Closure (Jack Randall) (32 page)

“Dad said you would show me some interesting things. This is my first Klan rally,” Eric commented. “Can’t wait to tell Mom.”

“If it’s any help, it’s my first too,” Sydney answered.

“So what are we looking for?” Eric asked.

Jack answered that one without stopping his scan. “First, look at the buildings. A sniper in an urban environment usually looks for an elevated position to keep things out of his line of fire. Since the stage is elevated, also, this helps him, but with all the signs and flags he could still have obstructions, so he needs a minimal elevation of one story. So we look for positions that offer such a line of fire. Next, we look for permanent obstructions. Trees, buildings, traffic is always changing, but to a sniper it’s permanent. Look at the sun. The angle of the sun can cause a glare in his optics. A shooter prefers that the sun be in the target’s eyes. The stage faces south, so that aids the sniper as it gives him more choices. Consider the range. This man has already shown he can hit the V-ring at over seven-hundred meters. That’s good. So you can’t rule out those buildings down the street. What’s his weapon of choice? The Remington he’s been using can reach about a thousand meters with accuracy for this size target, but there are rifles out there that can reach over double that. So, what are we looking for you asked? All of that and more. The locals will have to watch the crowd up close in case he tries a John Hinckley. I don’t see that happening. This guy has a list he’s working on and plans on getting away. He’ll do it from a distance.”

Eric and Sydney were silent as they now looked at the area through Jack’s eyes. As they scanned the buildings and the surrounding area, they realized the enormity of the situation.

“Let’s take a walk before the parade shows up,” Jack said.

•      •      •

Danny caught sight of Jack just before he descended the stairs from the building and entered the crowd. He had been tempted to walk over, but Jack had two other agents with him, so he backed off. At least he was at the right rally. Jack must think the shooter had a target here. It made sense. The white supremacists had led their little army of skinheads to commit countless crimes and hardly ever been held accountable. Danny was a big free speech supporter, but even he frowned on the hate being pushed by this group. He could see why they would be targeted by the man committing the shootings. He tried to follow Jack’s progress through the crowd, but soon lost him. He gave up and pulled out the camera to get a few shots before the parade arrived and he got crowded out.

•      •      •

Danny was not the only one watching Jack. Sam had completed a trip down the right side of the crowded park to double check the clearance of his bomb. Mentally measuring distances, he failed to see Jack approach from his right. Sam was almost shocked into inaction, but recovered enough to turn away and enter the crowd. Once parallel with Jack and his entourage, he stole a look in their direction. They all seemed to be observing the buildings in the area.

“Looking for me, Jack?” he asked himself. “How did you know?”

Sam continued through the crowd until he was out the other side and then moved off in the opposite direction from Jack. He found an area with a few low trees, and chose a spot next to some other curious observers. The noise of the parade was fast approaching and those seated rose to their feet. The flags were seen first along with the pointed tops of the Klan hoods. More arrived on horseback, followed by a semi-organized group of skinheads. The parade broke apart, and the skinheads pushed their way to the front of the crowd, while the senior Klansmen took the stage. A White Power chant was taken up by the skinheads, and the counter-protesters soon drowned them out. One Klansman approached the podium and tapped the microphone. The squeal of feedback silenced both parties. They would save their breath for later.

The man at the podium removed his hood and a cheer went up from the crowd. Sam recognized him as Curtis’s son. The Future of the Klan, some articles had labeled him. Not quite as intelligent as his father, he was long on rhetoric and short everywhere else. If he was indeed the Klan’s new leader then the Klan was in trouble. He proceeded to get the crowd riled up with a short but fiery speech. After fifteen minutes of hate, he turned and pointed to his father.

The elder Curtis rose, removed his hood, and walked forward to the cheers of the skinheads. He waved and smiled while being simultaneously praised and demonized. He didn’t acknowledge either until he launched into his own speech of hate. The counter-protesters had saved their wind for this man, and now gave him all they had. The skinheads put their backs to the barrier and closed ranks to protect their leader. The police watched nervously from the sidelines.

Sam reached into his pocket for the phone.

•      •      •

Jack, Sydney, and Eric had found a perch on the concrete steps of a building across from the park. Twice they had been approached by police officers to move them off the steps. Jack had waved the first one away with his badge, and Eric had beat them to the second one. He couldn’t help but smile at Sydney afterward.

“It’s my first FBI badge,” he explained.

Jack ignored them both and continued to scan the buildings. All he saw were curious onlookers and uniformed police officers. SWAT team members could be seen on the roof tops, scanning the surrounding windows. So far they had seen two false alarms and then nothing.

“Think our boy’s gonna show?” Sydney asked.

“Maybe,” was his reply.

Sydney turned her binoculars to the podium. She had just focused them on the red-faced speaker when he disappeared in a flash of light. She felt the concussion of the blast in the hair on her forearms before she was tackled to the ground by Jack. Her elbow hit the steps hard, and a sharp pain shot up to her shoulder. Then the weight was off her and Jack could be seen running into the fleeing crowd. He made little progress despite the weapon in his hand. The panicking crowd just wanted to get away.

“Are you all right?” Eric asked. She turned to see him on the steps next to her. Some blood running out of his hairline.

“I’m okay, you?”

“Yeah, bumped my head when Jack took us down. It hurts.”

“Come on. Let’s find him.”

