couple feet away from his ear, and even with the earplugs firmly installed, the bastard was giving him a splitting…
… and then he saw them: the same two tall guys he had seen at the first demonstration, but this time they were right up front, at the head of the crowd.
He tilted his head so he could talk into his shoulder-mounted microphone: “Bobby, this is Leo. C’mon out here and cover me, will you?”
“Roger,” came the immediate reply.
Leo looked directly at the taller of the two men. They returned his gaze, not attempting to retreat or hide at all. Over the blaring bullhorn beside him, he waved two fingers at the man. “You, sir, would you come with me, please?” The man did not move. “I said,
“He has a right to be here!” the guy with the bullhorn shouted. “What’s your beef, man?”
“I want to talk with you, sir,” Leo said to the stranger. “I want you to come with me.”
“What the hell’s going on, Leo?” the guy with the bullhorn asked. Leo recognized him as the night-shift clerk at the 7-Eleven in town. “Why are you dissin’ this guy?”
“Do you know who he is, Tommy?” Leo asked him. “Have you met him before? Is he from around here?”
The guy with the bullhorn looked at the stranger with a blank expression, but turned to Leo and said, “Hey, Leo, I don’t get it. I don’t know this dude, but he ain’t doin’ nuthin’. We don’t want no trouble, bro. He’s not the one we’re going to get arrested today with you, so don’t—”
“I want you to come with me, sir,
… and no one was exactly sure what happened first after that:
There was the sound of gunshots, four in rapid succession. Screams, cries of surprise and fear, and an immediate retreat of the dozens of persons crowded around Leo and the stranger at the main gate, as if pushed aside by a mighty gust of wind. Then several loud explosions erupted behind the crowd, followed by an immense billowing mushroom cloud of green skin-burning gas. The crowd of protesters surged forward away from the noxious green chlorine-smelling gas directly at the base’s main gate. Almost the entire crowd of over a hundred protesters rushed onto the base, trampling anyone who was overcome by the gas or not quick enough to surge forward or get out of the way fast enough.
Following the hearse and the limousine carrying the family members of Nevada Highway Patrol sergeant Leo Slotnick were three dark blue armored Suburbans and several other limousines. Behind the limousines was a truly awe-inspiring sight: a long line of police cars from all over the United States, stretching for miles along Interstate 80, with lights flashing, slowly making their way to the cemetery. The police cars were followed by hundreds of other cars, some with Civil Air Patrol flags affixed to their roofs. The Nevada Highway Patrol troopers who were blocking crossroads and directing the impossibly long procession of cars saluted the hearse as it drove past. At Exit 48 on the freeway, the lead group continued on to the Northern Nevada Veterans Memorial Cemetery, while the hundreds of police cruisers and Civil Air Patrol members that were part of the procession lined up and stopped in the number two lane. The passengers got out of the cars, and they held salutes or hands over their hearts until the hearse was out of sight.
The flag-draped casket was brought to the center of the visitors’ center, escorted by an honor guard composed of Air Force, Highway Patrol, and Civil Air Patrol officers and cadets. Since the facility was so small, only a small fraction of the thousands of attendees could be seated inside, but hundreds of others stood outside to listen to the service on loudspeakers. The family members — Leo’s wife, three young children, his parents, and his wife’s parents — were escorted to their seats, followed by the invited VIP guests: the vice president of the United States, the secretary of the Air Force, the governor of Nevada, the commandant of the Nevada Highway Patrol, and the national commander of the Civil Air Patrol, among many other dignitaries.
After the service was over, the vice president’s motorcade departed first, heading west on Interstate 80 toward Reno with two armored Suburbans as escorts, where her C-32 transport, a VIP-modified Boeing 757–200, was waiting at Reno-Tahoe International Airport. “Patrick, it’s good to see you again,” Vice President Ann Page said. “You need to come to Washington more often — it seems I only get to see you at funerals.”
“Thank you, Madam Vice President,” Patrick McLanahan said. “It’s good to see you too.”
“And I never would have recognized young Bradley here,” the vice president said to Brad, seated beside his father, “although you’re certainly not so young anymore. Congratulations on the Civil Air Patrol save.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You know who Mr. Dobson is, don’t you, Brad?” the vice president asked, motioning to the man seated beside her.
“I think so,” Brad said, but it was obvious he didn’t remember — and that was the way Patrick had wanted it, at the time, when Dobson delivered the message that Russian hit men had been sent to target his father for assassination in retaliation for the attacks on Russian installations in the Middle East and East Africa. They left Henderson, Nevada, soon after President Kenneth Phoenix’s inauguration, went to Washington to support Gia Cazzotto in her trial and to await Patrick’s trial, then moved to Battle Mountain after Gia’s sentence was commuted and Patrick was pardoned.
“Mr. Dobson has some information for your father,” Ann said, “but I thought it was okay if you hear it too, because it concerns both of you, and I think you’re old enough to know everything. Tim?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Timothy Dobson said. Dobson, a fifteen-year veteran of the Central Intelligence Agency, had served with then — vice president Ken Phoenix on a panel to rewrite the national space policy. But when China and Russia began a cooperative plan to attack American space-defense satellites, Phoenix assigned Dobson to work with Patrick on a covert strike plan to destroy the Chinese antisatellite-missile sites and Russian intelligence radar sites that were damaging the American antisatellite-weapon garages. In the aftermath of Patrick’s attacks, Dobson had discovered that Russia was sending assassination squads into the United States, targeting Patrick for reprisals.
“We’ve analyzed photos and videos taken at the demonstrations in front of Battle Mountain air base,” Dobson said, “and my team has identified two and possibly four foreign agents that have been moving closer and closer to the air base at Battle Mountain.”
“They’re getting bolder by the day,” the vice president said. “They’re moving right to your doorstep. You’re not safe.”
“We think Sergeant Slotnick detected the agents about two weeks ago at one of the demonstrations,” Dobson went on, “and actually confronted one the day he was killed. Most likely it was one of the agents that killed Slotnick, and the backups in the crowd set off the tear-gas bombs that caused the protesters to panic and rush the base.”
“The base is still a safe place for you,” the vice president said. “The security there is the best in the nation. But it’s closing soon, and you’ll lose that protection. And I’m concerned about young Brad here. You go to high school off base, and I know you have off-base jobs and activities, and that’s where they could get to you. It won’t be much of a life stuck on the base.” She turned to Patrick. “That’s why I want to suggest you come to Washington, Patrick.”
“Ma’am…”
Page held up a hand. “I understand all about Colonel Cazzotto, how angry she was at President Phoenix for not pardoning her. But have you seen her lately?”
“Yes, I have, ma’am,” Patrick said. “In fact, she’s at my trailer right now.”
Ann turned a horrified expression to Tim, who had a look of concern on his face that made Patrick’s fingertips tingle. “The FBI has had her under observation ever since she started applying for work at defense contractors in Southern California, General,” Dobson said. “With her felony conviction she can’t get a security clearance, and with the bad economy few firms are hiring anyway.”
“That’s what she told me,” Patrick said.
“High-profile individual, highly skilled and intelligent, formerly had a top-secret security clearance but out of work with a federal felony conviction, angry at the government, an alcohol problem, possibly emotional problems —
