I Minus 72 (17 page)

***

Garcia came to with fire raging all around
him. Although not thinking too clearly, he was alert enough to know
he had to get out of the taxi. Looking into the front seat he saw
the driver struggling unsuccessfully to open his door. He knew the
driver would die in the fire without his help. He clambered into
the front seat and dragged the driver out the front passenger door,
the only one still working. As they moved to a safe distance Garcia
could hear sirens coming closer. His head was bleeding, but he felt
okay, maybe a little woozy, but not disabled. His first thought was
that he had to get out of there fast. He didn’t need to be
questioned by the police. He had a reasonable cover story, but not
deep enough for a police investigation.

He had registered in a small hotel just
around the corner from the Hilton. It was only a few blocks away so
he decided to walk and let his head clear a bit. Man, that was
close. If he’d stayed unconscious even a minute longer, he’d have
fried in the fire. He looked around and saw the taxi driver sitting
on the curb holding a bloody handkerchief to his face. Garcia went
over to him, handed him a wad of currency and quickly started
walking away.

After going only a few steps, he first heard
the explosion and then felt the concussion as the rest of the fuel
in the gas tank ignited. Less than a minute earlier, he’d been in
the back seat of the car that was now completely engulfed in
flames. It looked like he was right about this not being a
coincidence. He was attacked, no doubt about it. But now he knew
something Thurmond didn’t—he was sure that it was one man he was
looking for, not an organization. He had even gotten a partial
visual. After the crash, he had noticed the door to the car that
hit them was open, so obviously the guy fled the scene. Too bad the
bastard didn’t die in the crash or resulting fire. That would have
saved everybody a lot of trouble.

I minus 37

Sam came into the hotel room just as Grant
was hanging up from ordering lunch. “I ordered for you,” he said,
standing up.

“Thanks.”

Helping her take off her coat he said,
“What’d you find out?”

She looked around, a little surprised at his
gallant gesture and said, “Well, the death records at Warsaw’s
version of City Hall were a mess. They’re not computerized and
they’re months behind in filing. The only records they’d let me go
through were the ones already filed. Nothing there about either
person. So, I went to the newspaper. They were better organized and
they had all past issues in computerized databases. I just did a
search on both names and came up with one hit. That person died
less than two weeks ago. No cause of death mentioned, but homicide
suspected. The article said that when the police arrived, the
apartment door was unlocked, the rooms were orderly and although
there were only a few valuables, the fact that they were left
behind indicated it wasn’t a burglary. An investigation is ongoing,
but there’re few clues and it doesn’t look good for identifying a
suspect. So, where do we go from here?” She hung up her coat in the
closet and turned to face Grant.

Grant said, “We keep going forward. I place
the personals ad and try to meet the one informant left who may be
alive. If that person doesn’t show up, we’ll go back to the States
and continue looking through the files trying to find a clue. In
the meantime, the General’s got a bunch of analysts going through
the documentation we have. Hopefully, they’ll find something
that’ll point us in the right direction. Those guys are pretty
good.”

Sam, with her hands on her hips, frowned.
“I’m not looking forward to going back without accomplishing much
during our stay here. Let’s hope someone shows. How will the meet
work? Is it the same as before?” she asked.

Grant shrugged, “Pretty much the same. It’s
a four day cycle. I place the ad in the morning paper today and
it’ll run for the following three days. I start showing up at the
meeting place tomorrow and continue for two more days after that.
If nobody shows, we struck out.”

“Okay, sounds like it’s our only shot. Sure
hope it works. What do you want me to do?”

“Same as before. You get to the meeting
place early and see if anyone follows me.”

“Was it always this boring being in the
field?” Sam asked with an impish smile.

Grant smiled back. “Not always, but a lot of
my work was like this. Long periods of boredom interrupted by
moments of frantic activity.”

“Well, I couldn’t do it. I need more
action.” She laughed.

