by R. A. Lamb
“Seen enough? Your car is parked in a parking garage a couple of miles from here. Sam if you’re finished with them I’ll drop them off.” Hank turned and held the door for us, then nodded to Sam, “I’ll be back in a few minutes so we can go over the plans one more time.”
He took Kat and me to the car. “We don’t want the terrorists to accidently see you or your car so I want you to park here tomorrow. Here’s a parking pass to get in. Sam or I will be here at eight sharp and take you to the trailer. Any questions?”
Kat and I shook our heads.
“We hope tomorrow puts an end to this, Hank. Kathy and I have been running a long time and we want our lives back.”
“We all want that, Todd, and I think we stand a good chance of it happening.”
Kat nodded, “You can count on our help.”
“Good. Get some rest. It’s going to be a long day.”
I got behind the wheel and started the car. Relax. I told myself. Try to relax. But that wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t and an excited tingling rippled through my body. My mind raced in high gear. Tomorrow. Tomorrow’s the day we’ll stop Alkobar, stop his plan and stop the terrorists. Tomorrow’s the day, I told myself. I put the car in gear.
Then doubt crept in, What if we can’t? What if we fail? People could be hurt, innocent people. We can’t let that happen. We won’t fail.
My hands became fists gripping the wheel, my forearms were tight and knotted. We won’t…
My thoughts were broken by the tug on my sleeve.
“You okay, Cowboy?”
I turned and saw the concern on Kat’s face.
“Yeah. Oh yeah, I was just thinking.”
I backed out and headed for the apartment with thoughts of tomorrow still racing in my mind.
I tossed most of the night. I saw the terrorists in the Capitol tunnel, their sneering faces on the houseboat where Kat was held, I saw Hendricks and Ponytail, heard shots, and voices, and always there was Alkobar’s face and his stare. I was sure I kept Kat awake, but she didn’t say a word. The next morning we arrived at the parking garage well before eight. The pass worked fine. We parked and waited.
“Today’s the day Kat. I have a feeling this is the last day of freedom for Alkobar.”
“I hope you’re right. When I think of what we’ve done these last few weeks… It seems unreal.”
You mean everything including the first night you and--?”
“No silly, of course not. You know what I mean.”
“If I didn’t know better, Kat, I’d say you were blushing.”
“I’ll show you blushing, Cowboy,” and she poked me in the ribs.
That’s when the van with a local news station logo on the side pulled into the parking lot. It was two minutes to eight. Hank got out, motioned to us and opened the sliding door on the side of the van.
“Put these on.”
He handed Kat and me, Kevlar vests.
“Standard procedure.” Hank reached in and pulled out two light brown jumpsuits which zipped up the front. I unfolded one and saw the news station logo on the back.
“You need to blend in. I know they’re a little big. Here’s a cap to go with the uniform. Get in. Sam is waiting in the MCP.”
A few minutes later Kat and I were standing outside the trailer. Hank knocked on the door. Sam opened it.
Kat looked surprised and asked, “Where’s your uniform?”
One corner of Sam’s mouth turned up into a little smile. She wore a tight fitting, tan pant suit and peach colored blouse. Her outfit really did highlight her brown hair and rich tan.
Sam pointed to a name tag with the news station logo which hung around her neck, “Every station needs a TV anchor. This is all I need for now.”
For the first time Sam seemed on-edge. She introduced Kat and me to Agent Bill Mathews, who was sitting, watching a monitor. He was a tall, lanky man with brown eyes, in his late twenties and wearing a jumpsuit like ours.
When Agent Mathews greeted us, he had a slight New England accent. Memories of my roommate, Damon, flashed through my mind. Our friendship, the good times we had, his death, and the terrorists who murdered him.
“The four of us will be here all day until the fireworks show’s over and we see what the terrorists’ have planned,” Sam said unbuttoning her jacket. She slipped on a Kevlar vest.
The vest didn’t match her outfit, but then neither did the yellow and black Taser or the gun metal gray 9mm strapped to her hip.
