Under Siege (64 page)

“Or they can select a target and hit it. Or two targets. Possibly three depending on how many and how well armed they are.” .”…Option two.”

“They can hope we don’t find them and give up the have.””…Three. Any morer” “Not that I can think of.”

“Me either. I like number two the best. That’s the one I’d pick if I were them. I suspect a bunch of civilians paid to get killed won’t do well just sitting and waiting.”

Greer sighed. “As if we knew. Anyway, if they take option two, what will be their target?”

Jake let his eyes roam across the map. “The White House,” he suggested tentatively.

“I have two companies of troops and ten tanks at Bethesda Naval Hospital. One company of troops around the White House and four tanks sitting there, one on each corner. Another company with tanks at the old Executive Office Building. Same thing at the Naval Observatory, where the VicePresident lives. Also at the Capitol on the off chance they’d hit that again, and at the Senate and House office buildings. What else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Join the crowd,” said General Greer. “What about the Marine base at Quantico?”

“Where they’re holding Aidana? I think not. Chano Aldana doesn’t strike me as the suicidal type. They’d never get him out afive. I’ve given orders to that effect. That’s the last place they’d strike.”

Only half the city had been searched so far. It was going very slowly. The troops were being sniped at from locations throughout the city. Five soldiers had been wounded and two were dead so far. And the soldiers were shooting back Eleven civilians were dead so far.

Greer turned away it-from the map and ran his hand through the stubble on his head. He sank into the nearest chair. “Did you want somethings” he asked Jake.

The captain told him about the eavesdroppers at the telephone exchange and what Lieutenant Colonel Franz had reported. “A mlly9” the general repeated. “Tonight. $9 “Damnedest thing I ever heard. If it happens we’ll break it UP.”

“I suggest we shut down the local telephone system. The

le at the telephone company say it can be done. We know the people sniping at soldiers and other civilians are coordinating their activities by telephone. What this rally business means, I have no idea, but I don’t like it. On the other hand, I’m told the television showed a photo of the guy the FBI believe is the assassin on the noon news, along with a telephone number to call if anyone sees him. They’ve been broadcasting similar appeals about the terrorists for two days. If we turn off the phones, we won’t get any calls.”

“Have you discussed this with General Land?” “Yessir. He says it’s your decision. He’ll back you up either way.”

“Haven’t had any calls so far.”

“No, sir.”

“This rally business, that bothers me. The last thing we need is a bunch of innocent civilians wandering the streets en masse with all these criminals taking potshots at people. Hell, if something like that happens it could turn into a bloodbath.” Greer sat silently rubbing his head. “Turn the damn phones off,” he said finally. “I’m going to screw this damn town down tighter and tighter until something pops.”

The Longstreet Commission later listed many factors that contributed to the violence that occurred in Washingon that day. However nobody disputed the assertion that the black population’s long-cherished, deep-seated belief that they were victims of intentional racist oppression aggravated the situation and brought it to a boil.

Young males in street pngs-black males, by definition in the inner city-began breaking windows and looting stores, and when soldiers showed up, they threw rocks and bottles and everything else they could readily lay their hands on.

At first the soldiers fired their rifles into the air. When that didn’t work, they waded in pushing and shoving and dragging the most belligerent to trucks for transportation to the armory.

Automobiles were set ablaze by the mobs, which became larger and more violent as television broadcast the madness. Inevitably some of the people on the streets were killed by soldiers, most of whom were no older than those who were screaming insults at them and hurling rocks. A television camera caught one of these incidents and instantly it became a rallying cry.

General Land ordered the television cameras off the streets, but by then it was too late. A dozen buildings in the poorer neighborhoods were ablaze and fire trucks and emergency crews were unable to get their equipment to the fires because of the rioting mobs. Some of the army officers decided to use tanks to try to cow the rioters, but the immediate response was to fill bottles with gasoline and stick blazing rags down the neck. These the rioters threw. After one tank was disabled and two men severely burned getting out of it, an accompanying tank opened fire with a machine gun. A dozen people were mowed down. The rioters fled in every direction, setting fire to cars and smashing windows as they ran. The whole scene played on television to a horrified nation.

