“So do I. I’ll have to make it a point to read yours when I have the chance.”
Kennedy smiled. “Don’t waste your time. It’s pretty boring stuff.”
“I’ll bet,” replied a grinning McMahon. A short while later they pulled up to the guard post at the FBI Academy. McMahon and Kennedy showed their identification and were admitted. McMahon drove the car through the large campus and parked in front of a small office building by the firearms range. Mitchell’s office was located on the first floor.
When they arrived, Mitchell was sitting with his feet up on the desk, reading a magazine. He was wearing black combat boots and dark blue coveralls. Over the left breast of the coveralls, Instructor was embroidered in yellow, and across the back in large letters were the initials FBI. Mitchell jumped to his feet and said, “Skip, it’s great to see you. You don’t get down here enough, now that you’re a big shot.”
McMahon shook Mitchell’s hand but ignored the friendly needling. He turned to
Kennedy and said, “Gus, meet Dr. Irene Kennedy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Kennedy. You work at Langley, correct?”
“Yes.” Kennedy smiled. “Please call me Irene.”
“Irene it is.” Mitchell motioned for his guests to follow him.
“There’s a small conference room down the hall.
Let’s use that instead. My office is a little cramped for the three of us. Can I get either of you some coffee?” Mitchell looked to Kennedy first, as his early years as a Southern gentleman had taught him.
“Please.” Kennedy brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear.
“Skip?”
“Sure.” Mitchell disappeared and Kennedy raised one of her eyebrows.
McMahon noticed the expression and asked, “What?”
“They are a unique breed, aren’t they?”
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“Who?”
“Commandos,” replied Kennedy. “You can spot them a mile away. It’s in their eyes.”
“Really, I’ve never noticed.”
“When we recruit them to be agents, we have to teach them how to mask their alertness.” McMahon was thinking about the doctor’s comment when Mitchell returned with three cups of coffee. The three settled into chairs and McMahon asked Mitchell, “How much do you know about what happened yesterday?”
“Just what I’ve read in the papers and Irene’s theory.”
“What did you think of it?”
“Well, before I get into that, I’d like you to fill me in on the details. I usually don’t believe what I read in the papers.”
“Neither do I.” McMahon set his coffee down. “It all started with Senator Fitzgerald.
His neck was broken by someone using their bare hands. There were no signs of a struggle, no bruises on his neck or anywhere else. Our pathologist tells me it was done from behind with a jerking motion from left to right. We think whoever did it was waiting in the house, and when the Senator arrived home, he jumped him. The body was found in a storage closet in the basement.” McMahon paused as Mitchell made several notes. “The lock on the back door was picked, and the approximate time of death was twelve-fifteen A.M. The next one was a real piece of work. The perps broke into the house across the street from Congressman Koslowski’s and waited. Koslowski got out of bed, opened the shades, and they shot him twice in the back of the head.
Approximate time of death was six oh five A.M. When we showed up at the house across the street, we found a sedated German shepherd and a groggy owner. We did blood tests on both the dog and the owner and found heavy traces of sedatives. When we pumped the dog’s stomach, we also found half-digested pieces of meat with traces of drugs. The owner had no needle marks, so we’re assuming he was chloroformed.”
“Does this guy let his dog out before he goes to bed every night?”
Mitchell asked. “Yes, every night before the local news,” McMahon responded.
Mitchell nodded his head as if he already knew the answer before it was relayed. “The next murder was committed at approximately six twenty-five A.M. in a park by Senator
Downs’s house. We have several witnesses who have reported seeing a man loitering in the area just prior to the death of the Senator. He was shot in the back of the head with two nine-millimeter rounds at point-blank range.” Mitchell glanced over his notes for a moment and then stood and grabbed a green marker.
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In the upper left corner of the white board, he wrote the number 1 and 12:15 A.M.
next to it. Next to that, he wrote the number 2 and 6:05 A.M. Then the number 3 and 6:25
A.M. When he was finished, he stepped back and looked at the board for a minute. “We have three assassinations in about six hours.” Mitchell put the cap back on the marker and tapped it on the board. “The key to any covert operation is stealth and surprise.
In the perfect operation you get in and out before anyone knows you were there, which these men obviously accomplished. When you’re planning something like this, the first thing you have to do is select your targets. After selecting them, you move into a surveillance mode.
You follow these guys around and try to find a pattern. One guy walks his dog every morning at a certain time,
