Assassination of a Dignitary

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Until this guy shows up.” Devries fast forwarded the video.

  “Time now?” Clinton asked.

  “Eleven.”

  “He’s a little dressed up.”

  “Date?”

  Wingham pointed to the monitors. “Except he seems to be avoiding the camera. He turns his head just before he comes into range every time.”

  “What about the elevator? Does it tell us any more?”

  “Same thing. He’s really careful about hiding his face.”

  “Follow him through until the time he leaves as well. We need to find out for certain who these men are.”

  The tech resumed play.

  Wingham narrated, “Now Tux—we’ll call him Tux—leaves not even half an hour later.” She always had to attribute a nickname to people.

  “So he went in, got his rocks off, came back out,” Clinton said.

  Wingham turned to study her partner’s eyes. “I think there’s more to it.” She turned to the tech. “Can you go back and zoom in on him?”

  “Yeah, but you’re not going to get anything.” He maneuvered things around, and they were almost close enough to see ear hair if the feed wasn’t so fuzzy. “That’s it. That’s all you’re getting.”

  David wondered what nickname Wingham would have for this security guy—Tech Geek, Boy Wonder? He was certain it would come out.

  “Whoever this is he doesn’t want to be seen.” Wingham slapped a hand on the table in front of her. “That’s what makes me want to see him even more.”

  “You said there were three men,” David did his best to steer her back.

  “Well, the employee at the hotel, Paul, he goes in—” Wingham changed direction and directed the security tech. “Go to him—”

  The tech hit a button and the video went backward. The time stamp read ten thirty.

  “Stop!” David put both hands on the back of Wingham’s chair.

  The tech jumped, startled by the outburst. “What is it?”

  “That’s Paul. What room is he at?”

  “That would be 836.” The tech’s face scrunched up. “Yeah, that would be it.”

  “Who rented that room?” Wingham asked.

  Devries called down to the front desk. His face was pale when he delivered the answer. “Marian Behler. They said she had rented out a couple of rooms. She preferred her privacy.”

  “A lot of good it did her,” Clinton said.

  Wingham bit down on a lip. “Was Paul Hensal in the Governor’s room before he found the Governor?”

  On screen, Paul entered into the neighboring room with the serving cart.

  Devries shook his head. “He goes in that first room at ten thirty, leaves for a couple hours and comes back with an order for the Governor at twelve forty. As you know, that’s when he found her.”

  “So he goes away for a couple hours and shows up later to find the body,” Clinton reiterated.

  “We’re still missing motive with the hotel employee. And the Governor is still alive.” Wingham narrowed her eyes.

  Technically, she still was…“Is there a door that connects the neighboring room to Behler’s suite? He could have gone through there.”

  Devries shook his head. “None of our rooms have connecting doors.”

  “Paul says someone made him do it—”

  “Shoot her?” Wingham asked.

  The tech watched them banter back and forth.

  “No, come back with food two hours later for the Governor’s suite,” Clinton said.

  Wingham stood and joined Clinton at the back of the room. “Someone made him,” She paused a second. “He had to for fear of his life. He was set up to find her.”

  “Forward the video. Does anyone other than Paul Hensal come out of that room?” Clinton asked.

  Devries sped up the feed a bit.

  Five minutes later, Hensal left the room.

  Clinton smiled when he saw the man who left about another five minutes behind him. It was the man who had been posted outside the Governor’s door at quarter to eleven. “Bingo!” Clinton slapped his hands together. “The Bodyguard, we’ll call him that, approached the kid in the privacy of the hotel room. I’ll be damned. The kid wasn’t lying. And that guy right there—” Clinton pointed a finger at the screen. “If he was Behler’s bodyguard, where is he now?” The footage replayed and they watched Behler enter her room and Tux not long later. The two men had a brief interaction outside of the Governor’s suite and it included the bodyguard touching Tux’s arm. “Something huge is going on here. We are looking for a professional.”

  “And a collaboration. Looks like we can let Paul go. I don’t think the kid was in on this. You check his background?” Wingham asked. “And what would his motivation be?”

  “The check came back clean, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He could have just gotten away with things before now.”

  “Serious—”

  “More importantly, we need to find this man—” Clinton nodded toward the monitor where Tux stood with his face averted “—and man two.” He gestured toward the stringy man who filled the main screen. “But right now, number three’s the only one we’ve got.”

  -

  Chapter 21

  HOURS LATER...

  NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK

  SUNDAY, JUNE 13TH, 9:30 AM

  LESS THAN 20 HOURS UNTIL THE DEADLINE

  “WAKE UP SLEEPY HEAD.” The words were accompanied with a shove on my shoulder.

  My body must have shut down from pure exhaustion. My eyes didn’t want to open, and when they did focusing was another issue. I wished it had all been a nightmare, but I knew it wasn’t when I saw the bag across from me. I looked down to my hands which gripped the cell phone as if it would bring my family to me.