The smell of smoke and burning rubber wafted throughout the city under the gray sky. Although one could smell the smoke almost everywhere in the city, the rioting was confined to the inner-city neighborhoods, the poor black ghettos, just as it had been during the major urban riots of the Vietnam War em. This did not occur by accident. Over half the twelve-thousand soldiers in the District were being used to protect the public buildings and monuments of official

ngton. Still, the vast majority of rioters stayed close to of their own accord, fighting and looting and burning their own neighborhoods.

Generals Land and Greer rushed troops to every corner. The only option they had was to continue to increase the troop presence until the situation stabilized. The search for the terrorists was abandoned.

As the sun moved lower on the western horizon, the temperature of the air began to drop quickly from the daytime high of fifty-six degrees. In the armory General Greer and the staff watched the falling mercury as closely as they did the incoming situation reports. Perhaps cold could accomplish what the soldiers couldn’t. Someone prayed aloud for rain.

With darkness approaching General Greer committed the last of his troops to the inner-city neighborhoods. Gunfire and flames still racked the city, but the number of people on the streets was definitely decreasing.

“Captain Grafton. We have a problem out front.” The young army captain was apologetic. “General Greer said he’s too busy and asked if you would handle it.”

Jake laid down the pen he was using to draft a report for General Land. “Yes.”

“It’s out front, sir. If you would accompany me?”

In the hallway the junior officer told him, “We’ve got some people out here, sir, who want their relatives released into their custody.”

“How many?”

“Only three. They had to walk to get here, and with the rioting and all . .

“Yeah. How many have you released so far?”

“We haven’t released anybody, sir. We send the curfew violators and single-possession cases over to Fort Mcationair, but the rioters and looters and shooters we’ve kept here.”

“These people the relatives want, what category are they inr, “A looter, a shooter, and a possession case. The possession case is a woman. She was giving a guy a blow job in a car and since they weren’t supposed to be in cars, our people searched them. The guy had some crack on him and she had some traces of powder and crack in her purse. So we brought them in.”

The civilians were standing by the desk near the entrance to the equipment bay. Two were black women and one was a white man. Jake spoke to the oldest woman first.

“I’m Harriet Hannifan, General. I want my boy back.” She was in her fifties, Jake guessed, stout, with gray hair. Her purse hung on her arm. Her shoes were worn.

“What’s his name, ma’am?”

“Jimmy Hannifan.”

Jake turned to the sergeant at the desk, who consulted his notes. “Looting, sir. He was throwing rocks through store windows. We caught him trying to run with a television. He dropped it and it broke all to hell and we caught him anyway-was

“Your son ever been in trouble before, ma’am?”

“He’s my grandson. Lord, yes, he’s been in trouble at school and he runs with a bad crowd. He’s only sixteen and wants to quit school but I won’t let him.”

“Bring him out here,” Jake told the captain. “How far did you walk to get here?” Jake asked Mrs.

Hannifan. “A couple miles or so.”

“Pretty dangerous.”

“He’s all I got.”

“And you, ma’am?” Jake said to the other woman, who was younger than Mrs. Hannifan but not dressed as well. “It’s my boy. He shot at some people. I saw the soldiers take him away.” Jake was tempted to refuse. But he hesitated. “How far

did you come?”

“From Emerson and Georgia Avenue. I don’t know how

far it is.”

“Five or six miles,” the sergeant said. “Through all that rioting.”

Jake nodded at the captain.

“And you, sir?”

“My name’s Liarakos. I’d like to see my wife. The sergeant says she’s been detained for drug possession.”

“You mean you want her released?”

“No.” Liarakos spoke forcefully. “I want to see her first. Then, maybe, but …” His voice trailed off.

Jake turned to the captain and said, “Bring those men to my office. And take this gentleman back to visit his wife.” He asked the women to accompany him.

Back in his office with everyone seated, he sent Toad for coffee. Jack Yocke sat silently at the other desk.

The younger woman began to sob. Her name was Fulbright. “I know it’s not your fault,” she said, “but it’s more than a body can stand, what with the drugs and the unemployment and the schools that don’t teach them nothing. How can they grow up to be men living in this? I ask you.”