Sam motioned, “There’s a cooler of drinks in the cab and a port-a-potty about fifty yards to the left of the trailer. I want at least three sets of eyes on the monitors at all times. Starting now, no one leaves the trailer without my permission. Got it?”
Agent Matthews said, “10-4.”
Kat and I nodded.
“Good. Pick a stool and let’s get started.”
Agent Mathews took the one closest to the rear of the trailer. Sam took the next. I started to move behind Kat. She took a half step back making it a very tight squeeze in the already cramped space.
“Got enough room to get by, Cowboy?”
I didn’t reply and sat down in the third seat. My cheeks felt flushed and I glanced at Kat. There was that devilish grin. She sat on the stool closest to the cab.
Chapter 21
We watched the monitors. The pre-noon activities were pretty much like the stuff we saw yesterday. Workers put on the finishing touches. Two checked the speaker cables next to the grandstand. Another picked up unused equipment, put it in a pickup truck and hauled it away.
Four men attached green netting to the chain link fence which encircled the fireworks and sound trailers.
That really dresses things up but hides what’s going on, I thought. Glad we have cameras inside the fireworks unit.
About one o’clock there was a knock on our trailer door. Agent Mathews tapped the keys on his keyboard and studied a screen showing a man standing outside. “That’s Crawford with our lunch. I’ll get it.”
Agent Crawford set four McDonald’s bags on the counter and left.
“Drinks are in the cooler in the front, Todd. Do you mind?” Sam smiled. She seemed more relaxed.
I thought, Burgers and fries, my favorite meal. “I’ll get the soft drinks. Now this is the way to run a stakeout.”
After lunch Kat stood up, “I don’t know about you, but I could use a potty break.”
We took turns. It felt good to stretch my legs and enjoy the sunshine if only for a few minutes. About two o’clock uniformed policemen arrived and opened the gates. A huge crowd was expected. People were already lining up at the entrances. Two patrolmen stood at each gate checking the spectators before they entered. Parents with children, strollers, college students and tourists started streaming in. Some brought blankets to spread on the lawn. Others moved to the bleachers that had been erected for this occasion. I didn’t see how security would be able to properly screen everyone, but then I wasn’t the expert.
The crowd did what crowds do. Spectators picked their locations, kids ran, screamed, played. No one had any idea they might be in danger, and for that matter, no one in the surveillance trailer were absolutely sure they were.
I looked at Sam. “Alkobar has to know security’s tight. He may think the risk is too great. Then all our preparation is --”
A monitor in front of Agent Mathews began to flash. “We’ve got a hit at gate twelve, Sam.”
Sam spoke into her headset, “Identified suspect, gate twelve. Blue T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, dark hair heading toward Sector C.”
On another monitor the doors of a Tahoe flew open and four men in windbreakers dashed through gate ten. On a screen Kat and I watched erratic video feeds from the lapel pin cameras as the agents ran toward Sector C.
One of the pursuing agents reported, “Target spotted, converging on three sides.”
I felt my heart pound in my chest, my eyes glued to the screen. An agent shouted, “You in the blue shirt. Stop whe
re you are.”
The agent stopped a few feet in front of the suspect. The agent’s camera showed his hand and Taser pointing at the man’s chest. The suspect immediately turned and started to run, but he didn’t take two steps before he was intercepted by another agent. The others closed in and the man in the blue shirt gave up and raised his hands.
“They’ll take him to an interrogation room,” Sam explained.
“How far away is that?” Kat glanced toward her.
“Not far, a few hundred yards. Did you notice the tour buses as you came in? The red and white one with Delmar Touring written on the side is our containment vehicle. It has three interrogation rooms and a holding cell.
“You guys think of everything,” I said as I watched the agents and the suspect exit gate ten.
“I hope your right, Todd.” Sam continued to stare at the monitor. “I hope you’re right.”
“Well that was exciting.” Kat drew a deep breath and looked at Sam. “I still have goose-bumps.”
