The Point Of A Gun: Thriller

by Steven W. Kohlhagen

  “Confirmed,” Cheese said, looking though his rifle scope.

  “Three men?”

  “Yes.”

  “As we discussed, we’re told one of them is FBI. It may be true, may not.”

  “If he is, why isn’t the place swarming with feds?”

  “Our info could be wrong, or they could be waiting for a sign from him.”

  “Either way, we can’t take any chance of you killing him. Even if you also take out the two ISIS targets.”

  “You willing to take the chance that you’re wrong and lose three hundred civilians, Samms?” May asked.

  “No.”

  “You still believe the Bureau guy is the shortest of the three?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll be delighted to know that the short guy has been the one on the trigger all morning.”

  “And the other two?”

  “One’s been on and off their phone. The other has been online. Impossible to tell from here what he’s been looking at.”

  “Wait,” May said. “You see that?”

  “No. What’d I miss?” Looking up from his scope.

  “Computer boy heard something in the room. Now he appears to be talking with somebody in the room.”

  “Where’s he going?”

  “Looks like to the sliding glass door.”

  “Cheese, can you take out their gun?”

  “We’ve been over that. Not with certainty. Maybe, maybe not. If not, then they’ll know we’re here. No telling how they’ll react.”

  “Okay, what’s happening now?”

  “Your short guy is shielding his eyes from the glare. Holding his hand across his forehead against the sliding glass door, peering into the room. The other two are watching him.”

  “Have you spotted any other Bureau guys in the area?”

  “No,” May said. “There’s no sign of them. We have no evidence they’re around. Where are they supposed to be?”

  “Across the street. One level above.”

  “Negative, Samms,” Cheese said. “There are no taller buildings except ours.”

  “There are no Agents in this building,” May said. “I’ve checked. Not possible. Do you have any ability to contact them?”

  “Not without blowing your, and our, cover. What are they doing now, May?”

  “Talking to each other.”

  “Cheese, can you take out the two taller guys?”

  “Sure. I’ve had that capability since yesterday afternoon, Samms. But you didn’t want me to do that, remember? Until you were sure who our guy was.”

  “Okay. I have to go back into my meeting. Use your judgment if it looks like they’re imminently going to fire. Do nothing unless you’re sure, though. Bias toward nonaction this time. It’s the best we can do.”

  “Wait,” May said.

  “Don’t go,” Cheese said.

  “What?”

  “Hold on.”

  “Talk to me. Cheese? May?”

  The three men on the balcony turned as the sliding door opened. Two men walked out, both with Glocks held out. The three men all were talking at once.

  Cheese sighted down the length of his rifle.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Two armed men came out of the apartment and have joined the other three,” May said. “They’re all arguing, pointing pistols at each other.”

  Cheese was sighting on the trigger man, watching him through the sites.

  “They’ve caught your guy, Samms,” he said. “Four pistols pointed at the short guy’s chest.”

  “Can you take out all four?”

  “No way, Samms. Not before one of them gets him.”

  “Ugh,” May said. “He’s down. One of the guys who came out of the room just shot him.”

  “Now what?” Cheese said.

  “Text me three times, whenever it looks like they’re getting ready to shoot.”

  “Give us a second here, Samms,” May said. “You have to bear with us.”

  “Or authorize me to use our judgment,” Cheese said.

  After a long silence, Samms asked, “Are there still four of them out there?”

  “Yes,” May said. “They threw Shorty’s body into the apartment. One of the original guys is now on trigger. The other three are studying their computer screens.”

  “I think they’re ready to shoot, Samms. Your call.”

  “I absolutely have to go back into my meeting. You have authority to take out the targets as soon as you feel they are about to shoot.”

  “Roger that. And the Bureau guys?”

  “Don’t get caught by either side, Cheese. That’s why you’ve got May in your foxhole. Over and out.”

  They looked at each other. Then Cheese resumed his position, sighting down his scope at the trigger man. May checked the safety on her rifle, her back to the door of the apartment, slowly surveying everything around them. A hundred and eighty degrees, up and down the street, looking at every level and anything that moved.

  Looking for any sign they, or the ISIS guys, were being watched.

  *

  It had been two hours since Shorty had been killed and Samms had signed off.

  May had seen nothing.

  Planes landed. Planes took off at JFK.

  Cheese sighted down through his scope.

  “What do you suppose they’re waiting for?” Cheese asked.

  “No idea. You’d think one plane would be as good as any other. Maybe they’re waiting for a prominent target.”

  “Maybe. But this is supposed to be ISIS, not a foreign government. Normally they just want to commit terrorist acts, not assassinate specific targets.”

  “Unless…”

  “Right. Unless.”

  “Why not just shoot them and disappear into the city? It’s not like they’re planning to start a day care center down there. They’re terrorists attempting a terrorist act. We can make them fail now, or make them fail at the moment of action. Why wait?”