  “Time to go.” The voice that had called to me while I was sleeping grew impatient.

  I turned my head toward the man and noticed the .38 tucked into the waist of his pants. My hand instinctively went to my holster. The gun was still there.

  What time was it anyway?

  I pressed a button on the phone. Nine-thirty in the morning.

  Nineteen and a half hours left.

  The flight had taken about ninety minutes. I fended off a yawn and started to move.

  I scooped up my luggage from the facing seat and exited the plane. Stepping out, I noticed crop fields were all around. “Where are we?” My groggy state let the question escape. It was obviously another private hangar on the outskirts of the city.

  The man laughed. “Sleeping beauty must have taken a tranq.”

  Another man came up behind him. He didn’t say anything but watched me with unwavering attention.

  “I realize we’re somewhere in Niagara Falls,” I said.

  The silent man held his hands together and performed a sarcastic golf clap.

  “When I’m finished here, where do I…” I had to shake the blurry feeling in my head. “Where do—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” The man who woke me up patted me on the back and pointed to a car on the tarmac. “Gift from Christian.”

  Gift? My thoughts cleared to stark alertness. The rage came up my throat like bile needing to be excreted. I swallowed hard. The man in the video with my wife had referred to her as an early Christmas gift. My hand tightened around the handle of my gun. The action gained attention from the one man who responded by placing a hand on his piece.

  “A what from Christian?” I wanted to hear him say the word one more time.

  “Gift.” He said it giving each letter enunciation.

  While anger clouded my vision, my breathing hesitated and became shallow. If I killed this man or made a move, my family would be dead. I had one option right now. Play by Christian’s rules.

  I brushed past him. An Asian man f
rom the Town Car came toward me, all of five-foot-five, wearing a uniform complete with hat. He extended his arms for my luggage. I kept walking. I shoved all my baggage into the back seat and slammed the door behind me.

  The fact Christian had arranged for a car never surprised me. He would want to limit his connections between him and the crime—the murder I was about to commit. I assumed the ride would only take me so close before dropping me off at some random location. But for the man to say, a gift from Christian—he spoke those words from a script provided by Christian. They were part of his mind game.

  I watched as the car made turns and replayed them backward with every change in direction. The last turn made my destination very clear.

  Anger swirled with nerves. So much for Christian keeping at a distance. The car pulled into the parking lot of the crappy motel I had stayed in Friday night.

  How had Christian known where I was staying?

  Then I thought of the mutilated man on my bed at home. The rat was two-timing between keeping me in line and babysitting the mark.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked. “Turn around, take me somewhere else.”

  “Sorry, sir, but this is where I’ve been told to take you. I must follow the rules.” He pulled to a stop.

  I had my door open before the hired driver came around to it. I held up a hand to him.

  The Asian man placed both of his hands on his chest. “My ’pologies.” His accent dropped the a. “I told to give you this.” He extended a key and nodded toward the hotel. “Room 11.” He smiled. “They say that’s your lucky number.”

  I could tell by the cheesy innocence lit all over him, the driver of the Town Car knew nothing about me. As far as he knew I was a businessman coming in for a meeting or a rendezvous. He had also been well trained to respect the privacy of his occupants. Most drivers, even though trained to, would have made some comment or betrayed themselves with eye contact over the shape of the motel. What sort of businessman has access to a private plane, a Town Car, and gets dropped off at The Oasis?

  I tried to dismiss the driver’s latter comment but couldn’t. Room 11. I turned the key chain over. The number was etched into the red plastic in white; most of it had worn from use. This was the same room I had stayed in over the last two days. Christian knew everything.

  “Good day, sir.” The driver dismissed himself with a lift of his hat and started back around to the driver’s door.

  The older man from the hotel came walking over. “You’re back.”

  The driver’s steps stalled, and I noticed the slight glance over his shoulder toward the motel, and the man coming toward me before he got into the car and drove away.

  The manager had a huge smile on his face. “You loved your stay with us, eh?” The Canadian speech hadn’t been lost in the last twenty-four hours.

  I walked toward my room furious at the stupidity of Christian—same motel, same room.

  Was he trying to get me caught?

  “You hear about the Governor?” The manager asked.

  My legs stopped. I didn’t turn around. My job was to kill the Governor, not collect collateral damage, but if it meant the difference between saving my family or not, I wouldn’t hesitate. I shut my eyes, searching for strength and patience.

  “She was shot here, in the city, last night. Kind of scary. No one’s safe these days.”

  The comment he had made was simply that, not an accusation. His tone gave him away. I resumed walking.

  “Things are getting worse every day. Violence is on the rise. Things can’t continue to carry on like this, eh—” He put a hand out in front of me just before I reached the doorknob. “Wait. If you’re going to be a regular, what should I call you—” His words stopped; his eyes on the gun in my holster.

  I was happy that I had paid the man cash before. He was asking too many questions, and I was starting to wonder if his bringing up the Governor was a coincidence or evidence of suspicion.

