Sword of Damocles Parts 2, 3 & 4

                                     

 

2.  JACKSON LYALL, MISSY FELDER & JULIETTE DODGE

~ 74 ~

The Democratic government under President William Clayborne was well past the mid-point of its second term.

Things had been sailing along quite smoothly, but the Republican party which was in the minority was in meetings every day trying to figure out how to topple that which could easily be seen as a democratic dynasty.

Claybourne’s Vice president, Juliette Dodge was being groomed to take the reins and run for President, which would make her the first woman ever elected to the highest office in the land.

Juliette Dodge, whose given name was Juliette Sams, until she married Elliot Dodge, a multi-millionaire financier, was the daughter of a mixed marriage, meaning that her father was black and her mother was originally French Canadian but became an American citizen at the age of six. Juliette was raised in California where her father owned a chain of car washes and grocery stores in the greater Sacramento area. Juliette’s mother Monique, managed all family business finances having been trained as a chartered accountant. 

The Sams family was not rich but at the upper end of the middle class, and well respected in the community. After law school, Juliette worked her way up through the county attorney’s office to the state Senate to the Democratic national Senate over twenty years. She had been Vice- President for the past seven years, and had a blemish-free record.

She had been chosen as the Vice-Presidential candidate by Senator Rolland Winters and Claybourne. Winters had taken her under his wing from the moment she arrived in Washington as rthe Calfornia Senator He had even introduced her to Elliot Dodge, who one year later became her husband.

As far as defects in the Washington world, she had none to speak of. What this meant was that the media had to start working overtime to dig into her life to see what they could twist to their advantage to feed the gaping news maw that was nothing if not incessantly hungry. Once they got wind of the plans to nominate Dodge as the next presidential candidate, they kicked their effort into a new gear. It was all about the story. It didn’t matter if it was true or false any more as long as it would put bums in seats in front of the TV and reading newspapers. Such was the sorry state of political journalism in the United States.

The news quickly spread around the world and the curiosity about Juliette Dodge grew with it. The Republicans were particularly interested because the move came as a real surprise, despite the fact that the Democrats had announced, over the last quarter of the previous year, that they were making their selection from inside Washington. 

Democrats had no problem with Juliette Dodge. She had more than proven herself extremely capable and fanatically loyal to the Claybourne government. The whole idea behind her nomination was to carry on the policies, which had been, in large part, responsible for a huge upturn in economic growth measurable by just about every vector imaginable. Dodge’s job would be to keep the ship of state sailing in the right direction, and she was more than capable of doing that.

 But this was Washington and it was not without the requisite amount of drama. In this case it was a bit more extreme and that’s when Phillip Ross got a call from Senator Winters.

~ 75 ~  

They met at their usual place on the Capital Mall. Winters was unaccompanied by secret service agents, because he didn’t want to risk anyone inside overhearing their conversation.

“Thanks for coming, Phil.”

“My pleasure Senator.”

“Everything good at home?” 

“Yeah. Got myself a good son-in law. They’re living in the old house, so we get to see them quite a bit. Marcus has taken an Associate Professorship at NYU. Something called environmental politics. He comes down on the odd weekend.”

“Well, that’s good. Listen Phil, we have a bit of an issue that’s cropped around the announcement of Juliette Dodge’s candidacy.”

‘Oh yeah. What could that be? She seems like a natural.”Ross said.

“Yeah, you would definitely think so. But there’s something going on and we think it’s not some rich whacko from the boondocks. It’s internal. Which explains why I am without my usual dynamic duo.”

“How serious is this?”

‘Well, that’s the trouble. There’s not a lot of chatter about  this. More whispers than anything. But they’re loud enough that we can’t disregard them.”

“So I’m assuming you’re sitting here alone because you don’t know who to trust.”

Winters took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “That’s about the size of it.”

“So how do you want to move forward?”

“On a couple of fronts. One is that we need to make sure she’s covered front and back once she hits the campaign trail. So I’ll need a couple of your people. Your shooter would be good. He would have the right kind of situational awareness that he could use to figure any shooter out and hopefully spot him before he could do any damage. And a capable female who could travel with Juliette and stay close. The sooner we can diffuse this, the better. We also need your hackers to start looking at the way money is moving throughout the clandestine community.”