Grant looked at her with a sudden grim smile
on his face. “Yeah, well wait until this mission is finished before
you ask for more action.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon in
their room alternately reading, playing cards and talking. Grant
spent a lot of the time pacing around the room. So much so, that at
one point Sam threw her hands up in the air and said, “Grant, would
you please just sit down for a while? I know you’re anxious and
want to do something, but you’re driving me nuts.” Grant gave a
mock grimace and sat.

After breakfast in the room the next
morning, Sam left for the meeting place. It was the same café where
they had met Granowli. This time, Garcia just watched Sam leave and
wasn’t tempted to follow her. He was waiting for Thurmond who, he
knew, wouldn’t be far behind.

I minus 36

The DNI decided to make one more plea to the
President-elect about moving the inauguration to a safer place. He
called David Carlisle, the head of the Secret Service detail
protecting Mason, to enlist his support. They agreed to make the
case together and were now both seated across from the
President-elect.

“Sir, we could have the actual ceremony
inside the White House and telecast it live to a huge screen on the
outside podium next to the capital. The people would get an even
better view than they would if you were there,” pleaded Barry.
“And, we could—”

“Sir, sorry to interrupt,” said Carlisle,
“but if we move the ceremony, procedures are for it to be in the
Capitol Rotunda, not the White House.”

“That would be no problem,” declared Barry
firmly, thinking it would be pretty easy to secure that area.

Mason sighed and leaned forward in his
chair. Putting his hands in the air, palms facing each other about
shoulder length apart, he said, “Look, guys, I’m not going to start
my term in the highest office in the land being a coward. What
message would that send to both our citizens and our enemies? We’d
look like we couldn’t control things in our own capital, which I
think would encourage increased terrorist attacks on Americans and
American interests overseas. Maybe even on our own soil. They’d
assume we’re an easy target. No way. Not on my watch.” Mason leaned
back and crossed his arms over his chest.

Carlisle decided to jump in. “You know, sir,
we have done everything we can to make this a safe inauguration.
We’ve placed metal detectors in the only access points attendees
can go through to get to the stands. We will have trained agents
from both the Secret Service and the FBI watching every person who
enters the area, we’ve placed bullet proof glass in front of the
podium and, in fact, in front of the whole dignitary seating area.
We’ll have choppers in the air, more than two hundred uniformed
police and nearly that many plain-clothes officers mingling with
the crowd. But even with all that, I’m worried. Sir, are you sure
you won’t reconsider?” he pleaded.

“With all those precautions, someone would
have to be insane to attempt anything,” Mason countered.

Carlisle replied, “Exactly, sir. That’s what
we’re worried about. In this era of suicide bombers, no one is
safe. A bomber can pack so much Semtex or C4 into such a small
space, or even on themselves, that it would level a city block. And
the metal detectors won’t pick it up. Anyone could conceivably just
waltz on through them disguised as an overweight supporter here to
watch the ceremony. Remember, it’s outside, so overcoats will be
commonplace. We’re struggling with how to detect hidden devices in
large crowds, but we don’t have foolproof measures.”

“What about the see-through screening
devices they use at airports?” Mason asked, still with his arms
crossed. Now he crossed his legs as well. Both Barry and Carlisle
notice the body language.

Carlisle explained, his frustration showing
through, “Sir, there will be thousands of people watching the
ceremony . . . we can’t possibly screen every one. It’d take hours.
Also, it’s January . . . we sure as hell can’t ask everybody to
take off their coats. If somebody on the lunatic fringe is
hell-bent on blowing us all up, we can’t predict what they’ll do or
how they’ll do it. They wouldn’t follow the normal patterns that we
can prepare for. We’re stretching our staff to really think outside
of the box, but we’re all rational and we can’t think like someone
who isn’t. So, please, sir, think about it.”