“I don’t know.”

The silence grew uncomfortable as Mrs. Fulbright sobbed. Jake could think of nothing to say, and once he shot a glance at Yocke, hoping he would help. The reporter returned his look impassively and said nothing. Toad brought the coffee just seconds before two soldiers escorted the men into the room in handcuffs. Men? They were just boys.

“You kids are leaving,” Jake said, “because these women cared enough about you to risk their lives walking over here. You may not have much money, but you got something a lot of folks will never have-people that love you.”

Both the youngsters looked uncomfortable, embarrassed. Ah, what’s the use? Jake wondered. But maybe, just maybe …”…Toad, when these ladies finish their coffee, drive these people home.”

“My God, Thanos, why did you come?”

She held up a hand so he couldn’t see her face. He pulled her hand away. She was crying.

r

“You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered. “Oh, my

God, Thanos, look what I’ve done to myself.”

The room they had her in held ve other women. It stank of vomit and urine. A half dozen bare mattresses lay scattered on the floor, but there was no other fumi ture. Elizabeth sat huddled on a mattress. Her clothes were filthy.

“I’m sorry, Thanos. I’m sorry.”

“That’s the first step on the road back, Elizabeth.”

“I feel so dirty. So degraded! And I’ve crawled into this sewer all by myself. How can you even look at-was

“You want to go home? Without the dope?”

“I don’t know if I can! But why would you-don’t you know what I’ve done? Don’t you know why I’m here?”

“I know.”

She tore her hand from his grasp and held it in front of her face. “Please leave, for the love of-was

Liarakos rose and pounded on the door.

“Sir, I’d like to take my wife home.”

Liarakos stood in front of Grafton’s desk. Jake Grafton forced himself to look up into the man’s face. “Fine,” he said. “Where do you live?”

“Edgemoor.”

“Isn’t that over on the other side of Rock Creek Park?”

“Yes.”

“Jack, go catch Toad. Tell him he’ll have two more passengers. Go with him, Mr. Liarakos.”

Liarakos turned to go, then looked back. “Thanks, I-was

Jake waved him out.

In ten minutes Yocke was back. “They all left with Toad,”

he said and sat down in the chair in front of Jake’s desk. “Do you know who that man was?”

“Lee-something. I’ve forgotten.”

“Thanos Liarakos. He’s the lawyer representing Chano

Aldana.”

“Everybody has their troubles,” Jake Grafton said, his eyes back on his report. The skin on his face was taut across

the bones. His eyes looked like they were recessed even deeper into their sockets.

“You knew that when you first saw him, didn’t you?”

“You’re worse than Tarkington. Go find something to do someplace else, will you?”

Yocke rose uncertainly. He wandered aimlessly for several seconds, went out the door and down the hall, then out to the desk in the bay where the soldiers were checking in the prisoners. He waited until the sergeant finished logging in two more surly prisoners, then asked, “Mrs. Liarakos. Who was the man arrested with her?”

“Ah, I’ve got it here.” The sergeant flipped through his book, a green, hardbound logbook. He found the entry. “Guy who refused to give his name. Stuff in his wallet says he is one T. Jefferson Brody, a lawyer if you can believe that. Three hours ago. He’s in bay four if you want to talk to him.” The sergeant gestured vaguely to his left.

Some of the prisoners were still drunk and belligerent. They shouted and raved obscenties. The smell of urine and body odor made the air heavy and lifeless. Yocke tried to breathe shallowly. He looked into bay four, a waist-high enclosure with a stained concrete floor normally used for the repair of vehicles. The bay now held several dozen men who were shackled in place. Immediately across the corridor was another bay which contained women. The women sat with their backs to the men.

Yocke didn’t recognize Brody. Dressed in a filthy blue suit, the lawyer was standing and straining against the chain around his wrist, screaming at the top of his lungs at the women’s area. “You fucking cunt! I’ll rip your fucking liver out with my bare hands. We won’t be in here forever, you fucking bitch. Then you wait! I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I ever do!”