“What does your gut tell you about who this could possibly be?” Ross asked.

Winters didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds. “It’s gotta be someone or some small group in one of the Alphabet agencies who have been corrupted by the Republicans. This sounds like their kind of bullshit. We need to gather up as much intel as we can on this and head it off at the pass.”

Ross sat thinking for about fifteen seconds. “Who’s gonna run point on your end?”

“That would be Lisa Franklin. She’s been with me for a decade. I trust her without question.”

“OK. Let me get with my people and see what we can come up with.”

~ 76 ~

Phillip Ross thought the issue through on his drive back to Richmond. He had lost his last shooter prospect, Corey Sims, and besides, he was too inexperienced for a protection detail In fact, he actually declined to join once Tuttle had explained the mechanics of the situation. Instead, Tuttle was sponsoring him at various shooting championships around As it turned out the intended target was killed in an automobile accident a month later. 

So that left Ross with only one choice and he would have to be very diplomatic in terms of approaching him. 

The female companion for the Vice President was a no-brainer. In fact, she was Missy Felder his housemate, lover and and Ex-Secret Service agent. Communications would be covered by Damon Reese who had been with him for since the beginning and could get into and out of just about anywhere in the digital realm without leaving so much as a partial fingerprint. And Damon’s recent partner, William Ling, a financial hacker would be able to pick up the money trail and follow it wherever it would lead. 

On his way home, Phillip Ross stopped at his old house where his daughter Marlena and her husband Jackson lived. 

Jackson was in the den of the house, looking over some images in preparation for his next show. He got to his feet as Ross walked into the room.

“Jackson.” Ross said.

“Mr. Ross. Good to see you. Marlena’s downtown at her office.”

“Actually, I came to see you. We have a bit of an issue that we could use your help with.”

Jackson sat down at the desk and Ross took a seat on the other side. 

“I hope this doesn’t involve any wet work. Because you know I’m through with that.”

“Actually, it doesn’t. Or shouldn’t. The Senator has asked me to put a team together to investigate an assassination threat on Juliette Dodge, the presumptive nominee for President.”

“Don’t these politicians live with threats like this all the time?”

“Yeah, they do. But this is a bit different because it’s  coming from the inside.”

“So the Republicans?”

“Yeah, most likely. They’ve been running scared for a while now.”

“That figures. So what do you need me for?”

“I need your nose. Because we need to nail this down before she gets too far down the campaign trail, we need you to check out the venues and put yourself into the head of an assassin. Then Dodge’s people can deploy their security accordingly.”

“So this is a consulting gig.”

“Yeah. I guess you could call it that. Security is tight around these candidates which more or less eliminates the possibility of a close-up shooting. So the alternative is a sniper in the rafters or wherever. We need you to suss out the best locations in each venue. You fly in. You do your thing. You fly out. We’re not so much worried about the outdoor venues, just the arenas and sport palaces.”

“You said the threat is internal. So how do you know who to trust?”

“Damon and William will be hacking the various security services. Hopefully between that and your analysis of the venues, we can head this off before anything serious happens.”

Jackson thought about it for a bit. Then he said. “So this is just an intel operation. No shooting necessary?”

“Yes. There will be other people to handle that part of it.”

Jackson thought about it some more and knew Phillip Ross would never go back on his word.

“Okay.” Jackson said. But only on the condition that I can tell Marlena about it.”

That one came out of left field for Ross, who for the past eight years had managed to keep his daughter in the dark regarding his clandestine operations. 

“Before we got married, I promised her there would be no secrets.” Jackson said. “So this is a deal breaker, I’m afraid.”

Ross was envisioning the huge can of worms this would open in his life. Then he said. “Alright. I guess it’s long past time that she found out what her dad does for a living.”

“Just between you and me, I think she may have already kinda figured it out.” Jackson said in the most earnest voice he could muster.”

“Okay, we can talk about it tonight at dinner. And thanks, Jackson. I feel a lot better about this project knowing you’re with us.”

“I am as long as I don’t have to bring a big gun.”

“You might be wise to bring your small gun though. I’ll get you cleared for that.”

