by David Perry
CHAPTER 94
The seats of the floating barge were filled with minor dignitaries, members of the armed services, especially the navy, Hope Sr.’s former branch, special guests, and friends from Hope’s World War Two days. The United State Fleet Forces Band belted out patriotic tunes and marches as the public filed onto the south side of the dry dock. Umbrellas and plastic ponchos dotted the crowd. The rain, unable to decide if it should fall as a pesky drizzle or a steady downpour, had lightened again.
* * *
As each team moved from apartment to apartment, messages crackled through Broadhurst’s earpiece. Team Alpha One, in the north tower, had cleared floors sixteen and seventeen, and was moving down another flight. None of the occupants looked remotely like the people they were looking for.
The three others teams, including his, were in the south tower. The north tower, he reasoned, was farther away and a longer, more difficult, shot. With three teams canvassing it, the south tower would be completed faster. As teams were freed up, they would be reassigned to the north tower.
The two teams above Broadhurst’s on the upper floors of the south tower had run into problems. Irate owners berated the agents when they identified themselves and told them what they wanted. They were disrupting the Saturday-morning routines of very staid, regimented folks. One elderly lady, who was going to be late for her bridge club, actually punched an agent weakly in the chest. Another yuppie couple late for an indoor tennis date threatened legal action. The agents apologized and allowed them to leave after searching their units.
“Alpha Dog, this is Alpha One in the north tower. We have a man here, about thirty-five, that fits the general description.”
Alpha Dog was Broadhurst, Jason, and Peter. The other squads were alphas one, two and three. Broadhurst moved his wrist to his mouth. “It’ll take me too long to get there with the pharmacist. Search the apartment. Have the agent on that floor escort him to the holding area in the lobby until the ceremony is over, or until we can get there. Over. Alpha Three, report in.”
“This is Alpha Three. We’ve checked all our floors. Nothing close to a potential suspect,” came the reply. “We’re moving to the north tower.”
“Roger that, Alpha Three. Start on the fourth floor in the north building and work your way up.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, the conversation between Alpha Three and the men on one of the floors in the north tower filled Broadhurst’s earpiece. He jabbed a hand in the air, stopping the others.
Why are there three agents on this floor? Broadhurst heard the Alpha Three leader asked. The agent had keyed his microphone and left it open.
I wasn’t needed over at the shipyard. They asked me to come over and help.
The questioning agent paused. Okay, we’re going to check the units on this floor. Then we’ll be out of your way.
Roger that.
* * *
The two Alpha Three agents turned and headed toward the first unit. They had taken four steps when the first round struck the back of the leader’s head. The second man looked at his partner, registered what had happened, and began to turn. He made it ninety degrees before another silenced round ripped through his right temple.
* * *
Broadhurst was about to reassign the extra agents on that floor, when his earpiece was filled with what sounded like muffled burps, followed by hushed, clipped words, not the clinical, detached responses of trained agents.
Drag them back to the apartment. Hurry. There’s not much time, the first voice said.
Broadhurst heard a knock, followed by rustling and the sound of a door closing.
What the hell’s going on out there? a second voice asked. There was a short pause followed by the same voice. They’re going to find us. It’s time to leave.
No one leaves until the mission is complete, a third voice said. Broadhurst could have sworn he heard the bolt of a rifle snap into place.
Being captured wasn’t part of the plan.
There was always a good chance this was a suicide mission.
Screw this! I want out!
* * *
Fairing removed the Mauser 7.65 mm from his belt and walked to Cooper, placing the barrel between the man’s eyes, dimpling the skin. “You can die now or you can finish your task and still have a chance to escape. Your choice.”
Cooper swallowed hard. “Easy, Sam. Put that away. I’ll take care of my end.” Sweat erupted on his forehead. “I want them”—he motioned toward the phony agents—“stationed outside the apartment.” Cooper moved in slow motion back to Cyclops.
“One of you stay in here. The other two monitor the hallway,” Fairing ordered.
