanted tattoos over the scars, which made Psalms flinch.
Psalms’ mind took quick turns. Evita might be missing, but most likely she was just being Evita, he assumed. He contemplated how, like Evita, Gabrielle wanted tattoos over her breasts’ scars. A non- sexual image entered his mind of four breasts painted with tattoos. He knew if ever Gabrielle did get tattoos, they would be small compared to the ones that adorned Evita’s breasts.
Gabrielle’s head hurt from hitting the ground pretty hard when her bodyguard shoved her down. Considering her life had been only breast fat away from being over, her spirits were reasonable. In all her years of going to dangerous places as the American liaison, her sense of fear had disappeared, and a conscious courage had supplanted that fear.
The bodyguard had not been so lucky. He had sworn to take a bullet for the person he was assigned to protect, and that he did, with a courageous display. He was in critical condition. He had taken a second bullet across his vocal cords. That bullet barely missed vital structures in his neck, and could have killed him. Fortunately, it passed through at the right place and the right angle and missed the spinal cord, esophagus, and jugular veins. He would never talk right, if ever again, and would have serious complications with his vocal cords and damaged trachea. But, it was better than death.
The third bullet had hit the car roof.
Gabrielle expressed to Psalms that she had to do something for the young bodyguard, and Psalms replied that it would be done. She wanted to talk more, but he reminded her about security. She was under the protection of others beyond his control. He trusted Phil Armstrong, who served under him, but others might be listening. He had to shut it down for now.
After driving forty miles, the SUV pulled into a long, dirt driveway in Greenbelt. At the end, there was a small house. Two barns, one larger than the house, sat on one side; on the other side sat a barn more the size of large one-car garage.
EL’vis headed to the smaller one, and pushed a button on the steering wheel. The garage bay door rolled up. They drove in, and ten seconds later as the door rolled down, the whole floor lowered seven feet. EL’vis drove forward and down a ramp to an even lower floor as the garage floor rose back up in place.
They parked and exited. In clear view, there were two wounded men strapped to tables by metal wrist and ankle clamps.
Psalms always had EL’vis, an ex-Special Forces soldier turned Secret Service agent, shadow Gabrielle in D.C. and other East Coast cities for extra protection. EL’vis worked for both of them on separate jobs. He understood his worth, and allowed Psalms to mentor him. He was a good-looking, six feet two inches of chiseled, lean body.
After a man had insulted his family in Puerto Rico by revealing a family secret that caused EL’vis father to have a heart attack, EL’vis avenged his family honor with no regard for his current position. His decision came back on him, and he was dismissed from the Secret Service. Nevertheless, Psalms added him to his tight-knit security team with no reservations.
A pale-skinned man, EL’vis could pass for two different races. He spoke Spanish and French fluently, and his English had no trace of an accent. He affirmed Puerto Rican nationality and culture on the same level as American. When he left the Secret Service, Psalms met him moments after he turned in his badge. EL’vis called them his familia.
After EL’vis met with Gabrielle in the Willard Hotel lounge, he was outside next to his vehicle forty feet away, and positioned to see everything. He saw the second security officer leave his post and walk away quickly, but before he did, he saw the man looking up at a building. EL’vis scanned the building and noticed an open window with a small mirror reflection, most likely a rifle scope. The gunman fired three shots.
EL’vis watched Gabrielle, and the security officer go down. People ran to help them quickly at that scene. He went after the security man who had left his post. He jumped into his vehicle, U-turned, and drove in the other direction. He drove assuming the man would get in a vehicle, or head into Chinatown. He hoped it wasn’t the latter; he would lose him there.
Three blocks down, he spotted the man entering the driver’s side of a car. EL’vis drove by without slowing down; he hoped the man wouldn’t drive away and head to pick up his accomplice, and wait there instead. EL’vis turned the corner, and hit another U-turn before he parked on the corner. He had a clear view of the car, and it didn’t move, as sirens were filling the air.
He guessed the man had to be waiting for him, and doubted he would come from the same direction. EL’vis opened his center console and took out a small case, then exited his vehicle. He looked behind him, and sure enough, a man was walking his direction. He was wearing a long coat and walked abnormally. The man was looking around. Out of sight, EL’vis hid.
He pulled his gun out with its silencer attached. The man acted nervous and concerned about who might be behind him. EL’vis waited until the man was within twenty meters. He aimed for the man’s hip bone and fired.
Pish…
The man went down, and like lightning striking the ground, EL’vis was on top of him, disarming him of the rifle he had strapped to his leg. EL’vis pulled out an injection needle and shoved it in the man’s ass. His squirming stopped within seconds. He picked the man up, and threw his arm on his shoulder, imitating two drunk men walking down the street to a car.
Next, EL’vis removed the man’s coat and hat, put them on, and approached the car parked around the corner. He put his back against the passenger door, as if he were looking around for danger. Blue lights flashed, and sirens sang in the late-night air. EL’vis used his natural instincts and the things he had learned in dialogues with Psalms. He utilized his critical thinking skills like the Navy SEALs that captured and killed Osama bin Laden.
He angled his body so the man sitting in the driver’s seat couldn’t see it was the wrong person. A slight pull of the door handle indicated the door was unlocked, and he pulled it open quickly and caught the man off-guard. He shot him in the hip bone, too, inflicting so much pain on the man that he was easy to disarm. EL’vis rendered him silent and unconscious with an injection.