Jackson just nodded as both men got to their feet. 

“See you around eight.” Ross said as he got to his feet and both men shook hands

“Yes sir.”

Later that evening, Jackson and Marlena were sitting with Ross and Missy Felder. They had just finished dinner and were having coffee. 

Ross leaned forward, looking at Marlena. “I know Jackson has probably told you quite a bit about what’s going on. So I’m just wondering two things. One: Are you OK with this? And Two: Is there anything more you need to know?

Marlena took a sip of her coffee. “You know I’ve had a pretty good idea about what you were doing for a couple of years now, although I wasn’t exactly sure what it was. Jackson and I have had a few long discussions about what’s going on in this country and though I don’t 100% agree with some of the tactics, I do think it’s become a kind of necessity for people who want to stay in power to have groups like this. And in my opinion, you’re working for the lesser of the evils. So as long as you guys aren’t putting yourself in serious danger, I guess I’m OK with it.” 

“Okay.” Phillip Ross said. “That’s good enough for me. The main purpose of this group is to head off any danger, and stay as clear from it as possible. Look, we’re having a group meeting tomorrow evening. Maybe you should come along with Jackson. I think you’ll get a pretty good idea of what this is all about.”

“That’s fine with me.” Marlena said.

~ 77 ~

The next day, Phillip Ross received an envelope by special courier that contained an indemnification document, which was very carefully worded and covered any individuals that would make up Ross’s team. He then called everyone and arranged for a group meeting at his house that evening.

Five hours later, everyone was gathered and seated,  Ross introduced Marlena. “As most of you know, this is my daughter and Jackson’s wife, Marlena. I’ve recently made the decision to let her know what the group is and how it all works.”

Ross introduced everyone. But the only people she didn’t know were Damon Reese and William Ling. After that they all sat down and Ross began the briefing.

“We have a new assignment from the Fed. Purely intel at this point. But Reese is here just in case it turns into some kind of manhunt. 

“It seems that there is some noise floating around concerning a possible assassination attempt on Juliette Dodge, who’s the presumptive Democratic candidate for President.”

“The Get Out Of Jail Free letter arrived today. So here’s how it’s going to work.

“Jackson and Missy are going Boston, where Mrs Dodge is kicking off her campaign. Missy will be Juliette’s right hand and never very far away, in case the attack is up close and personal. We don’t really think it will be because the people who are planning this, whoever they are, would be  pretty savvy. I know this because that was my world for twenty years. Alvin is here to keep up to speed and to mobilize a response if one is necessary, meaning, if one or more of the bad guys get away.

“Missy and Jackson will meet with Juliette Dodge, brief her and let her know that Jackson will be scoping out every venue. She has a need-to-know about this because she’s the target. 

“Now according to my source,” Ross continued, “The threat is coming from within the Republican party, or one of the security forces. So Mrs. Dodge will have private security supplementing her government security.

“Damon will be handing out burner phones as usual. And William will be digging into the Republican coffers to see if anybody’s been moving abnormally large sums of money around. Someone or some group of someones inside the intelligence services will have been paid a good deal of money to arrange this.The politicians would absolutely not want theit fingerprints anywhere near this.” Ross said.

“You know there’s a chance they’ll be doing this through some offshore bank.” William said. “I mean that’s what I would do. What do you estimate this would be worth, so I have an idea of what to look for?”

Ross took a deep breath. “I’d say, about a million maybe two.”

“And where would the money come from, do you think?” William asked.

“Hmmm.” Ross said. “Could be out some kind of slush fund within the Republican party. It would probably be disguised as some sort of consulting fee.” 

“How high up in the party?” Damon asked.

“Pretty damn high. Senate minority leader. Campaign manager. Party chairman. You know the drill on that as well as anyone, Damon.”

There were no more questions, so Ross said, “That’s pretty much the whole thing.” 

With that everyone got up, grabbed their burner phone and headed out the door. 

Jackson and Marlena stayed behind to talk with Phillip Ross.

“So this is what you do.” Marlena asked.

“Well not all of it.” Ross said. “There are some projects that are a little more elaborate than others. I hope you can understand that maintaining the democracy that we’re all so proud of in this country takes a lot of work and sometimes hard choices have to be made. But it’s the price we pay for being the kind of country we are.”

