would you ask that shithead Lonnie to stop fucking jerking himself off when we’re with him, please.”
Wendy spoke into her microphone, translating Edberg’s outburst into constructive criticism which wouldn’t upset the cameraman too much. The picture steadied.
“Better,” said Edberg. “Thank you. Now, let’s go to four.”
Wendy depressed the button for camera four and a close-up of the pitcher’s mound filled the main screen. Several men in suits and sunglasses were checking the ground, bent double as if they were looking for dropped change.
“Good, now to six.” The picture on the main screen flicked to a long shot of the baseball diamond taken from a camera high up in the stands. Edberg looked across to the small monitor showing camera two’s output. It was wobbling again. “I’ll have Lonnie’s balls if he doesn’t shape up,” hissed Edberg. There was a knock on the door to the television control room and Edberg looked up, annoyed at the disturbance. “Go away!” he yelled. “Let’s go to three, with a slow panning shot of the crowds behind the batter,” he said.
Wendy spoke quickly to the cameraman on three and pressed another button. On the main screen the picture showed rows and rows of empty seats. A man in a grey suit and sunglasses was walking slowly down an aisle, checking underneath the seats. Several uniformed police officers were leading sniffer dogs along the rows. The knock on the door was repeated, and it opened. Two men with short hair and square jaws stood in the doorway wearing dark suits and sunglasses. Edberg sighed mournfully, recognising the suits and the demeanour. Only Secret Service agents and rock stars insisted on wearing their sunglasses indoors. “Yes, guys? What can I do for you?”
“Mr Edberg?” said the agent on the left.
“That’s right.”
“Did Bob Sanger of our Washington office speak to you yesterday about the live feeds?”
Edberg nodded. “He did, but it’s damn irregular.”
“Actually it’s not,” said the agent. “We’ve done it many times, just not at this ballpark, that’s all.” He flipped open a black leather wallet and showed Edberg his credentials. The other agent, who still hadn’t spoken, did the same. “We’re with the Technical Security Division. Our truck is downstairs.” The agents stepped to the side and Edberg saw that there were two men wearing white overalls and carrying tool boxes standing outside the door. “These technicians will run the feeds to our truck and establish a communication link with you.”
“You realise that you won’t be able to direct the cameramen, you’ll just be getting the feeds that come through to our console?” said Edberg. “I already explained that to Sanger — you can have the feeds but I call the shots.”
“That’s understood,” said the agent. “We’re just looking for a way to increase our surveillance of the crowds, that’s all. But if we see something and we’d like a closer look, and the camera wasn’t going out live, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving us a close-up — if we asked you, of course. It is the President’s safety we’re talking about, after all.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Edberg testily.
The two men in overalls entered the control room and scanned the monitors and racks of electronics equipment. One of them pointed to a blank monitor which was labelled ‘ten’.
“Is there something wrong with that one?” he asked.
Edberg shook his head. “That’ll be the overhead shots taken from the blimp,” he said. “That won’t be on line until it’s in the air, about half an hour before the game is due to start.”
“We can take a feed from it?” asked the technician.
“Sure, you just won’t pick anything up for a while. We can put a test signal through it if you want to check your connections.”
“That’ll be great,” said the technician, kneeling down and opening up his tool box. The two agents stood at the rear of the control room and watched the technicians work. Edberg could see the butt of what looked like a machine pistol sticking out of the back of one of the men’s jackets. He jerked his head away as if he’d been caught looking at something he shouldn’t have. Wendy was looking at him anxiously.
“Okay, Wendy, let’s go to seven. And tell Lonnie he’s got the fucking shakes again.”
This time there were no games: no open doors, no missing light bulbs, no running showers. Mary knocked gently on the door and Kelly opened it. Kelly looked tired and agitated. She paced up and down as Mary closed the door. A television set was on in the corner, but the sound was muted.
“I didn’t know, they didn’t tell me,” said Kelly, before Mary could speak.
Mary put her bag on the bed. “I know,” she said.
“If I’d known, I’d have told you,” said Kelly, her voice shaking.
Mary frowned. At their first meeting Kelly had appeared confident and self-assured, but now she saw that she wasn’t much more than a girl, a girl young enough to be Mary’s own daughter.
“My boss sent me on a wild goose chase,” Kelly continued. “If I’d stayed in the White House, I’d have been able to warn you.”
Mary shook her head. “You couldn’t have reached me, remember? You didn’t have the number. We were to meet here today. Don’t you see? Even if you’d known about the broadcast, you couldn’t have warned me.” The girl looked so distraught she wondered if there was something else amiss. “Kelly, do you think they suspect you?”
Kelly looked up sharply. “Oh no,” she said, “I’m sure they don’t. My boss just feels threatened by me, that’s all. He just wanted me out of the way. I thought if I got the security arrangements for you, it might help.” She smacked her thigh with her fist. “I should have stayed with them.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” soothed Mary. She pulled Kelly close and hugged her the way she’d held her daughter when she’d failed one of her exams.
“I let you down,” said Kelly. “I let you down and I let my father down.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Mary. She helped Kelly sit down on the edge of the bed and then fetched her a glass of water from the bathroom.
Kelly sipped it gratefully. “They killed one of your people?” she asked.
Mary nodded. “Yes. A girl.”
“Bastards,” said Kelly. “There was a Brit there, a man called O’Brien.”
“He’s dead,” said Mary.
Kelly shook her head fiercely. “No, he’s in Shock-trauma.”
Mary’s mouth dropped. “Are you sure?”
Kelly nodded. “They’re talking to him now.”
Mary stood in front of the dressing-table mirror and stared at her reflection. That was twice that Cramer had escaped her. The man must have the luck of the devil himself. How the hell could he have escaped from the basement when the house burnt down? Especially after what she’d done to him.
Kelly held the glass of water with both hands. “They’ve identified everyone at the rehearsal in Arizona now,” she said. Her grip tightened on the glass. “This Carlos, what’s his role in all this? You didn’t tell me about him.”
Mary shrugged, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “He helped us recruit the snipers, that’s all. He’s out of the country already.” Kelly nodded and Mary knew she believed her. “How did they find out about Carlos?”
“Same way they identified you and Bailey, from the computer-enhanced photographs.”
“Why didn’t they include his photograph on the TV broadcast? Why did they only use me and Bailey? Why didn’t they show the snipers?”
Kelly shrugged. “I’m not sure. My boss isn’t telling me much at all at the moment.”
“Do they know who the target is?” Mary asked.
“No,” said Kelly. “They’re working on a list of VIPs. It’s over there, on the chair, with the security details. They’re planning to flood the stadium with extra agents — I’ve got a map with their locations on it.”
“Does that mean they think the hit is going to be there?”
Kelly shook her head. “No, that’s going to be standard procedure at all the presidential venues for the next few weeks.”
Mary picked up the sheets of paper and looked through them. “They’re mostly British, I see. The targets.”
“They’re assuming it’s either the President or an IRA target,” said Kelly.
“Do they know where?”