  “Samms probably wants the specific target to be known. She’s big on our taking them out at the last possible moment. Drama queen I guess. Tom and I would just as soon see ‘em, shoot ‘em, and go. Let the police sort out what they were doing instead of us getting the credit.”

  “Me too. Maybe I’ll ask her.”

  Back to mind numbing surveillance, Cheese motionless, May’s head swiveling back and forth.

  A half hour later, Cheese said, “This may be it.”

  May looked down at the balcony, suddenly all action.

  One of the men had gone into the apartment. He now emerged. Talking into his phone. He pointed to the near terminal.

  “Look,” May said.

  “I don’t dare take my sight off the triggerman right now. What is it?”

  “A seven forty-seven at the far end of the near terminal. Security vehicles racing toward it. Red lights flashing. The third SUV is flying the French flag. Maybe twenty soldiers piling out, shielding a civilian heading onto the stairs leading up to the plane.”

  May looked over at the balcony below them. The triggerman was readying the antiaircraft gun. Two of the men staring at their computer, the fourth was talking to the other three and helping the triggerman.

  “Show time,” May said.

  “Are you still checking out of our foxhole? They’re not going to shoot until it’s off the ground. Do we have any company?”

  And then she saw them. Suppressed a laugh.

  “Yes. Four armed TSA guys. On the balcony right above our target. Looking out at JFK. I’m going to have to keep my head down, or they might see me.”

  Cheese peered up from his scope. “Incredible. Unless the ragheads scream ‘Down here, down here, we’re right below you’, they have no chance of seeing them until they fire off their cannon. At which point they’ll shit their pants from the noise and the concussion.”

  He shook his head, barely perceptibly. Went back to staring through the scope.

  “Where’s the plane now
, May?”

  “Taxiing down the runway, away from us. Looks like it’ll be taking off in front of us from left to right on the far runway.”

  “Should be a piece of cake at this distance for the ragheads. Even if they aren’t very good. The missile is guided immediately from the firing point.”

  “I can easily take out two of the four, Cheese. Can you get the other two?”

  “I have to make sure on the triggerman. Can you take out the two on the computer on the right, while I take out the triggerman and the guy on his left?”

  “Yes. But the TSA guys might make us.”

  “Might make us or definitely make us?”

  “Not definitely if we can get off four quick, silenced shots and immediately go out the back way.”

  “Where’s the plane now?”

  “Getting ready to take off. Just to our left.”

  “Let me know just before liftoff. Maybe the sound will cover us.”

  “And maybe the TSA boys will be admiring the takeoff and be oblivious.”

  The sound of the engines intensified. The giant plane began to move. Began picking up speed.

  “I’ll tap your butt as the signal to fire,” May said.

  Faster.

  The front of the plane edged up, front wheels still on the ground.

  The triggerman leaned into the antiaircraft launcher, finger on the trigger.

  May sighted down her rifle. Held it on the rightmost target as she tapped Cheese’s butt.

  Wheels up. Four almost simultaneous pops. Virtually silent in the din of the seven forty-seven’s engines.

  As he was hit, the triggerman pulled against the gun, pulling the trigger as he went down. There was a thunderous explosion as a rocket flew into the edge of the balcony’s wall, then across the porch, over the top and into the building across the street, exploding on impact into the second floor of an apartment.

  May held Cheese’s butt down as all four terrorists went down from the four shots, then were caught in the explosion. The plane was gaining altitude now, past the runway.

  The four TSA men had been knocked flat by the explosion and had not yet gotten up. They were all rolling toward the door to their apartment, frantically looking around.

  May tapped Cheese. He looked up. Then over at the two balconies. Nodded.

  They crawled toward the door and into the apartment, then headed down the stairs and out the back way, May texting Samms as they hurdled down the stairs.

  But it was unnecessary. Samms’ meeting had been interrupted already with reports of a failed terrorist attack against the President of France’s plane at JFK.

  PART III

  LIGHT

  Chapter 33

  John R. “Jack” Licht had never been a Professor. Never actually even attended any graduate programs. Your occasional graduate course in criminology or interrogation? Sure. Every agent had to hie off to Langley or Georgetown or Quantico for a few weeks every now and then.

  For appearances sake if nothing else.

  No, Jack came to be called “The Professor” the old fashioned way. By outlasting all his peers at both the FBI and the CIA to the point where all the kids who eventually became old timers in both agencies had learned so much from him over the years, that they all just naturally called him The Professor.

  And then, of course, there were the wire rimmed glasses, the loosened tie, rolled up sleeves, and ever-present jacket, never worn, just slung over his shoulder. He just looked like an old professor. Had for more than twenty years. And now he was a generation older than the active key counter-terrorism players.

  He had retired after forty years of service in various jobs in the intelligence community from his final job as head of an anti-terrorism sub-agency at the FBI. He had served seven Presidents, not counting this secret mission for the current one.

  His wife had held out the vain hope that he would retire according to her fantasies. Florida in the winter. The eastern shore in the summer. Nothing on their hands but wall to wall grandchildren.