Marlena rubbed her face and then shook her head slightly. “I do understand that our freedom comes at a cost. It’s just, well, sometimes I wonder if the cost isn’t too high.”

Marlena got up and hugged her dad. “Just make sure nothing happens to Jackson. I kinda like having him around, you know.”

“Jackson did one heavy-duty project for us. All this amounts to us using his expertise to keep a good woman out  of harm’s way.”

A few minutes later they were driving back home. 

“I think you took that very well.” Jackson said.

“There really was no point in getting upset about it. It is what it is. And you are all real patriots as far as I’m concerned.”

“Like your dad said, it’s the cost of freedom.”

“Yeah. Sad but true. Just be careful out there. You’re gonna be more visible this time and you might just make some enemies.”

“Yeah, I thought about that.  I’m gonna grow out my beard and always wear a baseball cap. I’ll just be one of the crew. Hopefully nobody will notice me.”

“Hopefully.” Marlena said as they drove up their driveway.” But there was just enough concern in her voice to make Jackson feel like he really had to keep himself out of the spotlight.” 

~ 78 ~

Three days later, Missy Felder picked Jackson up and they drove to a house on Drummers Cove Road in Virginia about forty miles south of the capital. It was a beautiful house on the Potomac River that was one of three homes that Juliette and Elliot Dodge owned. The others were in France and California. 

They were passed through a gate that was guarded by two very formidable-looking men, one of whom Missy recognized from her Secret Service days.

Elliott Dodge, Juliette’s husband was tall, handsome and casually, but expensively, dressed. He showed them into the living room, which overlooked the river, where a third guard was stationed on the dock at the end of their property.

After the introductions, a maid brought in a tray of coffee and set it down on the large table in front of the sofa where the Dodges sat. Missy and Jackson took seats on the opposite side of the table. 

Elliott Dodge looked over at Missy. “I understand that you are ex-secret service.”

“Yeah. I left when I had had my fill of the Trumps.”

Both the Dodges laughed because they were hardcore Democrats and knew exactly what she meant.

“And you, Mr Lyall.” Elliot Dodge said. “What is your role in all of this?”

“Well sir. I spent most of my eight years in the Marines as a sniper. I know how they think. My job will be checking out all the indoor venues and probably a few outdoor venues and  be able to help the security people deploy more effectively.”

“So you think it will be a sniper?” Juliette Dodge asked.

“We don’t know for certain, ma’am. We’re just making sure all the bases are covered.” Jackson said. “But I would seriously doubt any shooter would want to get too close. If this was planned within the intel community, they’d want to make damn sure the shooter got away clean so nothing would blow back on them.”

“I see your point.” Juliette Dodge said. “It’s kind of sad that it’s come to this in America.”

“Yes it is. But you have to play the hand that’s dealt you. If you want to be president, ma’am, you have to get out there and be with the people.” Jackson said.

“I’m not worried about the people. A lot of our research to date indicates that they would welcome a female president.” She said.

“Yeah, I don’t worry about your supporters.” Jackson said. “I worry about whoever has been corrupted by the Republicans to the extent of organizing something like this.”

“You should also know,” Missy said, “That part of our team is working online to track down the money that has likely changed hands.” Missy said. “They are very good. Hopefully, we can nip this in the bud so to speak.”

Juliette Dodge took a deep breath and then smiled. “Well, nobody ever said this was gonna be easy.”

“No ma’am they didn’t.’ Jackson said. “But we’ve got our bases covered and hopefully we can, as Missy says, nip it in  the bud. Either online or on site.”

“Do we need more private security?” Elliott Dodge asked. “Because I’m pretty sure there’s no one in the Secret Service that we can really trust.”

“I would say that a few well-trained people close by would help. But right now, according to Senator Winters, they don’t know that we know what’s going on.” Missy said. “That gives us a bit of an advantage. I will be your bodyguard. Jackson will be disguised as one of the sound crew so his wandering around near the rafters won’t be seen as unusual.”