Without being discovered, he was able to get both men in his vehicle and to his bunker. He contacted Psalms.
• • •
Suzy Q, Psalms, and EL’vis unloaded the tools from the SUV, and then stood near the captured men. The men had death in their eyes. Their own death. They knew torture would come first, not for payback but for information, then death would be a blessing. The same thing could come from the FBI or CIA if captured out of sight of the public. Obviously, both men were connected enough to commit a crime of conspiracy to assassinate a public political servant.
Psalms and the other two knew the men would have limited access to the chain of command in their mission, but he could still seize building blocks of information. At some point, two plus two would make the four corners of a castle that must fall, along with those who lived in it.
Four hours later, the two men, nor any trace of their existence, were to be seen ever again. A local, closed-down crematory burned their asses to ash. Suzy Q kept one thing that identified one of the men.
It is said there are so few times the perfect crime has happened. A successful crime depends on other people or other things, and both can fail.
The two men took orders for a job, and that was to assassinate the former Secretary of State. They were hired guns who had killed corporate CEOs, dirty cops who had gotten scared and were about to turn state’s evidence, and other like assassinations.
The assassins had received payment through a foreign bank account, and they had a code name for the assassination. The building blocks leading to the castle were close by, but the castle was too far and high to touch without a master plan that Psalms and his team did not yet have. All he had was a couple of words.
“Black Goose.”
EL’vis had heard the term when he was on assignment protecting the former president of the United States. He heard the term used when Secretary of State Brandywine was going to meet with the president. There, they would drink Grey Goose vodka. Once, Secretary of State Brandywine had bought a case of Black Zephyr Premium Reserve Gin, and given it to the president, who had joked about her trying to get him to switch to gin instead of vodka. In response, the president had asked her, “Well, can’t we call my Grey Goose, Black Goose?” After that, whenever outside of her hearing range, he referred to her as Black Goose, with a slightly racist connotation.
The former president was not exceptionally bright in many areas, and when it came to memory of details, he was almost childish. While protecting him, Psalms had overheard his code number, 43-33-23-13-3-C, during a conversation between the former president and The Duck, the short, squat man with the nasal voice who was behind the scenes of many political evil deeds.
Psalms and EL’vis knew nothing came directly down from the former president, but The Duck had his hands in everything as a political maker or breaker: no holds barred.
Outside of the little house, Psalms and EL’vis spoke, and Suzy Q listened.
“I need to go visit with Gabrielle before we plan to do anything. They have taken a shot at her. I think they have tried to put a scare into her, but I have to evaluate this situation more.”
“I agree, sir. We can head into the city and let Phil know we are coming.”
“Let Phil know Q and I will have tools on us, and we will need to come through with them and not be checked.”
“Got it. Sir, I have debated whether I could share some information, but with what has taken place, I feel I must. Last night, less than an hour before the attack, Madam Brandywine gave me an assignment. No relationship to the attack, but—”
Psalms cut EL’vis off. “Was it a Level Six?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll think on it. She has her life, and I have mine.”
“To hell mate, if you do!” Suzy Q froze the soft ground with her cracking icicle tone. “Yer lady friend set up a kill, and she is then the victim of a long-range bullet across her baby feeders. Have you lost touch with what we do, eh? We need to search every centimeter for worms that might be crawling out of the ground.” Suzy Q’s eyes sliced a Zorro slash across Ps
alms’ face.
“Big Boy said keep your fucking heart out of it. I’ll sit my little bony ass inside a jail cell on a cold metal toilet for the rest of my life for you, but you better give me a running chance to avoid that crap. I don’t give a fuck about yer love life and about trying to protect her privacy!”
At that moment, Psalms regretted telling EL’vis that he could, and should, say everything he would say to him in front of Suzy Q. Despite it being the right thing.
When Suzy Q pulled her weapon out, whether it be her gun or her tongue to give you a lashing, you were going to get both barrels. “If yer woman let some red ants get loose, just stomp them little buggers to death and kiss and make up with her ass at a later date. That’s of course what yer supposed to, eh?” Suzy Q removed her sunglasses, cocked her head, and eyeballed the giant of man in front of her. She could hug him or shoot him dead either way, and would still love him.
Suzy Q could claw or beat most men to death. Over the past days, she had to beat down his heart twice, and keep it from ruling his mind. Psalms was being hard-headed about his one weakness. First Evita, and now Gabrielle, the two women he loved. Suzy Q took her thumb and forefinger and made the gun pointing to the head gesture as if to say, “What will it take before you wake up, or die?”
Psalms removed his sunglasses. His golden eyes locked on Suzy Q’s blue ones. He loved that anyone would stand up to him. It was so rare, and she was right to leave no stone unturned. He kept staring, and thought of what his grandfather said about King David, the man who killed Goliath. David sinned against Bathsheba and her husband Uriah when he was supposed to be at war taking care of his nation, instead of his tending to his personal desires. King David let his emotions control him, and instead his actions led to ruin by not being able to finish what he started.
There’s a time for love, and there’s a time a man must take control and complete a task. It doesn’t matter he hurts as long as his heart is pure. Grandfather had told him, a pure of heart is the deepest love of all. Love is about completion, your best effort, the culmination of brains and brawn, of thoughts and actions, words and behaviors. Love is not about victory. Love is being pure of heart when all is all done. Why put new doors in an old house when the house is falling down? Crooks and critters will find other ways to come in and keep hurting your presence and your future. Put your house in order.
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