Sam replied, “I don’t think the excitement’s over. Stay sharp.”
“I never saw that guy with any of the terrorists,” Kat said. “Do you remember him, Todd?”
I glanced at Kat and shrugged. I wondered, How many more men does Alkobar have? One of them could walk up behind us and we’d never know it until it was too late.
Sam set a keyboard in her lap and began typing, “Let’s see what we can find out about this guy.”
“Can you really do that?” I said.
“Maybe. I’ll use the image of him we got from the facial recognition software and link it to this database…” Sam hit a few more keys. “We should be able to pull up Mr. Blue-shirt’s rap-sheet, if he has one.”
A few seconds later his facial profile and background popped up. Sam leaned forward and read out loud, “Anthony Gambito, aka Tony the Pocket. He’s involved in drugs and racketeering. There’s an arrest warrant on him for smuggling and a Chicago warrant for aggravated assault.”
“Any terrorist activity?” asked Kat.
“It doesn’t look that way. He’s a small time hood with mob connections. He just got caught in our net and we’re back to square one.” Sam leaned back with a disappointed look.
The digital clock on the table read three forty five. Things got back to normal, but normal was hardly the right word. Everyone stayed focused on the monitors and waited for the next alert.
By four o’clock there was a large crowd and more people were arriving. Gate security stayed busy. I noticed additional video feeds showing up on our monitors.
“Plainclothes agents are getting in place,” Agent Mathews said and pointed to a screen.
I leaned forward and glanced toward him, “I don’t think we can identify anyone while the agents are moving around. The video is too jumpy.”
“They’ll position themselves at different points in their assigned sector. When they stop we’ll get a steady feed.”
The crowd grew. The monitors were filled with activity. Three men entered the fireworks trailer and started going through what I guessed was a final checklist. One of them was Lester Chanley. I watched for a while. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as I could see.
Remote cameras scanned the crowd. Children ran everywhere. Bet they’re excited, I thought.
Some parents watched. Others ignored the kids and visited with friends. The patrolmen were still busy at the gates, and the lines looked like they weren’t going to end. I stretched my neck from side to side. The stress of the last few days had made my muscles stiff. The clock read six fourteen.
The entire bank of monitors lit up as the last of the plainclothes officers got in position. Sam occasionally talked into her headset otherwise the trailer was quiet, as our group watched and waited for the next alert.
About six forty five some members of the orchestra arrived. They milled around, searched for their chairs and unpacked their instruments. A workman placed a speaker near the orchestra pit.
Cutting it pretty close, I thought.
Kat tilted her head toward me. “I wonder where Hank is?”
I smiled, “Probably in the middle of things.”
Sam looked at Agent Mathews and then at Kat and me, “We need all eyes on the monitors from here out.”
By seven thirty the sun hung on the horizon. At nine the show would begin. We could hear the orchestra tuning up.
Since I was a kid I liked fireworks. And here I was next to one of the best displays anywhere and I was inside a trailer staring at computer screens. At eight forty the orchestra began playing. It signaled the crowd to find their seats. The entertainment was about to start. National TV had their cameras ready to capture the pomp and pageantry and broadcast it live across the country. Local stations had cameras setup to record bytes for their newscasts.
They don’t have a clue how important an event they were about to record.
At eight fifty five, a well-known television personality took the stage to MC the program, and at precisely nine o’clock announced the singing of the National Anthem. The crowd rose and placed their right hands over their hearts. Many carried small American flags. It was an inspiring sight.
The entertainment continued with lively music and popular songs. The TV cameras panned the audience. Many sang along, some danced in place. The crowd was huge stretching from the steps of the Capitol, across the West Lawn, past the monument of General Ulysses S. Grant and into the National Mall toward the Washington Monument.
I looked at Kat, “Next year I want to dance with you in front of General Grant’s statue. Will you save me that dance?”
Kat’s eyes softened, “It’s a date, Cowboy. You can count on it.”