Fairing scowled at the “agent” who remained behind, then at Cooper. “Keep your eyes on him. If he tries to leave or does anything stupid, shoot him.”
* * *
Broadhurst listened, angling his head with a rigid intensity.
You can die now or you can finish your task and still have a chance to escape. Your choice.
Easy, Sam. Put that away. I’ll take care of my end. I want them stationed outside the apartment.
One of you stay in here. The other two monitor the hallway.
Keep your eyes on him. If he tries to leave or does anything stupid, shoot him.
Broadhurst pressed the fob deeper into his ear. He brought his arm to his mouth to speak, but stopped short.
A mike had been left open. Where was the conversation taking place? Was someone dead, or injured and unable to speak?
Peter and Jason caught the concerned look on Broadhurst’s face. Broadhurst turned to Jason. “What was the name of the pharmacist involved in this thing?” he asked.
“Sam Fairing.”
“Shit!” Broadhurst said. “It’s happening right now.” He thought for a second. “Where did I send them?”
“Who?” asked Jason.
“Son of a bitch! Where did I send Alpha Three? In all the confusion, I forgot where they went.”
Jason smiled. “You told them to go to the north tower. They’re on the fourth floor…”
Broadhurst smiled at Jason, nodding his approval. “Not bad for a pill pusher.”
Broadhurst didn’t know if the assassins were listening in. He couldn’t risk tipping them off and losing the element of surprise. He didn’t bark any orders over the air. He directed the Windsor employee to stay behind, but confiscated his rings of keys. He turned to Jason and Peter. “Let’s go!”
CHAPTER 95
The fully assembled rifle rested on the wooden platform, its barrel supported by a bipod, an infrared scope mounted atop the body. A fifty-round box of mercury-filled ammo sat beside it, forty-nine more than Fairing needed. Between him and Jasmine, it would be two shots, two kills.
A knock came at the door. The “agent” opened it. “What is it?” Fairing asked.
“They can hear everything going on in here,” one whispered.
“What? How?”
“Someone’s got an open mike.” The three impostors checked their radios and found them in order. “We can hear your conversations. Check the bodies.”
Fairing noticed Cooper’s ashen face. “Get back to your equipment,” he ordered.
Cooper looked vacantly through the sniper. The flippant spy was face-to-face with his own mortality—and he was losing it.
“Cooper, get back to your equipment! Now!”
Cooper paused. The sound of the slide of Fairing’s pistol snapping a round into the chamber got his attention.
Fairing marched toward the door, putting himself between Cooper and escape. “Get your filthy American ass back to your equipment! We have a plan,” Fairing lied. “Everything is under control!”
“Everything’s gone to shit! It’s time to get out.”
Fairing raised the pistol higher, aiming just above Cooper’s eyebrows. “You filthy pig! If you don’t get back there now, you’ll die on this very spot. If you want to live, you’ll get back there and complet
e your mission.”
* * *
Rain, slanted by the heavy winds, pelted the roof of the drawbridge. Through her binoculars, she could see only ten of twenty rows were filled. Patriotism, for most, did not constitute standing in the rain. For those hearty enough to brave the storm, their patience was as long as their clothing was wet.
Jasmine listened to the ceremony commence through her earpiece. A woman’s voice came over the sound system.
Welcome to the christening ceremony for the aircraft carrier Jacob R. Hope, CVN-81. Please stand as the platform party takes their place on the dais…
One by one, admirals, congressmen, the prospective captain of the ship, matrons of honor, and minor dignitaries were introduced. Jasmine imagined them taking their seats in the rows along the dais. They were followed by major dignitaries seated in front: Supreme Court justices, the governor of Virginia, the two Virginian senators, the secretary of defense, and the top executives of Penrose Gatling Shipbuilders. The CEO escorted the ship’s sponsor, Katherine Hope Morris.
The former president, the ship’s namesake, and the former first lady, Margaret, were announced and walked to their seats accompanied by a majestic presidential tune. Jasmine knew exactly where they would be seated.
