and placed it on the ground. The other man had just finished climbing to the sixth floor of the multi-tenant office building.
They had scouted the building months in advance. The top five floors were leased by a law firm, and the rest of the floors were half-filled with lobbying firms, smaller offices, and various other businesses.
Vacant suites were interspersed on all of the floors except the top five. He opened the staircase door and looked down the hallway. With no one in sight, he casually walked down the hall and stopped at the third door on his right. Setting his bag down, he started to pick the lock.
Speed was not crucial; acting relaxed and nonchalant was. He wasn’t worried about one of the office workers seeing him. If they did, they wouldn’t be surprised by someone from the phone company going into an empty office suite. Finishing with the lock, he entered the room and walked over to the tinted window. Dropping to one knee, he set his bag down and emptied the contents, laying them out on the floor in a precise manner. In under a minute he assembled the rifle and placed the nitroglycerin-tipped round in the chamber. Twenty seconds later the rifle was affixed to the top of a tripod. The assassin eased his left eye in behind the scope and stared down at the front door of the building directly across the street. He then turned on the laser sight, and a small red dot appeared on the tinted window. Twisting the screws on the tripod, he locked the rifle into place, and then, reaching into his bag, he grabbed a glass cutter and placed the suction cup in the middle of the red dot. Slowly, he swung the cutting piece in a clockwise motion with his right hand. Instead of popping the newly cut piece free, he tied one end of string around the glass cutter and the other end around one of the tripod’s legs. Pulling the microphone arm down from under the short brim of his hard hat, he said, “Chuck, this is
Sam, come in, over.” Despite the whine of the machinery in the basement, the second man heard his partner loud and clear. “This is Chuck, over.”
“Everything is set on my end, over.”
“Roger, everything is set down here, over.”
Secret Service agent Harry Dorle had been pulled out of the field and directed to head the personal protection detail for Congressman Thomas Basset. Since Basset was the
Speaker of the House, he was deemed a high-profile target by the FBI and the Secret
Service.
Dorle had been the special agent in charge for the Presidential detail of the previous administration. When his boss lost his reelection bid to Stevens, it was the end of Dorle’s assignment. Like most of the Presidents before him, Stevens wanted a changing of the guard. The Secret Service did not object to this tradition because they knew it was good for their agents to be rotated. It helped prevent complacency and boredom. Dorle sat in the lobby of Speaker Basset’s Capitol office and waited for the Speaker to give the word that he was ready to leave.
89
The tall, middle-aged agent looked calm on the outside, but inside he was a wreck. He had read the report on the Koslowski, Fitzgerald, and Downs assassinations, and it scared him. The assassins were professionals.
Three hits, all in one night. One a bare-handed kill, the second a rifle shot, and the third a point-blank hit. These guys were not your run-of-the-mill Aryan Nation types.
They were pros, and with the way Basset liked to gallivant around town, he would be an easy target.
Because there were so many Congressman and Senators to protect, the Secret Service had not been able to give Dorle the number of agents he wanted. They had given him only five men and women, and the Speaker’s normal Capitol Police detail had been increased to eight officers around the clock. Dorle made a cursory effort to ask Basset to cancel all public appearances until things cooled down, and as Dorle had expected, Basset declined. This, of course, made Dorle’s job extremely difficult.
He knew the only way to really protect Basset was to keep him locked up in his house, his office, or his armor- plated limo. As soon as Basset left either of the three, Dorle’s ability to protect him was reduced significantly. They were minutes away from leaving for Basset’s taped interview with CNN. Dorle told his new boss that he thought it was a bad idea, and Basset had politely told him he wasn’t going to cancel.
CNN had been advertising the appearance of the Speaker since late Sunday afternoon, and although it would be tape-delayed, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out when the taping would take place. Dorle could not remember being more worried about an assignment. Whoever these killers were, they’d had months to plan what they were doing.
They’d stalked and studied their targets, and if that letter was for real, they would strike again. Dorle was gambling with his assets. He just didn’t have enough men to do a complete job. He had sent four of his Secret Service agents and two of the uniformed officers ahead to do an advance check of the CNN building. They were to do a quick check of the street, the exits, and the rooftop. He would put four of the uniformed cops on body detail. They would surround Basset as he got out of the limo and walked into the studio. Dorle had contemplated using his Secret Service agents for the body detail; they were trained to do it, but they were more valuable to him doing other things.
Speaker Basset and his aide, Matthew Schwab, appeared in the lobby, and Dorle rose to his feet. “Are you ready to go, sir?”
“Yes,” Basset answered.
Dorrell brought his left hand up to his mouth and spoke into a tiny microphone. “Art, this is Harry, over.”
The Secret Service agent just outside the office door responded, “This is Art, over.”
90
“Bobcat is ready to roll, over.” Bobcat was the code name that had been given to
Basset. The agent looked up and down the hall and nodded to the police officer holding the elevator. “The hallway is secure, over.”
“Roger, let the boys downstairs know we’re on our way, over.” Dorrell turned to
Basset and motioned for the door.
“Whenever you’re ready, sir.” Dorrell opened the door and Basset and Schwab stepped into the hallway. The entourage of Basset, Schwab, Dorrell, the other Secret