  “Peter Williams.” I stepped into the room and shut the door behind me. All his ranting about the world’s escalating violence and coming to an end… if only he had any idea the type of man he housed within four walls of his motel.

  THE FIRST THING I NEEDED TO do was find out the Governor’s hospital room number. That would be a tricky enough manipulation given the fact she’d have intensified security and be surrounded. There would be no unauthorized access in or out of her room. But there were always ways around the system, and I already had it figured out.

  I called for a cab to shuttle me down to County General. I knew from a quick look online that one of the things they specialized in was head trauma. She would likely be there.

  There was little doubt in my mind that her condition would have stabilized. I didn’t see how it could. Of course, I still found it hard to accept that she remained among the living—a mystery I would have to rectify and honestly solve for my self-esteem.

  I hated the fact I was two hundred and forty miles from my family. I hated even more that I had to leave them in the hands of Christian and his men to manipulate and torture. Anger surged through me and mixed with a painful longing for their touch and laughter. I redialed my voicemail and listened to my wife’s message. For now, it was all that I had to hold onto. I hated the fact the last time she tried to reach me she couldn’t and she was upset. They would all be so afraid right now. I sensed their fear and related to their feelings. My family was so close to me, it almost felt as if I were experiencing it myself.

  UNKNOWN LOCATION

  AROUND 10:00 AM

  THE SHADOWS WERE ALL THAT provided Yvonne comfort. She woke up in a darkened room only graced with a flicker of light when the solid door opened. She had been subjected to touches and advances from men her father’s age. It made her sick, but she swallowed the bile, allowing it burn down her throat to avoid the risk of making them angry. She feared that more than anything—especially when it came to the man who whistled as a bird. He drove fear into her.

  Maybe it was something in his eyes when he looked on her—the way they traveled down her body and seemed to envelope her into his own state of rapture.

  If it hadn’t been for the other man earlier, he would have raped her. This was something a woman, even of fourteen, knew. Her heart fluttered with anxiety remembering his hands on her. The tears came from the memory as she relived the moment again. He had come close. Her only rescue was an Italian man with clipped speech and an accent, and even he had briefly touched her when they were videotaping. What if he wasn’t around the next time?

  She hadn’t even been with a boy, but she had come close to wanting to with Craig. She only made out with him, heavy kissing and some touching. She should have just hooked up with him. Her mom pretty much accused her of it anyway.

  Shivers ran through her. She felt so cold and damp.

  She couldn’t hear anything despite straining to hear something, anything. When the door would open, she did her best to focus on something that would tell her where she was, but between the man’s footsteps and his whistles—nothing.

  And why had she been allowed to see their faces? She knew that wasn’t a good sign. She sat huddled in the corner of the room wondering if the rest of her family was alive. She could even handle a hug from her mom right now.

  She knew hours must have passed; it felt like she had been here for a lifetime. All she remembered prior to this room was sleeping in her bed and a blur of shadows as someone came toward her.

  When she came to, she remembering screaming loud enough to rouse the dead; her yells muffled by a gag quickly tied in place, her hands cuffed and secured to a fixture above her head.

  But each time the whistling man crept into her room, she used flirtatious charm to free her way from the confinements. She had promised to keep quiet.

  She sat huddled on the bed, which was in the corner of the room, her legs tucked in
and her arms wrapped around them. The position brought her some peace. She felt safe. She knew he’d be in again, but she hadn’t been able to set an exact time interval to his visits. She just knew that when she heard the heel of boots scuffing along the floor, she needed to start focusing on something else other than the here and now. She leaned harder into the wall when she saw the door handle turn and heard the whistling begin.

  -

  Chapter 22

  NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK

  SUNDAY, JUNE 13TH, 10:00 AM

  19 HOURS UNTIL THE DEADLINE

  IT DIDN’T SIT WELL WITH me that for the third day in a row—considering I checked out last night—I was back at The Oasis in the same room. And now that the manager had firsthand knowledge of the piece I carried in my holster, it had likely raised some suspicions.

  I worked on obtaining clear vision. I would need it to pull the trigger at a potential six hundred yards away.

  A knock on the door jarred my thoughts, actually making me jump, if only slightly. I pulled my gun. The banging had been heavy, deliberate. It would be too soon for the taxi to have shown up.

  What if Christian chose to cut his losses and wipe out the entire Hunter family? He obviously knew where to find me.

  My breathing quickened as I wondered if an assassin had been sent after me—although we didn’t normally knock and why not just kill me back in Detroit.

  I pressed against the door and glanced through the peephole. I sighed and opened the door holding my gun behind my back.

  “Coffee for you on the house.” The older man smiled at me. “For repeat business.” He extended a couple of packs of coffee toward me which I took with my free hand. His eyes went to my waist. He searched for the gun he saw earlier.

  The obvious visual investigation made me weary.

  When he seemed satisfied it wasn’t there, he backed up from the doorway. “Have a good day, eh? Supposed to be sunny and warm—”