Detailed plans. Names and addresses. Constant references to Homeland Security. The Secret Service. Oklahoma City.
“Oh my God,” Jason gasped. “I found this stuff but I never imagined-” He stared off into space, eyes wide. “All those meetings Senator DeMouy took at Homeland Security for undisclosed purposes. Late-night meetings. His calm after the attack on Oklahoma City. His staunch advocacy of the proposed constitutional amendment…”
When he heard the noise at the door, Jason almost jumped a foot into the air.
“Jason? Why did you get out of bed? Why are you out here in the cold?”
Belinda was wearing only her panties, standing at the door. When she saw Loving, she covered herself with her hands. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my garage?”
“Gettin’ the skinny on your late husband.”
She stared at the papers and photos on the workbench. “I’ve never seen any of this before.”
“And for a damn good reason.”
She took an old tattered towel off a shelf and wrapped it around herself. “I’m tired and I don’t know what you’re talking about and I think I should call the police.”
“Be my guest. I’ve got what I needed. You’ve probably heard that the terrorists who attacked in Oklahoma City had an accomplice. An inside man?”
“Y-yes?”
“Well, guess what-you were married to him.”
Her mouth opened, then moved wordlessly. “That’s-not possible.”
“Yup. Your old man was a terrorist sympathizer. Makin’ a hell of a lot of money at it, too.” He paused. “And in case you’re wonderin’, I also found the stuff you used to make your homegrown ricin.”
Jason and Belinda exchanged a glance. Jason cleared his throat. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Save it for someone who might buy it.” Loving threw down the papers and swore under his breath. “Isn’t life sweet? All this time I’ve spent lookin’ for this guy. The guy every cop in the United States has been searching for?” Loving smiled sadly. “You killed him.”
54
“…and so, good citizens of Baltimore, I will speak to you with the same words my mother gave me many years ago when I was facing the darkest moment of my political career: Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. Can any-one doubt that we live in extraordinary times? I think not. I am reminded each and every day, when the Pentagon gives me its briefing on current events, when science and technology seem to reinvent the world every few years. Or when I gaze at the picture I keep on my desk, or the one by my bedside, of my dear lamented Emily, the first lady of this great nation. Emily always wanted the United States to be a strong, secure place to live. And so I urge you-”
Agent Gatwick was talking into his sleeve again. “All clear on the western front?”
“Roger that,” Zimmer said, wondering how long it would be before they communicated with little lapel pins, like on Star Trek. People at the airport held extended conversations with those little clips on their ears. Why was the Secret Service still talking into their sleeves? “The Scarecrow is safe.”
Gatwick grinned a little. After Oklahoma City, Blake needed a new code name, but this one was considerably more accurate than most. He liked it. Just as long as no one started calling him Dorothy. “SWAT teams in position?”
“Ready to go on your order.”
“Excellent.” Gatwick paced along the rim of the stage, just below where the president was speaking. Even though they were largely invisible, he knew there were agents and soldiers and government snipers all over the arena. Fort Knox couldn’t be more secure. “Harold still watching the cameras?”
“Like they were showing One Life to Live. ”
“That’s my boy.”
“I think I’m going to amble through the crowd. Keep an eye out for anything suspect.”
“Works for me. Check in every five or so.”
“Will do. Tom-”
“Yeah?”
“We really are going to be okay here, right?”
“We’ve done everything there is to do.”
“You’re not exactly answering my question.”
“Do your job, Max.” His eyes scanned the horizon, the innumerable throng packed into one small place to hear the president speak. “We’ve done everything there is to do.”
“I think we’re fine,” Nichole Muldoon said, peering through her binoculars. Homeland Security had barricaded a large observation box at the highest point of the amphitheater. They could see almost every nook and cranny of the arena from here, and most of the places they couldn’t see directly were covered by closed-circuit cameras. “I mean, how could anyone get past all the security we’ve got here? Even if an assassin could get in-and I don’t think anyone could get in here with a slingshot, much less a rifle-he couldn’t get off a shot before our SWAT team converged.”
“I hope you’re right,” Director Lehman said, his lips frozen in a perpetual frown.
“I told the president I was against this.”
“And did he listen? No. Too damn worried about his amendment. Damn-I want the thing to pass too, but I don’t want anyone to die for it.”
“I know you don’t, Carl. No one does.”
He pressed his fists against each other. “I’m good at this job, Nichole. You know I am.”
“I know you are.”
“I can protect a president against almost anything. Except his own stupidity.”
“Carl, please try to relax. Your pacing is making my skin crawl.” She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “You’ve done everything it’s possible to do. The sniper couldn’t possibly get in here. And he’d have to be insane to try.”
“Yes,” Lehman said, slowly blowing air through his teeth. “Unfortunately-he probably is.”
“…that in generations to come, this historic legislation will be remembered as Emily’s Amendment and that she will be remembered as not only a wife but as a patriot, someone who made the ultimate sacrifice to remind us what we always have been and always shall be-strong. Fearless. Ready to face whatever challenge this world throws at us. Therefore, speaking to you as your president, I urge you-call your congresspersons. Call your neighbors. Call everyone you know and tell them that America will be strong again-and you want to be a part of it. Tell them that-”
In the days following the attack, it would be remarked upon repeatedly how fortunate it was that the Blue Goose was bulletproof, because if it had not been, the president would be dead. Despite the enormous security precautions and the literally hundreds of people standing ready to protect him, the president would have been shot and killed but for the protective maze of translucent TelePrompTer screens and a bulletproof podium.
Barely a nanosecond after the shot rang out, eight Secret Service agents piled on top of President Blake. The audience screamed. The outdoor amphitheater, filled to capacity with spectators arranged in concentric circles of seats radiating away from the stage, left little room for maneuvering. Pushing and shoving commenced immediately as panicked spectators desperately tried to get out of the line of fire.
More shots rang out. Amid all the confusion, a horde of dark-jacketed agents moved swiftly through the amphitheater. Another wave of fire blanketed the stage, bringing the first victim to his knees.
“Not again!” the president cried, but his words were smothered beneath the weight of the agents shielding
