The media was already present and impatiently waiting for the new coalition to be unveiled. Copies of the President’s speech had already been distributed, and most of the reporters were reading it over.
Hopkinson stood in the doorway of the side entrance to the room, and at exactly 8
P.M he signaled the producers to go live. A moment later, the President entered the room with the ranking members of both parties following closely behind. The President took
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his place behind the podium, and the party leaders fell in behind, providing the intended backdrop. With the look of a general about to go into battle, Stevens started his speech.
“Good evening, my fellow Americans. This past week has been a difficult one for our country. Our nation has lost some of its finest leaders. We have lost four men who gave everything they had to their country. our country. I would ask you, once again, to please keep these men and their families in your prayers.” The President paused and bowed his head briefly.
Hopkinson was standing off to the side, looking more like a stage director for a play than the White House communications director. Hopkinson nodded his approval that the
President had remembered the preplanned gesture of bowing his head as if in prayer.
Stevens had practiced the speech nine times. Each time, Hopkinson had meticulously analyzed every gesture and movement until he felt he had the desired performance. Now he stood and anticipated every preplanned head nod, hand motion, facial expression, and change of inflection in the President’s voice. Stevens looked back up and stared into the
TelePrompTer to his left. “During our history as a nation we have been confronted with some very trying times. We have always survived because of our strength and diversity.
We have survived because the leaders of our country have had the courage to put personal beliefs aside, come together, and do what is right for America. That is why we are here tonight.” The President turned and motioned to the men behind him. “The group that stands with me tonight represents the two parties that have helped shape America and make it great. During normal times it would be very difficult to get us to agree on almost anything, but when the very fabric that our democracy was woven from is threatened, we agree without a single deviance. That is why we have come together tonight. We have come together to announce that we are putting our differences aside and are going to move forward as a unified group. “We will not cower to the demands of terrorists. The survival of this country’s democratic principles is far more important than our individual beliefs.
Tomorrow afternoon, I will fly to Camp David with the leaders of both the House and the Senate. We will spend the weekend going over my budget and putting together a bipartisan agenda for the following year. We are the people who have been elected to run this government” - Stevens again turned and motioned to the men and women standing behind him-“and we will not be blackmailed by terrorists!”
As the President continued to speak, the blond-haired assassin looked at the TV and began to form a mental checklist of the things he would have to do before the sun rose.
He got off the couch and went to the basement of the apartment building. He stopped at his storage closet and checked to make sure the wax seal on the bottom door hinge had not been broken. After being satisfied that no one had entered his locker, he walked past four more doors and stopped in front of another closet, which was assigned to an elderly gentleman on the first floor. Again, he checked the wax seal on the bottom hinge, then picked the lock. Entering the ten-by-ten-foot closet, he walked to the back wall and moved several stacks of boxes, uncovering a stainless-steel trunk. It weighed almost fifty
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pounds, but the assassin carried it up to his apartment without breaking a sweat. Setting the case down on the floor of his bedroom, he unlocked and opened it, retrieving a red, Gore-Tex ski jacket, a Chicago Cubs baseball hat, a pair of work boots, a brown, shoulder-length wig, a pair of nonprescription glasses, a large video camera, a small, red toolbox, and a large, black backpack. The man placed a pair of running shoes, tights, dark blue sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and a plain, dark baseball hat in the bottom of the backpack, then packed the rest of the equipment.
When he was finished, he pulled a strand of hair from his head and placed it next to a book on the coffee table. Looking around the apartment, he took’ note of where everything was, then grabbed the trunk and backpack. Locking the door behind him, he walked down to the basement and put the trunk back in the old man’s locker. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a black candle and lit it. When a small amount of wax had pooled around the flame, the assassin bent over and let a single drop run down the bottom hinge of the door. He checked to make sure the wax had properly dried, then headed up one flight of stairs, through the small lobby, and out onto the sidewalk. He was not a smoker, but he pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket and lit one.
Standing casually, he puffed on the cigarette but did not inhale it.
His eyes narrowed as he methodically studied every window of the three apartment buildings across the street, looking for anyone standing in the shadows behind a curtain or the black, circular shape of a camera lens peering back at him. If the FBI was onto him, that was where they would be. He didn’t think they were, but he reminded himself that the whole idea behind surveillance was not to be seen. After finishing the sweep of the buildings, he tossed the cigarette butt into the street and walked away. He walked for almost eight blocks, turning at random to make sure no one was following. After he felt safe, he turned into a narrow alley and ducked behind two Dumpsters. Quickly, he put on the wig, hat, red jacket, and glasses. He emerged from the other end of the alley a different man. His stride was longer but slower, more gangly, less precise and athletic than before. Three blocks later, he stopped at a pay phone and punched in a series of numbers. The phone rang once and he hung up, waited thirty seconds, and dialed the number again. This time he let the phone ring five times before hanging up.
Two blocks later, he climbed behind the wheel of a beige Ford Taurus and drove off.
The two men were leaning on their pool cues and drinking a pitcher of Coors Light in the back room of Al’s Bar in Annapolis. Neither of them preferred the taste of Coors
Light, but they did like that it had such a low alcohol content. The larger of the two was lining up a combo when the digital phone on his hip rang once and stopped. Both men looked at their watches and counted the seconds. Thirty seconds later, they counted five more rings. Instead of leaving right away, they finished their game and switched to coffee. It was going to be a long night.
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Ted Hopkinson strutted into the Oval Office as if he were floating on clouds. The