Mason, sensing Carlisle’s frustration,
seemed to relax a little and uncrossed his arms. Less stridently,
he said, “David, I have. Look, I know I’m a target and I do have
some anxiety about it. As we get closer to the inauguration without
finding who is behind this, I’m getting even more anxious. Not just
for myself, but for my family who’ll also be on the podium. But,
I’ve made my decision. We’re going with the original plan. I know
it’s risky, but I’m not going to act like a coward. That’s final.
Now what will the day look like?”

Carlisle sighed and then answered, “Well,
sir, you and your wife will join the current President and First
Lady for brunch in the White House. You should arrive around ten
a.m. After brunch, both couples will be driven to the inauguration
in separate armored limos. We’ve arranged a parking area
immediately behind the dignitary stands for your cars, as well as
for the cars of the Supreme Court chief justice and a couple of
your cabinet members. Everyone else will park in a remote lot and
be bussed in. I know some of the cabinet members and other
dignitaries might be upset at having to ride a bus, but we have to
do it this way. We’d appreciate your support in this.

“After the swearing-in ceremony, which, as
you know, will be conducted by the Supreme Court Chief Justice, you
and the First Lady will be escorted to the Presidential limousine
and lead a motorcade from the Capitol area to the White House. Sir,
although some newly sworn-in presidents have, in the past, gotten
out of their car and walked part of the way up Pennsylvania Avenue,
I would strongly advise you not to do that. Please plan to stay
inside the car with the windows up the whole way. You should arrive
at the White House around one-thirty p.m. At the same time,
immediately after the ceremony, the former President and First Lady
will be flown home in Air Force Two. At the moment the swearing-in
is complete, the former President’s personal effects will be taken
out of the White House and yours put in place. By the time you
arrive, it will be your home.”

“So the exposure time will be limited to no
more than an hour and a half and I’ll be in a protected car part of
that time? What about the Popemobile? Can we borrow that? Sorry,
just kidding,” Mason said with an attempt at humor.

Carlisle chuckled and said, “The
Presidential limousine is heavily armored and you’ll be fairly safe
as long as you’re inside.”

At this point Barry interjected, “But sir.
An hour and a half is a long time. Anything can happen. You also
have to attend inauguration balls that evening—I think five in
total. You’ll be exposed there also.”

“Look, I can’t hide forever. The best shot
we have, no pun intended, is to solve this before the inauguration.
I’ll make a decision about walking part of the way later. Let’s
just hope Thurmond finds this guy before it’s too late. I gotta go;
I’m out of time.”

Barry and Carlisle answered in unison, “Yes,
sir.”

In his car on the way back to his office the
DNI placed a call to General Wheeler. “We couldn’t talk the
President-elect out of it. The inauguration is going on as planned.
We all better hope that Thurmond finds this madman first.”

“We’ve got the best man on the job. If this
guy can be stopped, he’ll do it. He has to. The alternative is
unthinkable . . . .” The general’s voice trailed off.

Later that day, Riley left a short message
on the voice mail system: “Just heard that the inauguration is on
as planned. Don’t know if that’s important, but you said to report
anything I heard.” Riley felt sure he was reporting too much
unimportant information, but he wanted to make sure the guy wasn’t
disappointed and that the checks would continue. And, yeah, he knew
in his gut that he should be more concerned about why this guy
wanted all this information about the President-elect, but it was a
dog-eat-dog world and he had to look out for himself. It was all
about the money. Between the money this guy was paying him and his
regular paychecks as a government driver, he was already building
up a nice little nest egg. Yessir, that condo in Florida was a sure
thing now.

He knew it wouldn’t last forever, but maybe
when this guy stopped paying him, he could still keep his job as a
government driver. It paid really pretty well and, if he worked
there long enough, he’d have a retirement check for the rest of his
life. Steady pay with a retirement sure beat the hell out of
working all hours as a PI, never able to save a dime and ending up
having only Social Security to live on. Also, nearly all of his PI
work was following low-life people and taking ugly pictures for
divorces: long hours, low pay and too long between assignments. All
in all, he saw himself in a pretty sleazy occupation. Easy
decision; if at all possible, he’d stay a driver.