‘Yeah?’
‘Reaper might not have been in that apartment, but he’s still here in the city.’
Ty put his hand over his eyes and made a show of looking around. ‘Where?’
Lock raised his hand to silence Ty. ‘What do you think it would take to really start a race war in this country?’
‘Right now? You refusing to shut the hell up.’
‘You kill a member of the Supreme Court, who cares, right?’ Lock said. ‘But you kill the President, our first black President… well, that’s like JFK and Martin Luther King all rolled into one.’
Ty turned to Lock, shock etched on his face. ‘Holy shit, man, are you crazy?’ He stepped back and spread his hands. ‘Say Reaper really does want to kill the President. There’s a world of difference between wanting to do something and being able to do it.’
‘That’s true,’ Lock conceded. ‘But say you want to assassinate someone specific. What’s the first thing you have to know?’
Ty shrugged an ‘I dunno’.
‘First you have to know where they’re going to be. And tomorrow, the President’s going to be right here, at Grace Cathedral, with his family.’
Ty was silent as he thought it through. ‘OK,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But how are they gonna do it? You know what security’s like around the President. He carries the biggest, most advanced security detail in the world. Killing a Federal Prosecutor, that one thing. Running over some little old judge who’s already a bazillion years old, that’s something else. But taking out the President?’ He clapped Lock on the shoulder. ‘Maybe you don’t need a vacation. You’re already tripping.’
62
‘Do you know how many threats against his life a President of the United States receives on a weekly basis?’ Coburn asked, kneeling down to tie an errant shoelace as Lock took in the ongoing work to the Federal Building where he had first met Jalicia.
‘A couple hundred?’ said Lock.
‘Times that by ten and you’re getting close. Now, you want to take a stab at how many threats this President gets on a weekly basis? Times that by ten. You want me to go on?’
‘Sure,’ said Lock. ‘This is an education.’
Coburn sighed. ‘Ever since we got our first black President, gun ownership has gone through the roof. So have sales of ammunition. The Secret Service and other federal agencies have identified over three hundred domestic groups who would love to take a shot at him. Plots have been uncovered and thwarted to kill not only him but the First Lady and their daughters. There have also been threats to kidnap the kids and execute them. The Secret Service deal with this shit every day. What makes tomorrow so different?’
‘You gonna allow me the right of reply?’
‘Sure. But as soon as I hear the word “hunch” or “feeling” or any other guesswork bullshit, this conversation is done.’
Lock took a breath. ‘There are threats and then there are credible threats from individuals and groups who can action them. You with me so far?’
‘You going to keep stating the obvious?’ Coburn asked.
‘Maybe someone should. Now, Reaper and the people who sprang him-’
‘At least one of whom is dead,’ Coburn interrupted.
Lock gave him a ‘yeah, I kinda know that’ look before continuing. ‘This group is not only highly motivated and determined, as proved by not one but two attempts to free their de facto leader, they are also highly trained. Not to mention ingenious. They appear to have the resources required. And here’s the kicker: their leader is still at large and active.’
‘Agreed,’ said Coburn, not exactly softening but finally seeming to listen to what Lock was trying to say.
‘We know Reaper is in town. And it’s a fair guess that he-’
‘Guess? You’re getting close to saying you have a hunch here, Lock.’
Lock changed tack, a trick he’d picked up from Jalicia. He wished she was here with them now. ‘Why would Reaper and his buddies go to the trouble of killing Junius Holmes?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Not to me.’
‘Then go back and read the files. He went up against them. This was payback.’
‘Not good enough, Coburn. If I’m guessing here, then so are you.’
‘OK. So let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re right, that Reaper is here in San Francisco lying in wait to kill the President. How’s he going to do it?’
Lock scuffed a shoe against the sidewalk. ‘That I don’t know. But I think you should have some people there as well.’
‘Oh, you mean in addition to the two hundred or so Secret Service men and half of the San Francisco Police Department?’
‘What about the route? Where’s he coming in from?’
‘Listen, Lock, I’m going to be nice about this, because although you’re a major pain in the ass, you’re either crazier than a crackhead or you’ve just got way bigger balls than anyone I’ve ever met. Take your money and go take that long vacation. We’ll catch up with Reaper, and the President will be just fine. We don’t need you.’
‘At least pass on my concerns to the Secret Service,’ Lock said, walking away.
Coburn cupped his hands in a cone to his mouth. ‘Take that vacation, Lock. You hear me?’
Still feeling uneasy, Lock walked back to his car, pulled out on to Golden Gate Avenue and headed east towards Grace Cathedral. Traffic was already being diverted ahead of the funeral, so he had to park five blocks away.
Heading back towards the cathedral, he tried to approach it as Reaper would. The first thing he noticed was that all the mail boxes and trash cans had been removed. Manhole covers had been sealed. All standard practice for a presidential visit. As was the case protecting any other VIP, there were certain points where they were more vulnerable than others. Lock looked around him. The cathedral would have undergone a detailed search. Once this was completed, those who could gain access would be strictly controlled. The same went for the guest list.
The route from the airport or the helipad that was being used might normally be a worry, but Lock reckoned that the presidential limousine removed much of that risk. Nicknamed ‘The Beast’ by the Secret Service, it was an up-armored Cadillac with run-flat tires and, if rumors were to be believed, its own air supply. A new one was usually rolled out for every inauguration, and the latest incarnation was said to weigh in at close to eight tonnes.
All this meant that the main threat would lie between The Beast and entry to the cathedral. Given that the authorities would have taken every sniper position for themselves, that left a rush from the crowd. Or, if Reaper and his accomplices stayed true to form, a full-on armed assault.
Lock looked around again, then crossed the street, trying to get a sense of the place from Reaper’s perspective. Where would he make his move from? What would be his best entry point?
Standing there, he noticed a freshly laid patch of asphalt. A truck with crash barriers loaded on to the back rolled over it. Once it had passed, Lock recrossed the street to take a better look.
Absence of the normal. Presence of the abnormal.
In and of itself there was nothing abnormal about a patch of road having been repaired. Lock didn’t know much about road repair either. But a couple of things did stand out to him. The first was that the road surface around the newly laid area was immaculate. No cracks. No damage. Lock guessed that it could have been a pothole, but why would the city go to all the trouble of resurfacing the whole area?
He looked back at the cathedral. The repaired area was directly parallel to the entrance. Exactly where the disembarkation point would be for the President.
Lock kicked away at where the new surface met the kerb with his boot. He kept kicking until he had chipped away the top layer of asphalt. Underneath that layer the filler looked fresh as well. He knelt down, pulled out his
