Licht nodded for him to continue.
“I’m still curious as to why you were the President’s spy. And why have you come out from deep cover?”
“You mean besides your little tirade directed at Moose?”
“I doubt seriously anyone was very bothered by that.”
“You may be right.” Licht paused, looked up at the ceiling way up there above them. “Well, like the existence of the Task Force, my secret had become pointless. You all had already eliminated the two irrelevant suspects. We all, including you three, know it’s one or two of you, and I’m as likely to find out this way as sneaking around behind the scenes. All that was happening was the increasing probability it would wind up being all three of you.”
“Well, I suppose you should know that Linda approached Nancy and me, suggesting if it was one of us, she and the General were approachable.”
“I know. I was watching all three of you.”
“What you probably didn’t know is that she listed the President’s spy as a possible recruit.”
“Me? By name?”
“No. Just the concept of you.”
“That’d make it more likely that she, and not Nancy, is Samms.”
“Except for the minor detail that she was asking for one of us to recruit her.”
Chapter 38
Samms sat on a park bench that looked out over the Richmond Capitol building. She was supposed to be on vacation in Williamsburg with her husband, but had slipped her surveillance while her husband was playing golf. She was talking to May, earbud in, and cord with microphone hanging down her left shoulder into her cell in her lap.
She looked like any other crazy person talking to herself in a Richmond park.
“From here, May, I can see the route you say he’s planning to take. If he gets through security, I agree with you that he can have a field day shooting his Uzis into a crowd of onlookers.”
“What else do you see?”
“No possible means of escape.”
“He doesn’t care about that. He knows he can’t escape. He knows they never do.”
“But they always at least plan a possible escape.”
“Not always. But in this case, this guy’s posts claim he absolutely views this as an important suicide mission. Maybe he knows he’s dying and wants to go out making a point.”
“And his point?”
“That all politicians are liars. He wants his death to show that they are all lying about doing anything about gun control. He’s written a manifesto entitled ‘Get Over It’. It rambles alot, but his point is, guns kill, killers will always get guns, and the politicians and authorities can’t ever do anything about it, no matter how much they promise. And they all know that and just lie about it.”
“And this event tomorrow fits in how?”
“The Governor is announcing his candidacy for President. The speech tomorrow will basically present his comprehensive plan to amend the Second Amendment to the Constitution. This guy wants to point out the total futility.”
“And the FBI and Virginia police?”
“They both say they know all this. He’s a nut and has never done anything actionable. Never even bought arms in this or any bordering states. Nothing. But they promise to watch him if he shows up.”
“And your evidence.”
“That’s why you’re there, Samms.”
*
Two hours later, Samms was back on the phone with May. “Now what?” she asked.
“It’s on you now,” May replied.
“I called Tom. He can’t get to Richmond tomorrow. Did you call Cheese?”
“Yes. Same answer.”
“Tell me again why I can’t just go to the Richmond cops and show them what I found today?”
“Who are you? How’d you find that evidence? Why didn’t you go through your own channels? How’s your interrogation gonna go, Samms?”
“Right.”
“So we just leak it, then.”
“We’ve already told them, Samms. They said they’d keep an eye out.”
“This kid got a name?”
“What do you want it to be? Doesn’t matter for much longer.”
“Let’s make it Mortimer.”
“Sure, Samms. Whatever you say. Morty it is.”
“Why don’t we just show security where the Uzis and Glocks are, then?”
“That’s nice. The stuff’s not traceable to him. Saves a few dozen people at the rally tomorrow. In exchange for whoever and whatever he does next if we don’t spot it coming the next time.”
“So I just assassinate Morty in the act, right?”
“Right, except you don’t get caught.”
“Walk me through that part again.”
Chapter 39
At 11:30 the next morning, Samms, this time actually disguised as a homeless woman, sits on the same bench as the day before. The rally was scheduled to start at noon. The speech scheduled for 12:30.
“Yes,” she had admitted on Skype that morning, “my own mother wouldn’t recognize me. Hell, I walked by my husband this morning. No recognition at all.”
“Are you through security already?” May now asked.
“Yes. And I got one of his Glocks out of the trunk of the tree. It’s in my bag of smelly, but not too smelly, garbage.”
“Did one of the silencers fit?”
“Yes. I gotta go. He’s here now. I see him. Wearing a floppy hat and very loose fitting poncho. Much too large for him. He’s walking, no skulking, toward the tree.”
“Samms…”
“I hope this works, May.”
“Not a chance in hell of failure.”
Samms watched him. Looked around at the security she had already spotted around the crowd.
Morty knelt in to the tree, covering the front of his body and the tree with the poncho. Looked down as he worked. It was impossible to tell what he was doing. He had practiced this well.
The weak part of May’s plan was, what would he do if he discovered that one of the Glocks was missing? Of course, maybe he wouldn’t. He’d hopefully be focused on the Uzis, not the Glocks. How many guns did he need among hundreds of innocent civilians?