  She was taking the disappointment well. This current assignment he had agreed to would have been a challenge even if he wasn’t required to stay in the shadows.

  But he was.

  Nancy Moffett, Tom Edwards, and Linda Simmons all knew him well. Not socially. But they had each worked with him. Attended anti-terrorism courses with him. They were all on a first name basis. To each of them he had always been ‘The Professor’.

  It was becoming increasingly clear that the need for secrecy had evaporated. Whether or not the three knew or didn’t know the identity of the President’s spy, as he knew they now called him, the guilty party or parties would be on their guard with him.

  This was why he had asked to meet with Moose and the President today.

  *

  Moose led him into the Oval Office.

  The President got up and shook his hand warmly.

  “Does this mean we have to start calling you Jack? No more Dark? And that you can dispense with the underground garages?”

  “That’s my proposal, sir.”

  “Why have you changed your mind? You were on record as saying that if your cover were blown, we were dead in the water.”

  “First, there’s a chance that it’s blown already. If Cheese’s approaching me was intended to alert me that my cover had been blown, then only the non-Paladins don’t already know my identity. And second, Nancy, Colonel Edwards, and Linda are all true professionals. Whichever of them have gone rogue, their behavior around me isn’t going to change if they believe I’m spying on them. They would have been completely cautious around me from the get-go. I’m thinking I was wrong about that all along.”

  The President handed Dark a card. It read “Samms of the Paladins” on the front, and “BHG” on the back

  “We found this under one of the DHS guys’ windshields at the sight of the JFK fiasco. I assume you have no idea what BHG refers to, right?”

  “Of course not.”

  He turned the card over and over, looking at both sides carefully.

  “Paladin.” He looked at the President. “Are you old enough, Mr. President, to remember the TV series Have Gun---Will Travel back in the sixties? Maybe even the fifties?”

  “No, why?”

  “The main character, played by, I’m pretty sure, Richard Boone, was named Paladin. He was a West Point graduate in San Francisco in the eighteen seventies, a veteran of the Civil War. He traveled the West, singlehandedly killing the bad guys, righting the wrongs for the common man when the authorities couldn’t get the job done. He always wore black and had a chess piece, the Knight, a Rook, on his holster and his business cards.”

  “I can see why Samms prefers Paladins to Rogues then,” the President said.

  Licht tossed the card back on to the President’s desk. “On the subject of my going public, remember that the Paladins already approached me. Then disappeared. Cheese has evaporated. Whoever his boss is either already did it on purpose or suspects that they might have stepped in it. They aren’t going to be more cautious if they come to know for certain that it’s me.”

  “And the advantages of you being known?”

  “I don’t see these three the way you do, sir. All three are patriots. It’s just that one or two have found a more effective way to do their job.”

  “And misuse of secret Intel, Jack?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President, that’s collateral damage.”

  “And murdering civilians without due process?”

  “Again, sir, with all due respect, to them, as it has been throughout our history, that’s the only recourse left in a society who’s authorities are failing its citizens. America has a long, glorious vigilante history, Mr. President. They view the ‘Paladins’ as a continuation of that.”

  “I’d say more like inglorious history, Jack.”

  “May I continue, sir?”

  “Sure.”

  “Another major advantage is that the non-Rogue or non
-Rogues will probably cooperate with me. Finding the Rogue will become somewhat easier in that case. Possibly even trivial.”

  “Plus, we can give you a staff and a budget.”

  “Well, there’s that.”

  The President looked at Moose. “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s right on all counts.” Then added, “Licht, if we accept your recommendation, we’re going to have to bring the DNI in on your involvement.”

  Licht made a face. “If I get caught up in that bureaucracy…can you at least keep me out of the NCSC web? In their own words, they’re job is to herd sixteen cats. It’ll be impossible to be effective if they view me as the seventeenth. This whole damn government process is why Samms has brought us here in the first place. I don’t want any part of it again.”

  Trying not to laugh, and failing, the President said, “Yes, Licht, I can have your existence and budget go directly to only Moose and the DNI.” He laughed again. “Nobody else. You’ll be on your own.”

  “Okay, I have two last points, sir.” He picked Samms’ card back up and looked at the President. “How serious have you and the Directors been about your surveillance of the three of them? And how effective has it been?”

  “Good question. Initially, we thought that making it loose enough to let one through at any given time would eventually lead us to the traitor.”

  Licht winced at the President’s use of the word ‘traitor’. Put the card back on the desk. “Did it work?”

  “No. There were too many times when all three of them were under surveillance when the Rogues carried out a successful operation. And there were times when one of the three of them had evaded the surveillance and there was a Rogue operation. Unfortunately, and maybe not surprisingly, it was never the same one of the three. Nobody wound up being singled out by the strategy, and it led us to each of the three.”

  “Well, of course, it could still be all three,” Licht said. “But the more likely problem with your loose surveillance plan was, number one, they have the professional ability to at least occasionally slip the surveillance, and, number two, we know there are at least four members of the Paladins. So some, like Teeter, were never under surveillance in the first place.”