The voice announced the president and the first lady. “Hail to the Chief” erupted in an orchestral flurry. Kader watched through her scope as Gary Hope and First Lady Linda Hope strolled along the gangway until they disappeared behind the large white canvas and the speaker’s platform.
The color guard of the Command Navy Region Mid-Atlantic soft-stepped into position before posting the colors. She heard the scraping of chairs as everyone rose in unison. The American national anthem burst into her earphone. Captain John Wilson, the executive director of the Armed Forces Chaplains Board, delivered the invocation.
We join our hearts together in prayer. All-powerful and all-merciful God…
* * *
Fairing adjusted his position in the tall captain’s chair, the rifle nestled on his shoulder. The speakers on the kitchen counter carried the words and sounds of the ceremony. His sister was hearing the same words from her perch on the bridge tower. That knowledge comforted him. He checked his watch, which had been synchronized with the other conspirators’. The jamming of the Secret Service communications would commence in five minutes.
The president of Penrose Gatling Shipbuilders began the procession of speakers.
Good morning! Mr. President and Mrs. Hope, Mr. President and Mrs. Jacob R. Hope, Mrs. Morris, Governor, Senators, and all our distinguished platform guests—to the entire Hope family and many friends, and to everyone here today—on behalf of the thirty thousand shipbuilders of Penrose Gatling Shipbuilders, we welcome you to the birthplace of America’s nuclear-powered aircraft carriers!
This is a historic day to be a shipbuilder, as we christen the Jacob R. Hope. We have many special guests…
* * *
Jason watched Broadhurst pace back and forth, checking his wristwatch so many times that Jason lost count.
Broadhurst rationalized out loud, though not to Jason and Peter. “I don’t know how they expect to hit their targets with that canvas in place. The view is blocked. But they’ve obviously planned with a great deal of forethought, so they’ve got to have something up their sleeves. The recording mentioned something called ‘Cyclops.’ I have no idea what that is.”
Broadhurst checked his watch again and cursed.
Jason frowned. “What are we waiting for?”
“I’m waiting on trained backup, asshole!” Broadhurst did not like the idea of assaulting the condo with two civilians. Time was running out, along with his patience. “I’m giving these guys three minutes to get here. Then we go to plan B.”
Jason had listened with great interest as Broadhurst, as innocuously as possible, instructed Alpha One to meet him in the lobby of the north tower. Hopefully, the baddies hadn’t understood the meaning of the coded radio message, and they’d retained the element of surprise. The two Alpha One agents were his most experienced and trusted. They had some ground to cover, but they should have reached the lobby by now. “With them, we can take down these pricks,” Broadhurst announced. The agent put his sleeve mike to his mouth, then tapped his ear piece. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me,” Broadhurst said, ripping the cord from his ear. He reached into his jacket and fiddled with the small radio clipped to his belt. “Communications just went down.”
Jason frowned again. “What the hell are we waiting for? If these guys are in position up there, we need to move now.”
Broadhurst hesitated, looking at Jason like he wanted to crack him in the jaw. He grabbed the pharmacist by the shirt with both hands and almost lifted him off the ground. “Listen to me, dipshit,” he barked, his mouth an inch from Jason’s nose. “I decide when we move. Got that? Who the hell do you think you are?”
Broadhurst was two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than Jason. But Jason slipped both arms between the Secret Service agent’s and thrust them upward. Jason’s shirt ripped, and Broadhurst was left holding shredded fabric. Jason put both hands on the man’s chest and shoved him backward into his brother, who was stepping in to mediate. Peter broke Broadhurst’s backward momentum with his outstretched hands.
Jason jabbed a finger in the agent’s face. “I’ve been stabbed, shot at, and arrested for murder. These bastards almost killed me and the people close to me. Three people are dead. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna stand around waiting for your guys while they’re up there getting ready to kill the presidents! Now, let’s move!”
Broadhurst shrugged off Peter and cast him a sideways glance.
