“Thanks. That’ll do. You don’t happen to have a phone, do ya?”
He shook his head no. I shrugged it off, turned to the window, and stared at the scenery that flashed past. I prayed we’d get there soon enough.
***
Christopher dropped me off the side of the expressway just south of the Capitol Building. I still had about an hour and a half to find Martin and stop him. All around me, crowds of pedestrians surged in the direction of the National Mall, hoping to get a good seat from which to view the festivities. I passed by the Capitol Building with its inaugural deck festooned by flags and red, white, and blue ribbons, moving west along Independence Ave. About a hundred yards ahead, I glimpsed one of the Capitol Police in his bright orange vest with yellow reflective stripes directing traffic around the stream of humanity. I made a beeline for him, ready to unload the truth and let the professionals handle it.
As I closed in, I started rehearsing what I would say to him, and how they’d probably respond.
They’d want to know where I got my information, of course. And they’d want to know where Martin and Grant were. All I could give them was the Old Post Office tower, and for all I knew, they’d already abandoned it in favor of someplace else. I looked around at the various buildings rising over the streets. There were so many places. They could literally be anywhere.
Besides, this guy was in crowd control. What were the odds I’d wind up sitting uselessly in a room somewhere while they tried to decide whether I wasn’t crazy? Meanwhile my brother would put a bullet through the newly minted leader of the free world. Wordlessly, I passed by him, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders as I escaped.
Shame burned my cheeks. Why didn’t I say anything? Was I really this big of a coward? I kept walking along 7th Street, eventually working my way through the throng of people to escape the National Mall on the northern side.
What do I do? The President of the United States would be assassinated as soon as he was sworn in an hour from now, and I couldn’t stop it. Worse yet, my own brother was about to pull the trigger.
I shook my head, utterly bewildered. Then I saw Grant.
Forty-Six
I stared, unbelieving. He walked on the other side of the street, purposeful strides in the direction of the Old Post Office. It hit me. He must’ve dropped off Martin and Jerry at their new site, but with the roads closed couldn’t get to the second gun, our gun, unless he walked.
Hot anger flared in my cheeks, burning past the shame and humiliation I’d just felt. Heedless of the crowds around me, I put on a burst of speed, racing in his direction.
I got to the corner and slowed, not wanting to turn the bend and get another stun gun in my chest. I made a wide turn, and saw no one.
I frowned and looked quickly behind, then on either side. He couldn’t have just vanished—unless I hadn’t seen him at all.
I caught sight of him moving rapidly away from me about a hundred and fifty feet ahead. He walked with his hands swinging easily by his sides, his head down a bit. He might not have seen me at all. Crowds hugged the steel barricades on either edge of the road, with nearly a solid line of grim-faced police on the opposite sides, lining the parade route all the way from the Capitol Building to the White House
I settled into a pace about fifty feet behind Grant, hoping he didn’t realize he was being followed just yet. With the throng of people darting between us, I was confident he hadn’t noticed. He was the only one who could tell me where Martin was, and I didn’t want to give him the chance to get away. I didn’t know what I would do when I caught up with him. Grant had shown himself more than capable of handling a guy like me, but I had to try.
As he neared the Old Post Office I surged forward, nearly running as I approached the door. He disappeared inside about thirty feet ahead of me, the doors closing behind him. I reached the steps and scampered up, passing through the first door and reaching for the second. I pulled it open just as Bill tried to lock it from the inside.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed as I thrust past him.
“Hey Bill, sorry I’m late,” I muttered. I felt immediate relief at seeing him.
He swore. “What are you doing here, Joe?”
I stared around the atrium, looking for any sign of my quarry. “You seen Otis?”
“You can’t be in here.”
“What do you mean? I work this shift.”
“You quit.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that’s what Otis said. He was all over apologizing to Joan about it, and she called me in to cover your shift.”
“I didn’t quit, Joe.”
“Otis said—”
“Otis lied!” I faced him directly, praying he’d understand and help me. “His name isn’t even Jim Otis. It’s Grant Conner. He wants to assassinate the President, and he plans to do it from the tower. That’s where he is, isn’t it?”
He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like it had stopped working correctly. Finally, he sputtered, “What the hell are you talking about? Have you lost your mind, ‘cause that’s got to be the worst bull crap I ever heard.”
“It’s true.”
He stuck a finger in my face. “Now you listen here. Jim Otis is a fine gentleman who served his country honorably and continues to do so in this company, and I won’t stand for some pip squeak like you disparaging his good name.”
Pip squeak? Was he serious? I tore away from him, heading for the elevator. “James Otis was one of the Sons of Liberty in the American Revolution,” I called back to him. “It’s his alias. He chose it deliberately.”
He followed me over. “Just hold on a second.”
“We don’t have time for this!”
“I said stop!”
I stopped. I needed Bill’s help with Grant. “Come on,” I breathed. “You’ve got to believe me. Please.”
He studied me carefully, chewing his lower lip. Finally, he put his hands on his hips like he didn’t quite know what to do with them and said, “Maybe we should talk to Otis and sort this thing out.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s fine.”