Jack fought his way forward until he was near the stage. Several skinheads lay bleeding on the grass, but no one looked dead. One was screaming but couldn’t hear himself due to the blood coming from both ears. One rose to get in Jack’s way until he saw the gun. Jack pushed him aside and vaulted up on the stage. As he approached the body lying behind the podium, he found himself stepping around roofing nails. Curtis Jr. cradled his father in his arms and cursed every minority his brain could produce. He looked up at Jack and, seeing the gun in one hand and the badge in the other, cursed him too. Jack dismissed him and walked to the other speaker. The blast had torn a panel off the side, and Jack was able to see into the box. Just a speaker. He stood and pulled the radio from his belt to call for the dogs to sweep the area for secondary devices. As he finished the call, he looked down to see Curtis Sr. give a forceful cough. A few labored breaths followed. Curtis was still alive.

Jack added an ambulance to his call.

•      •      •

Danny ran out of standard film and switched to the digital camera. He fought his way close to the stage, and got some good shots of Jack standing over the father and son with his gun drawn. He now slowed down and took the occasional shot as they loaded the Klansman into the ambulance. Once they were gone, he returned to the stage and watched the police tape it off. Soon the crime scene investigators showed up. They waited quietly while the men with the dogs swept the area. He snapped a couple more until he looked up and saw Jack watching him. They shared a look across the distance, and Jack held up his phone. Danny nodded in return.

The state of New York holds 65,198 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 43,682 are repeat offenders.

—THIRTY-TWO—

“. . . and the final report is a total of nine people wounded in yesterday’s bombing attack on a Ku Klux Klan leader at a rally here in Memphis. The leader of the Klan, Thomas R. Curtis, was giving a speech, when a bomb hidden in a speaker went off on the stage. Initial police statements claim that the bomb was homemade in nature, and contained nails to maximize its killing power. Seven members of Tennessee White Pride were also injured in the blast, as well as one police officer, all with minor injuries. Mr. Curtis is listed in serious but stable condition today at a local hospital. In other news, the city’s proposal to widen Parkland Lane is up for a vote . . .”

Sam thumbed the off button in disgust. He was pissed. His homemade bomb had failed, and the bastard was still alive. He had been watching the news all night and again this morning. The pictures were of the scene, with police crawling all over the place, several of them bagging nails, others standing on ladders to pick them out of the overhead roof. All that shrapnel and he had missed! The skinheads that were injured had not concerned him. They had made their decision just as Curtis had. Screw ’em. The cop’s injury was minor, he’d be all right.

“God dammit!” Sam yelled. What was he going to do now? He paced around the small hotel room. He had switched to a more upscale room on the opposite side of town from the first. He had hit traffic as he drove across town, and the radios announced roadblocks at various points leading out of the city. An additional night’s stay seemed like a good idea. He needed the rest anyway. After forcing himself to bed last night, he had woke this morning to watch the morning news reports. Now he was just fighting the ache in his gut that seemed to be more persistent. It was time to call Paul. He rooted around in his bag till he located the cell phones. Selecting the right one, he dialed. Paul answered on the first ring.

“About time, how are things going?”

“Shitty, and for once I mean it. Can you believe this?”

“Slow down. I’m doing shitty, too, by the way.”

“Sorry,” Sam answered. “I forgot. Just pisses me off. I had two sticks and two boxes of nails in that thing. Tamped it with some plate steel and fused it from the middle. It should have been more than enough. I don’t know what happened.”

“From the looks of it on the TV, the majority of it went into the ceiling. Did you aim it right and make sure it didn’t move after you placed it?”

Sam thought about it for a minute as he paced. Could the bomb have shifted? The wrench he had used to prop it up hadn’t been taped in place. Maybe it fell and the bomb was more flat than when he had placed it? It was a possibility, he had to admit.

“I don’t know, maybe. All I know now is the guy is still alive in a hospital room somewhere, and they have roadblocks set up around the city.”

“Those won’t last another day, and then you can leave. You’re gonna be late for your appointment again if you don’t get out of there by tomorrow.”

Sam was silent for a moment while he thought about what he was going to say next. There was no way around it.

“Jack’s here.”

“I know. I saw him on the TV,” Paul replied.

“He was here yesterday. I saw him in the crowd not twenty meters away.”

“What? How did he know what your target was?”

“I don’t know. He can’t know it’s me or you wouldn’t have answered the phone when I called. My face would be on television and my fifteen minutes will have begun. Jack’s a smart guy. Somehow he made it happen.”

Paul’s mind raced as he took in the information. This had to be more than a coincidence. How the hell did they know? They had been very careful up to now. Everything set up beforehand. Multiple identities. Code phrases. Communications.

Paul pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it in horror. A pre-paid cell from a major chain, they had always bought them in pairs. Could they possibly be tracing them?

“Okay, listen. From now on no names on the phones, no talk about what you just did or where you’re going next. Keep the same passwords and above all, keep the conversations under a minute. Got all that? I’m hanging up.”

“What? . . . All right, I’ll check in later.”

The phone went dead. Sam looked at it while he thought about what Paul had said. Reaching the same possibilities, he thumbed the button to turn it off.

•      •      •

“Gut check answer, are we gonna get anything from this?”

Sydney looked up at Jack from her position on the ground. Jack had been pacing around the scene all morning while she and her team collected evidence with the help of the local crew. It was a slow process, and Jack was getting impatient.

“I don’t know, Jack. It’s too early to answer that.”

“Come on, Syd. What do you think based on what we have?” Jack spread his arms to encompass the whole area.

She sighed and then frowned at him. She hated being put on the spot like that. Pulling a stray hair out of her face, she looked around. The cell phone remains had already been traced to a popular model sold everywhere. The explosive was yet undetermined, but her nose said it was dynamite. The packaging was fiberglass. All very common.