Samms watched as he stopped working and looked more closely down into the tree. Watched him as he felt around. Patted his chest through the poncho. He turned around and sat down against the tree, his back against the now-empty knothole. Head down, looking for all the world like a tourist taking a siesta.
But Samms could see that he was now deep in thought. She could guess what was going through his head. Why would someone steal only one of my guns? Why not all of them? Did they take it and are trying to find out whose it is by staking out the tree? They could do that without taking the Glock. Are they out there somewhere? On cue, he looked around. Slowly looking at everyone, eyes skipping right over the old homeless hag on the bench.
She could see him searching and thinking as he looked around. Which one has my pistol? A possible ally? Someone who wants to join me? Someone who wants to shoot me? Am I wrong? Maybe this is all I had. Maybe I didn’t put them all in the tree.
She watched his face go from concern to anger to resolve. And still he sat.
She looked over at the distant stage. They were preparing to set up the podium and microphones. Helicopters overhead. Drones. Media trucks topped off by satellite dishes everywhere. The crowd now moving closer to the Capitol. More and more people between her and Morty and his tree. The general noise and movement of a big, anticipatory crowd drowned out the sound of the helicopters and the drones.
She watched as he came to a decision. He got up, stretched his legs, pulled his hat lower over his eyes, and walked away from her, around the tree toward the back of the crowd.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
She jumped.
A Capitol guard now approached her.
“You can’t sit here, ma’am. Please move along.”
She wanted to argue back. Reprimand him. Shoot him.
>
Instead she lowered her head, picked up her bag, mumbled something incoherent, and walked away. Away from the guard. Tangentially away from the direction the crowd was now surging.
She was clearly at risk of losing sight of her target if she couldn’t change her direction. She looked back and saw that the guard had moved on. Away from her. On to more easy security guard prey.
She’d had had no idea how hard it was to pick up your pace when you were supposed to be a decrepit old lady, weighed down by age, poor health, and garbage bags.
“No chance in hell,” she angrily quoted May under her breath.
Then she saw him. He was moving laterally toward a dense part of the crowd over to the right of the stage.
Her phone buzzed. No time to look.
She meandered purposefully, as fast as she dared, among the crowd toward Morty.
There was no way to tell how he was planning this. Would he wait for the candidate to start talking? In which case, she had plenty of time.
Or would he start shooting at some randomly chosen moment? In which case, she might not.
He was fifty yards ahead, now starting to walk among the crowd. Drawing an occasional glare when he bumped past someone and pushed them aside.
Fortunately the crowd wasn’t too dense, and his poncho produced a clear visible distinction from the rest of the crowd, so Samms could keep tabs on his progress.
Since his random path wasn’t conducive to speed, she was able to gain on him. Once she reached the crowd, though, she knew it would slow her down as well.
Twenty yards now.
Ten.
And he stopped and looked around. Did a three-sixty as Samms ducked behind a couple between the two of them.
The couple looked back at her and stepped aside.
“Do you need help?” the young woman asked.
“Yes,” Samms said. “Would you please hold this a minute?” handing her a smelly bag of garbage.
Both looked away instead of taking the bag.
Samms stepped around them to keep a middle aged woman between her and Morty, who now had his back to her.
The woman recoiled away from Samms and looked left toward the podium. As she did so, Samms stepped around her, took one step toward Morty, and slammed the butt of her cane into the back of his right knee with all her force, then used the cane to rip his left ankle out from under him as he fell forward.
Samms then, in one move, pulled his silenced Glock from her garbage bag, keeping it hidden by her coat, screamed, and fell on him with full force. As she landed on him, she executed him with one shot to the back of the head, and one into the left side of his upper back.
Then, with one move, she slipped the gun and one of her business cards under his poncho, rolled away from the people who had seen her before she fell onto Morty, and stood up into a group in the crowd. Everybody was moving in on her, asking her solicitously how she was. Nobody seemed to notice the prone terrorist.
Her screams had successfully drawn all attention to herself.
“I’m fine,” she said, screaming. “I’m fine. That man over there knocked me down,” pointing to a man walking away from them. In the direction away from the dead terrorist.
As they all looked where she was pointing, she pushed herself through the crowd, away from their gaze, shedding all but one of her bags, and her cane, wig, and outer garments as she worked her way through the crowd which was now looking at the commotion from which she’d come. Moving as quickly as she could away from the dead terrorist.
She could see some security guards staring toward the melee. Standing on their tip toes.
Now unrecognizable, she pushed herself toward the back of the Capitol building. She could hear people in the crowd starting to scream behind her. No doubt people starting to notice the body. The blood. He was forty yards behind her now. She could see police heading into the crowd from every direction.