I glanced at the monitor which showed the fireworks trailer. Inside two operators and Lester Chanley were ready to send the first blast of rockets skyward coordinated with the stroke of the baton from the orchestra conductor. Sam flicked a switch, “I’m going to route the sound from the fireworks trailer to our speakers. I want to hear everything they have to say.”
As she leaned forward the holster holding her Taser caught on the arm of her chair. She drew the weapon and checked it with calm deliberation to ensure it was functional, then set the Taser down on the bench in front of her. Immediately, over the speaker, we could hear Lester Chanley counting. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One.” He shouted, “Start the rocket panel.”
At that moment the resounding crack of fireworks blended with the downbeat from the orchestra and blared through the speakers throughout the grounds. The sky exploded with red rockets and white star bursts.
This was it. The fireworks show was on and a shiver ran up my spine. Never was I more tense, never more alert or alive. I focused on the monitors in front of me. Watching, searching for the first movement from the terrorists.
The sound of the orchestra sent vibrations through the trailer. I could feel the music. More fireworks rocketed to the sky. Red, blue, white, gold, flashes of light streamed across the night. The crash of symbols, the blare of the trumpets and the beat of drums caused my pulse to race as my eyes darted from one screen to another. What would the next moment bring?
A monitor in front of Kat began flashing.
“What’s the number at the bottom of the frame,” shouted Sam.
“Fourteen,” Kat replied.
Sam pressed her mike button. “Fourteen, fourteen your mini cam has spotted a perp, dark hoody sweatshirt, jeans. Thirteen, fifteen converge on fourteen. Apprehend.”
A monitor in front of Mathews started flashing. He leaned forward to see the number of the frame.
“It’s—“
The monitor to my left flashed.
Mathews shouted, “It’s Gate 7. Gate 7.”
My chest was pounding. The terrorists were making their move. My mind screamed. Take them down. Take them down.
I glanced toward Sam. She tried to remain calm. There was no way. I leaned toward the flashing monitor. The screen showed a man entering the sound trailer. I
tried to focus on the figure in the frame. He looked familiar. Hendricks. It was Jamie Hendricks.
“Twenty two. It’s camera twenty two. Jamie Hendricks went into the sound trailer,” I shouted.
Sam yelled into her headset, “Security, Gate 7 Delta 1 and 2. Dark hair, beard, green T-shirt, jeans. Take down. Acknowledge.”
“Delta 1, green T-shirt, dark hair, beard, in view, pursuing.”
“Sector 11, agents twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty three, inside sound trailer, ID as Hendricks, Jamie, contain, necessary force. Copy?”
“Acknowledge, moving. Twenty eight, twenty nine enter on my signal.”
It was Hank’s voice. He was moving on the trailer.
Then it clicked. Hendricks, the sound trailer. “My god,” I jerked Sam’s arm, “it’s not the fireworks. It’s the sound system. The explosives are in the speakers.”
On the screen three agents were closing in on the dark hoody. The orchestra started playing America the Beautiful. A cacophony of sound surrounded everyone in our trailer. The fireworks became more intense. White, gold and blue rockets crisscrossed the night sky followed by a myriad of red ones, each exploding with resounding fury, sending cascades of white stars, gold and red streamers in all directions. Drums rolled, cymbals crashed; the night was filled with fire and light and sound.
Chapter 22
On the screen I watched intently as the agents closed on the sweatshirt. The terrorist pulled up his pant leg and reached for something strapped to his ankle. In that instant when the white flares exploded I saw on the screen the tattoo. He was one of them.
There was no hesitation by the agents. They continued to move forward, Tasers drawn. The terrorist charged; a flash of steel in his hand. Two agents fired. The Tasers hit their mark. The hooded terrorist went rigid, and fell to the ground. His arms and legs jerked in a spasm of movement. Then as the tranquilizer from the pellet took hold, the terrorist lay limp on the grass.
I shifted my attention to Gate 7. Uniformed police were in range of the beard with the green T-shirt. He started to --.
Someone pounded on the rear door of the trailer. I jerked my head around and saw Mathews reach for the knob.