Robert and Thorne listened to the news report on the car radio in their rented Ford Excursion.
“My God,” Thorne exclaimed. Rothschild can’t be that far gone.” Robert’s head reeled. “I don’t know, but he did it once. I don’t see why the bastard wouldn’t do it again.”
“There have been no updates given on the President’s condition,” said the reporter. “However, there is new information on the shooters. The D.C. police and Secret Service chased the gunmen, possibly Arab, through Washington into Maryland, just outside of Annandale. The suspects crashed exiting Route 66 killing the driver, but the other suspects, also believed to be from the Middle East, exited their vehicle and began shooting. All three died at the scene. For now, that’s all we’ve been to able to learn.”
Robert banged his fist down on the dashboard. Thorne cursed.
“It’s them, Robert. Same group that tried to hit us. What the hell is going on?”
Robert pulled into Parklawn. “Sounds like Edward Rothschild has killed another President.” He pulled over to the curb just outside the main office, where he told Agent London they’d meet. They drew their guns and exited the vehicle, surveying the area for anything out of the ordinary. Robert counted four groundskeepers mowing the lawn and attending to the grounds. Another two absently picked dead flowers off gravesites.
“All clear,” called Thorne.
Robert took another look around.
“How do you think they’ll come at us?” asked Thorne.
“I’m not sure, but let’s anticipate the worse. Once we get our hands on the evidence, we’ll drive it to Terence Riker’s lab in Salem, West Virginia. I gave him a heads up, so he’s expecting us.” Riker, the most talented forensic analyst Robert knew, and an avid conspiracy theorist, went back almost as far as he and Thorne.
“Did you tell him what it’s about?
“No, but he knows it’s hot. So he’ll be ready for us.” Robert saw Thorne’s mind race. “We can’t take a chance and make that drive,” she said. “We better fly it out. My twin engine is ready at Reagan Airport.”
“Fine with me. The quicker, the better.” Thorne grimaced, eyes cold with anger, body ready for war. “The President, Robert. Those assholes killed another President.”
“I know. But this time…”
A dark blue sedan pulled into the cemetery and made its way toward them. He saw Thorne touch the Mac- 10 machinegun hidden under her jacket. He felt the imprint of the automatics under his arms, and readied the Uzi submachine gun hanging from his shoulder.
Thorne walked across the street and circled around the back of the car. It stopped five feet from where they were standing. Marilyn stepped out, hands raised, all business.
“I take it you’ve heard the news,” said Robert, lowering the machine gun.
“Who hasn’t? The entire department is on high alert. Everyone has been called in, so I hope what you need is serious. I’m gonna take heat for disappearing”
Thorne offered no greeting. Marilyn kept her eyes on Robert.
“So, what’s so important?” Marilyn asked.
Robert motioned for her to follow him inside the truck. Thorne stood sentry while he ran down every detail.
“You’re kidding,” she said. “Don’t play games with me. This is not the day, and I don’t have time for jokes.”
“I assure you it’s no game,” said Robert. “We think the evidence is hidden in one of the crypts here in the cemetery.”
“You mean in the mausoleum where the guard was killed?”
“Right. Rothschild’s men shot him to death. We barely got away.” Marilyn searched his face.
“This is no bull,” Robert continued. “I wouldn’t call you out on a day like this unless it was the absolute truth.” Marilyn breathed a deep sigh. “So what do we do?”
“We need you to serve this court order. Then, if the evidence is there, we’ll move the casket to a safe place. Thorne and I will take it from there. From what Charlie showed me, I don’t think we’ll have any problems getting the right people to listen.”
“Of course now that you know, you’ll be a target. I’m sorry Marilyn, but I didn’t trust anyone else.”
Marilyn smiled. “I’m glad to hear you trust me. I won’t let you down. Now, where’s that court order?”
Robert handed her the order and she looked it over. “Judge Bonner.
How’d you get that old fart to move so fast? He wouldn’t sign a search warrant for me and I practically had a murderer strapped to a victim.”
“Let’s just say he’s a friend of a friend. We better get started and make sure they understand this is a confidential matter. They can’t be present when the casket is opened.”
“I understand,” said Marilyn. “Let’s go.” Robert grabbed her arm. “Thanks Marilyn. I won’t forget this.” Marilyn’s smile widened. “Oh, I don’t plan to let you.” They stepped out, game faces on. Thorne scanned the area, both hands gripping the machine gun, “All clear out here,” she said. “But we better hurry.”
“I’m on it,” said Marilyn. She marched inside the building. Thorne looked over at Robert. “Well?”
“She’s with us on this.”
“She’d better be. I don’t need much of a reason to blow her away.” Robert ran his eyes across the grounds, searching. “Let’s just get the evidence and get the hell out’a dodge.”
“Here she comes,” said Thorne.
A heavyset man in a dark gray pinstriped suit accompanied Marilyn.
His eyes puffy and red, he waddled more than walked.
“This is Larry Welsh. He’s agreed to cooperate fully, no questions asked,” said Marilyn.
Mr. Welsh sweated profusely. “Did you hear the news? Those towel heads shot the President. I told my wife we can’t trust the bastards, not as far as we can throw’em.”
“Thank you Mr. Welsh,” said Marilyn. “Now if you’ll just arrange to have the crypt opened for us, we’ll be on our way.”
“Right away,” said Welsh. “On your way out, stop by the office and sign the release.”
“No problem,” said Marilyn. “And thanks again for your cooperation.”
Flustered, Mr. Welsh hustled across the lawn towards the groundskeepers, about a hundred yards away. Robert, Thorne, and Marilyn drove to the mausoleum and parked. Robert looked back at Marilyn.
“Have you heard anything about President Claymore we haven’t heard on the news?”
“Not much. It looks like the work of Islamic fanatics, but the shooters haven’t been identified and no group has claimed the attack.” Robert looked at Thorne. “We think it’s the same group that attacked us a few nights ago.”
Marilyn sat forward, mouth agape. “Attacked you?”
“Yes,” said Robert. “We’ll fill you in after we secure the evidence, but we think Rothschild may have hired them.”
“Two Presidents,” mouthed Marilyn, anger in her voice. “I’m gonna make sure I’m there when they haul his ass in.” They got out and went inside. Robert quickly located the crypt with Julie Rice’s name on it.
“Julie Rice,” said Marilyn. “Who’s she?”
“She was a friend of Charlie Ivory,” said Robert. “They both lived on the street.”
“How did you figure it out?” Marilyn asked.
“What does it matter?” snapped Thorne. “Let’s just get this over with, fast!”
Marilyn smiled. “Just a little professional curiosity, that’s all,” she said. “No need to get your thong twisted.” The groundskeepers entered, to Robert’s relief. Thorne looked as though she might shoot Marilyn between the eyes.
“Over here, gentlemen,” said Marilyn, waving them over.
Four groundskeepers went to work on the crypt, removed the bolts that held the marble headstone in place, and lowered the slab of rock to the floor. They pushed a long wooden gurney into place just below the tomb, less than six inches from the wall, and carefully placed the dark wooden casket on the gurney.
Robert gently ran his fingers across the top of it. “Ok, let’s get it loaded in the truck,”
The groundskeepers pulled weapons from their overalls, screaming for them not to move. Robert reached for the Uzi, but froze when he felt the cold tap of steel against his temple. He raised his hands in the air and turned. Marilyn!