Peter shrugged. “We’re out of options,” he said.
Broadhurst tried the radio again and frowned. “This thing’s still out.”
He looked at Jason, then Peter, then back to Jason, contemplating his predicament. “Okay, we’re heading up. But if you let me down, Rodgers, you’ll wish those bastards had killed you!”
“I need a weapon,” said Jason.
Broadhurst reached into his jacket and handed Jason his Sig Sauer P229. He reached into the other side and pulled out a second pistol. He turned to Peter and said, “You’ll stay here and wait for Alpha One.”
Peter opened his mouth to object, but Broadhurst cut him off. “With that leg of yours, you’re no use to me. I can’t be responsible for you. Since communications are down, I need you to talk to them when they show. Bring them to the fourth-floor stairwell. End of discussion.”
Broadhurst pointed at Jason. “Keep up!”
CHAPTER 96
Fairing studied the white field of the canvas through the infrared scope. The rifle barrel did not extend through the opening in the tinted window, because Secret Service agents would be watching for just such an indicator of trouble. The shades were drawn as low as possible, stopping above the two two-inch circles cut into the glass. Through one, his deadly projectile would fly. Through the second, Cooper’s invisible laser beams were lighting up the canvas screen.
He took several deep breaths. The words coming through the sound system relaxed his frayed nerves.
Penrose’s president was at the podium concluding his remarks.
For more than a century, the ships built here, like their builders, have rendered faithful service. Some of those ships serve today. Some met glorious ends in faraway seas, in defense of our way of life. Wood has given way to iron, and iron to steel. We progressed from coal-powered vessels to nuclear energy. But every vessel is a monument to our nation’s values.
Our first guest speaker is the seventieth governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia…
The governor of Virginia began the procession of speakers, addressing the soaked throng for nearly two minutes. He then introduced the chairman and CEO of Penrose Gatling Corporation. The junior senator from Virginia followed the chairman, and he introduced the next speaker three minutes later. The chief of naval operations took the podium. With the
rain slanting in sheets, the admiral boomed platitudes over the loud speakers.
Senator Austin, thank you for that warm and kind introduction. President Hope and Mrs. Hope, thank you for being here. You honor us with your presence, and we greatly appreciate your leadership at this time in our nation’s history. And Mr. President, Mrs. Jacob R. Hope, thank you as well for sharing with us, not only this day, but your great name…
* * *
Jason and Broadhurst silently arrived on the fourth-floor stairwell landing.
“Stay here until I get back,” Broadhurst whispered.
“You can’t do this alone,” Jason replied.
“I’m going to the upper floors to get help. Stay here and don’t make a sound. If I can recruit their help, you’ll be relieved.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Broadhurst returned. His features were ashen. “There are dead agents in the stairwells above us.” Broadhurst expelled an agitated breath. “Look’s like we’re the only party crashers.” He shot Jason a concerned look.
“Don’t look so worried. I know how to use this,” said Jason.
He waited and watched as Broadhurst inched to the stairwell door, his back scraping painted concrete. He silently cracked it and peeked out. Slowly, he pulled it open, swiveling and propping it open with his back. His weapon, clutched with both hands, pointed at the floor. Broadhurst stuck his head partially around the doorframe to take in the hallway. Broadhurst held up a finger. One person.
After quietly closing the door, he returned to Jason’s side.
“What did you see?” asked Jason.
Before Broadhurst could respond, Jason saw the door move, opening slightly. A silenced pistol appeared through the narrow gap. Jason was about to yell a warning when burps erupted.
The fusillade lasted less than two seconds. The first shot hit Broadhurst in the back, exiting through the front shoulder, spinning him. He groaned, dropping to the stairs. Jason pushed him out of the way as he tried to merge with the wall. Shots two and three missed, whizzing past him. He lifted his weapon and answered with three shots toward the hand holding the gun. All three missed, splintering wood. The hand and the weapon disappeared behind the closing door.