Her only real risk when she got out of the crowd was the helicopters and drones overhead. She knew she bore no resemblance to the homeless woman that many had seen and that everybody would be looking for, but overhead cameras would record someone fleeing the scene. She had taken pains to make sure she looked like a man from above. Hair tucked in a cowboy hat. Back pack.
So she walked normally. Staying as close to other people as possible. Moving in and out of groups.
She stepped into the now unguarded entrance to the back and side of the Capitol building. May had been right that this would be a reasonable short-term hiding place. All security personnel had run to the crowd noise.
And there she waited for a good fifteen minutes.
As soon as some people were walking in two’s and three’s away from the scene, she slipped back out and walked along with several who were discussing what they thought had happened.
“Somebody fell. Fainted.”
“I heard somebody scream. I don’t think they’re telling us what really happened.”
“Maybe it was an attempted robbery?”
“But the police said to leave. Everything was cancelled.”
“Is it terrorists?”
“They didn’t tell us. There were no shots or explosions.”
As they walked faster, Samms looked back. People were dispersing in every direction. Distant sirens could now be heard rushing to the scene.
She looked at her phone. Repeated calls from Tom. No time for that now.
When the group she had joined came to the spot she was looking for, she stepped into the agreed upon café.
Her driver was at the counter.
“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you. Ready to go?”
“Yes. You parked out back?”
“There was nowhere else to park, and that’s what we agreed to.”
“Then let’s go.”
“What happened out there?”
“I have no idea. Let’s go. Maybe it’ll be on the radio.”
*
As they pulled out of the parking area, she took off the hat and let her hair down. Ditched the backpack under her legs. A security cop stopped them immediately, arm outstretched.
Samms and the driver each rolled down their window.
“What’s happening officer?” Samms asked.
“I have no idea,” he replied. “There’s a disturbance at the Governor’s speech. We’ve been asked to stop and search all cars.”
“What are you looking for?” the driver asked, holding out his chauffer’s license.
“They don’t know yet. Can I please look in your trunk?”
The driver popped the trunk and got out. Samms handed him her driver’s license through the window as he headed toward the trunk.
He looked in the trunk, the engine, the interior of the car, and the glove compartment. Looked through her backpack.
Shrugged.
His phone beeped.
He looked down, read it, and laughed.
“It looks like we’re looking for a homeless woman. We’re to search and bring in all old homeless women.”
The driver laughed. “I think we’re done here, then officer.”
“Any idea what she did or what you’re looking for, officer?” Samms asked.
“The text said that she shot someone in the crowd. We’re to detain any suspicious old ladies.”
“Old ladies with guns, apparently,” Samms said.
He shook his head in disbelief, wrote something on a card, and handed it to the driver. “You can go. Anybody else stops you give them my card. The time and location I met with you are written on the back.”
“And we’ll hand over any sketchy looking old homeless women we run into,” the driver said.
Chapter 40
Nancy and Tom sat at a secluded table, waiting for their spouses to join them for dinner. Nancy with her martini and Tom with his Jack and Ginger.
It was pouring down rain. Buckets. In D.C., that meant it was going to be a long evening, just waiting for them to arrive, for starters.
“So,” said Tom. “Jack Licht. The Professor comes in from the cold.”
“You think this means he now knows who the Paladins are? Or that he still doesn’t?”
“The President has ordered us to give him all requested resources…”
“FBI, too,” she said.
“Interesting. Well, if he knows who the Paladins are, he’s lying to us. That only makes sense if he has a new mission.”
“Which would be?” she asked.
“I can’t think of any that would make sense. Unless the President and Moose have lost total confidence in the intelligence community.”
“And they’re setting up a covert force to support the Paladins?”
“I don’t think Jack would agree to do that,” Tom said.
“And I don’t think the President would suggest it.”
“Moose might, though. But I agree Jack would say no.”
“I think you’re right,” she said. “I agree that the President wouldn’t suggest it now and that Jack wouldn’t accept it. But once they know who the Paladins actually are, I could see a scenario where Jack might suggest it, and, if they were the only two who knew, the President would agree not to oppose it.”
“It would solve all but one of their problems.”
“And that one is?”
“What the Paladins are doing is illegal.”
“Ah, a technicality. Covert operators have to act in the grey area all the time.”
“That’s abroad, not here in the U.S.,” he said feigning shock and alarm.
“I’ll drink to that, Colonel,” she said, clinking her glass with his.
“You still sticking to your story that you’re not Samms?” he asked.
“Yes. You?”
“Samms is a woman, Nan. Speaking of which, did your guys ever identify the Asian girl who offed the Columbus Somalis? Is she possibly Samms?”
“You know I can’t answer that. How did you even know about her?”
“You know I can’t answer that. And sure you can answer me. You just forgot the Rogues Task Force had been canceled is all.”
She made a face.
“No,” she finally said. “She just disappeared into the thin Texas air.”
The Point Of A Gun: Thriller Page 20