Service agent, and two cops started for the elevator. Dorrell took up the rear, while the other three men surrounded Basset and Schwab. The entourage stepped into the elevator for the short ride to the garage level. When the door opened, another police officer was waiting for them, and the group moved out of the underground parking garage. Dorrell wasn’t nervous about anything happening in the Capitol.
The assassins would have to be suicidal to try something with all the military personnel and police in the building. When they reached the garage, the limo was waiting with one police squad parked in front and another behind. Schwab and Basset Were quickly ushered into the backseat. Dorrell brought the Capitol Police officers together for a quick reminder of how things would go when they arrived at their destination. When he was finished, the police got into their squad cars, Agent Art Jones climbed behind the wheel of the large, black Cadillac, and Dorrell got into the backseat with the Speaker and
Schwab.
Before giving the order to pull out, Dorrell brought his mike up to his mouth and said, “Advance team Bravo, this is Alpha, do you read?
Over.”
The leader of the advance team at the CNN studios heard the call through his earpiece and had to cut off one of the building’s private security guards in mid-sentence. “This is
Bravo, over.”
“We are en route with Bobcat. What is your sit report? Over.”
“About as secure as we could get things on such short notice, Harry, over.”
“Roger, our ETA is two minutes. If anything changes, let me know immediately, over.” Dorrell looked at his agent behind the wheel.
“Let’s move out, Art.” Jones flashed the limo’s brights at the lead police car, and the motorcade sped out of the parking garage. The assassin looked out of the window and down at the two police officers in front of the CNN building. They’d just stepped off the curb and were standing on the street, waving by cars and cabs that wanted to stop in front of the building. He spoke into the mike hanging in front of his mouth. “Chuck, stay loose.
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They should be arriving any minute, over.” The response came back immediately.
“Roger, everything is set down here.” The man standing in front of the ventilation shaft took off his hard hat, placed it in his bag, and pulled out a gas mask.
Reaching back into the bag, he grabbed two gray canisters and set them on top of the ventilation unit.
The motorcade pulled up in front of the building and stopped. Dorrell immediately noticed that, despite telling the drivers of both squads to give the limo at least thirty feet on either end, they had forgotten and the limo was boxed in. “Art, call the guys in the squads and tell them to move their cars farther away from the limo.” Dorrell turned to
Basset. “Sir, please stay in the car for a minute while I check things out.” Dorrell exited the limo and met his agent in charge of the Bravoteam on the sidewalk. “How are we doing?” he asked the junior man.
“Fine. The exits are secured, the elevator is being held, and Alan is on the roof keeping an eye on things.” The assassin looked down at the two men on the street and guessed that they were either Secret Service or FBI. It had been expected.
He spoke into his mike, “Chuck, get ready to pull the pin.” The man in the basement pulled the gas mask down over his face and grabbed one of the canisters. Back on the sixth floor, the assassin watched as the man who had stepped out of the limo waved several police officers over and started to organize them around the door of the limo.
None of these men would do any good. The assassin had chosen the sixth floor so the angle of the shot would be such that four seven-foot-tall officers would make no difference. They didn’t want to kill anyone other than Basset. That was also the reason the nitro-tipped bullet was being used. Unlike most rifle bullets, this one would explode on impact and not exit the target. A typical rifle bullet would spiral through the target and exit with enough velocity to inflict damage, and even death, to anyone unfortunate enough to be standing on the other side. The assassin saw the man who had gotten out of the limo a moment earlier stick his head into the open door and then step back as he helped Basset out of the backseat.
The assassin clutched the butt of the rifle a little tighter, placed his right hand on the string, and spoke into the small mike hanging in front of his mouth, “Chuck, drop the smoke.” The man in the basement pulled the pin from the first canister, tossed it into the open vent, and quickly grabbed the second canister and did the same. He then grabbed the metal access panel and covered the opening. The smoke from the two canisters immediately shot upward through the ventilation system, pushed by the warm air leaving the furnace. The man then walked briskly to the wall and waited. The assassin on the sixth floor concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.
When he saw the head of Basset pop out of the limo, his right hand yanked the string attached to the glass cutter, and the newly created circle of glass dropped to the floor.
Basset was ushered into the middle of the four police officers, and the group started to move toward the door. The assassin spoke into his mike, “Pull the alarm.”
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In the basement, his accomplice yanked on the fire alarm. The loud buzzing of the alarm reverberated throughout the building and spilled out onto the street. Dorrell and his agents were sweeping the street and looking at everyone but Basset. When the alarm went off, the police officers surrounding Basset did what their instincts told them to do.
They stopped and looked to see where the noise was coming from.
At the same time the police officers’ instincts kicked in, so did Dorle’s. He lunged forward and screamed, “Keep moving!” As he reached the back of the first officer, he heard what he instantly knew was the loud crack of a rifle shot. He continued to push the group as he yelled, “Move! Move!” He took two steps, and then the officer in front of him stumbled and fell, landing on the fatally wounded Basset.
Dorrell placed his hand on the back of the officer to prevent himself from falling and looked down to see if