“I ain’t saying I believe you.”
“You don’t have to. Not yet at least. Let’s just get up there and stop him.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
He closed the elevator door and pressed the button. I watched the floor drop rapidly away. Looking up, I saw the roof of the building rushing toward us as the elevator was swallowed by the darkened shaft. In less than a minute, we reached the top. Grumbling, Bill opened the door. A second later, he cried out, falling to the ground and shaking uncontrollably.
A strong hand grabbed my shoulder and hurled me into the room. I hit the railing and pitched over, crumpling painfully to the floor below.
“Hello Peter,” said Grant.
I scrambled to my feet, stumbling away from him as he wedged the elevator door open. He turned around and in two strides vaulted over the railing to land hard on his feet in front of me.
“Martin said you’d show up.” He took a step toward me. I backed away, glancing at Bill’s body, praying he was okay.
“Where is he?”
He shook his head. “I’ll never tell. I didn’t think you’d show up, personally. A man with your limited talents making it all the way here? I am impressed. What do you want to do now?”
“I want to s-stop you.”
He smirked. “Why do you want to do that?”
“So my brother doesn’t wind up rotting in a jail cell or dead.”
“You love your brother, don’t you?” He laughed. It grated on me, like he thought it quaint.
“Not that you’d understand,” I retorted.
“Maybe not, but you say it’s true. I’ll take it as that.” He glanced at his watch then grinned when he saw me studying him. “Don’t worry. We still got time. You love your brother. Do you love who he is?”
“What does that mean?”
“Means your brother is
on a rooftop somewhere ready to shoot the President. That’s who he is.”
“That’s not who he is!”
“Oh, I beg to differ. And so will the rest of the country when he squeezes that trigger in about twenty minutes. Will you stop backing away from me? I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
“How am I supposed to believe that after what you pulled?”
He shook his head, grinning. “That was just a stun gun and a sedative. If I’d have wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
I swallowed. He had a point. “All right.” I stopped moving. That’s when I noticed the M107 sitting on its bipod not two feet from me. I could’ve grabbed it and pointed it at him, but I doubted I could move fast enough.
“See?” he said. “Not so bad is it?”
“What do you want, Grant?”
“What do I want? Well, to put it simply, you.”
“Me?”
“Yep. See, here’s the thing. Martin’s got all the right ideas, but he can’t deliver on them. He can’t make this shot, and he knows it. We all know it. You, of course, are a different story.”
“You need me.” I laughed.
He smiled gregariously. “Yeah. We do. We’ve been trying to find a way to get you on board with this for weeks now. You got natural talent. And you’re sharp as a tack. Maybe smarter than the rest of us put together.”
“Smart enough to know you’re just trying to soften me up?”
“Sure. But it ain’t like it’s a lie, Peter. Problem is, you’re a Cherry. You ain’t never shed blood, and you ain’t never killed a man. You probably never even had to put down an animal. So you just can’t wrap your head around taking another life. You get that thinker of yours going, and you just don’t stop. And that’s the main problem. You think too much, and you don’t obey orders.”
“This is a problem?”
“I know you don’t see it that way, but it is. This operation needs to happen. That country you love, the one you write about so eloquently in your blog? She’s in trouble, Peter. She’s been overrun with Marxists who feed on her like parasites.”
“Now you appeal to my patriotism,” I spat.
“Damn straight. ‘Cause otherwise it’s just words, and they don’t mean nothing if they ain’t backed up by action.”
“What about persuasion? What about convincing people to do the right thing?”
“Oh we’re long past that. People don’t know the right thing to do anymore. Some don’t think there’s a right and wrong at all. ‘The god of this age has blinded the minds of the unbelieving.’”
“The Apostle Paul. Second Corinthians chapter four.”
He grinned. “Nice. Then you understand we got to peel away the veil. Let them see the truth in all its bright glory. Make the cockroaches scatter. McCarthy had it right, all those years ago. But no one believed him. The Marxists from the Frankfurt School. They fled the Nazis and came here. Bastards like Theodor Adorno and Herbert Marcuse. We wanted to be fair, and so we allowed those cheaters a seat at the poker table. You know what happens when you play fair with a cheater?”
“You lose.”
“That’s right. At what point do you stop playing, pull out your six-shooter and blow the bastard away?”
“This isn’t the Old West.”
“No. In the Old West, Wyatt Earp would’ve just shot the bastards a long time ago. Point is, unless we stop them now, there won’t be a country left to save.”
“You know what? I’ve heard all this already. All I want to do is save my brother. Now where is he?”
He heaved a heavy sigh through his nose then nodded toward the gun. “Take a look for yourself.”
I stepped around to the M107 and lifted it to my shoulder. Peering through the telephotic scope, I said, “Where?”
“Look toward the Capitol then just to the right.”
I peered through the scope, following the line of rooftops until I came to the East building of the National Gallery of Art. There, barely hidden on the roofline, lay my brother and Jerry. I could see the second M107 right beside them, waiting to be hoisted over the edge.
Forty-Seven
I swore. “They’re too close.”
“It’s the only shot they can make. Less than half a mile out.”
“I got to get him out of there.”
“You want to talk to him?”
I pulled away, looking up at Grant. He held out the Blue Tooth headset to me. I grabbed it and put it in my ear. “Call Martin,” I said to the phone.
“Already here, Peter. Nice to talk to you.”
“Marty?”
“We’ve had the phones on conference call the whole time. Little hard to hear you, though. How’s the view up there?”
I put my eye back to the scope, looking toward Martin. He waved at me. “Not good,” I said. He dropped his hand. “You gotta get out of there, Martin.”
“Not gonna happen, bro. I’m doing this.”
“Hate to break this up,” came Jerry’s voice, “but our target’s moving into position. Hey, Petey.”
“Jerry? You guys need to get out of there.”
“Naw,” said Jerry. “I already said I’m in. Guess I gotta see it through. ‘It’s a far better thing I do than I’ve ever done.’”
“Dickens. Tale of Two Cities.”
“Shoot. Can’t believe I remembered that.”
“The rest of the quote is: ‘Tis a far better place I go than I’ve ever been.’ You need to think about that, ‘cause where you guys are headed is not a far better place. Not remotely.”
“I’ll risk it. It’s all on the line and the roulette wheel is spinning, bro.”
“Jerry, Martin, come on!”
“Hanging up now, Petey. Our shot’s coming up and we gotta concentrate. We ain’t all expert marksmen like you.”
“Marty!”
“Good bye, Peter.”
Dial tone.
I stared through the scope. Adjusting it just to the left, I could see the new President-elect raising his right hand, his left on the Bible, taking the oath of office. I scanned back to Martin and Jerry.
Beside me, Grant swore. Martin and Jerry’s heads turned suddenly. Jerry pulled out a gun, but his body jerked abruptly, his right hand flying backward as he slumped against the wall.
“No!” I screamed.
Grant swore again. Martin put his hands over his head, waiting as a swarm of black-clad officers swept toward them, throwing them face down, arresting them. My finger tensed on the trigger.
“Don’t do it, Cherry!” warned Grant. “There’s too many of them. You’ll never get them all.”
A sob escaped my lips.
“You want to save your brother there’s only one way.”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to see.
“See him? He’s right there, stepping up to the podium. As long as he lives your brother is a dead man. They’ll strap him to a chair, stick a needle in his arm, and press the plunger.”
“No.”
“You can stop them, Peter. You take the shot, they’ll need him for evidence. Take the shot and disappear. They’ll keep him alive.”
I opened my eyes, looking through the scope again. The rifle had shifted. I was now looking directly at the President.
“Don’t just talk. Take action. Save him.”
Could they have been right all along? I remembered Martin sitting in our kitchen, telling me how we could take down the government by forcing their hand, rally the people against them. A horrific, beautiful thing.
The President was speaking, extolling his vision of hope for the country.
“Save him, Peter. Save us all. Now.”
I felt the gun secure in my grip, so perfect, like it was made to be there.
“Now.”
I squeezed the trigger.
The End.
###
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If you want more of the Jefferson’s Road Saga, the story continues in:
Patriots and Tyrants
“They’re shutting down the city,” Grant murmured.
I stopped. “What about Martin? And Jerry?”
“Everyone knew the risks going in,” he said. “Especially Jerry and Martin. They were the tip of the spear. They ran defense for you so you could carry the ball. It was a sacrifice they were prepared to make.”
“You set them up!”
He stopped and glared at me. “Like hell I did. I’m not the one who called the police, am I? This whole operation could’ve gone down smooth as silk had you not muddied the waters, and if it was up to me, I’d have thrown you to the wolves a long time ago. But it wasn’t my decision.” He stabbed his finger into my chest. “Martin called the shots. He believed in you, which is more than you deserve. And from the look of how things turned out, he was mostly right. You’ve got a hell of an aim, Peter. Ain’t maybe ten guys in the world could’ve made the shot you did. And that may be the only thing that’s kept you alive. That, and the fact that your brother...” He shook his head. “You betrayed him. You still came through, but you betrayed him. That’s all on you. The only question for you now is, what are you gonna do about it?”
I stared at him, too stunned to say anything. He clapped my shoulder. “See you around,” he said, and walked off. Despite the throng of people surrounding me, I was utterly alone.
###
Other Works by Michael J. Scott
If you want more by Michael J. Scott, check out these other novels and series, available in print and online at Amazon.com
Jefferson’s Road:
(These are political thrillers about the downfall of
America and the beginnings of a second Civil War.)
The Spirit of Resistance
Patriots and Tyrants
The Tree of Liberty
God And Country
A More Perfect Union – coming soon
We the People – coming soon
Janelle Becker Books:
(These are psychothrillers about a Special Agent with the FBI’s
Behavioral Analysis Unit who specializes in religious-based crimes.)