Juliette Dodge took another deep breath. Jackson watched her closely and didn’t so much detect fear as he did disappointment that people would resort to assassination to gain political advantage, despite the fact that her own party, just a year earlier, did the same thing. Of course Mrs Doidge knew nothing about that.It was strictly between the President and Senator Winters.

They talked for another few minutes and then Missy gave  Juliette Dodge a phone that was connected only to her. She instructed her to use it for all communications between them.  A few minutes later, Jackson and Missy were on their way back to Richmond.

“So what’s your reading on her?” Missy asked.

“I don’t think she’s scared. Maybe a little, but more disappointed that it’s come to this. You know, that she can’t really trust government security people.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty accurate read. We’ll take good care of her. She’s got a lot of common sense and political savvy so I think she’ll mop the floor with whoever the Republicans put up against her.”

~ 79 ~

Even though Arthur Mitchum was a seasoned Secret Service Agent, he was nervous driving to Baltimore with half a million dollars in a thick briefcase on the floor beside him. 

The contractor they chose was a Mexican American named Pedro Gonzalez, at least that was the name he went by. They had used him on a couple of jobs in Guatemala and Colombia. He got his training in the Mexican armed forces and was strictly a long-range killer. Deadly accurate from anywhere within a thousand yards. In this case, he would be a lot closer than that. 

Arthur was a dyed-in-the-wool Republican and hated the Democrats and all they stood for. This is how Arthur was raised by his industrialist father who, like most people in
business, strove to make as much profit as possible by thwarting any efforts at unionization and paying the minimum in taxes.

When Arthur was recruited into the Secret Service, his family background was pretty well known. Nothing happened for several years. Then all of a sudden, he was being invited to strategy sessions regarding political assassinations. Shortly thereafter, he came to realize that there were a number of Secret Service people who were vehemently anti-democratic. 

This certainly was not public knowledge, but Arthur was gradually admitted to a group they called The Brotherhood. They met at each other’s homes once a month to discuss the political situation in the country and how they could make it work to the advantage of the right.

During most of any given presidency, there wasn’t a lot they could do. But when it was announced that Juliette Dodge was going to be nominated as the Democratic candidate for president, they swung into action.

Arthur Mitchum, as the newest member of the group, was designated as the bag man for the operation. And so here he was, driving through Baltimore to a small suburb called Chesapeake City, where they met in the parking lot of the C&D Canal Museum.

Gonzalez was sitting on the hood of a nondescript Dodge Lancer. He was dressed in black jeans and a denim shirt. His hair was long and tied back. His face was clean-shaven, and he didn’t look anything like a Mexican. More like an Italian, Mitchum thought.

Mitchum got out of his car and the two men shook hands.

“So you’re the bag man, where’s the bag?” Gonzalez said.

There were a few cars in the lot but no people. Mitchum looked around anyway, then retrieved the briefcase from the front seat of his car. He handed it to Gonzalez who didn’t bother opening it. But tossed it into the backseat of his Caddy. 

Mitchum also handed Gonzalez a small flip-phone. “We’ll use this to keep you up to speed on any developments and to text you any changes to her schedule. We’ve already uploaded her current schedule so you can scope out the venues. He handed Gonzales a Secret Service Badge. “It’s fake but it will fool any building people you might come across.”

Gonzalez stared at the badge for a moment, then slipped into his pocket.

“Just one more thing.” Gonzales said.

“What’s that?” Arthur replied.

“I need to see your driver’s licence.”

“What the hell for?”

“Insurance, amigo. You’re paying half up front. I just want to be sure I get the other half. Nothing personal but I have been doing this for a while and I have come to realize that ‘trust no one’ is the best business policy.”

“I just gave you half a million that you don’t even have to launder, amigo.” Mitchum said. .

Gonzalez just shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, but this is a deal breaker.”

Mitchum was furious. But he was also backed into a corner and he knew it. So he got out his wallet and showed Gonzales his licence which he took a picture of with the phone he was just given.

“I’m almost certain that you will be good for the other half. But you can never be too careful. If you decide to stiff me, amigo, I will track you down and cut you to ribbons along with your whole family.” Gonzalez said in a tone so matter-of-fact that it was frightening.

“You’ll get your money.”

“I know I will. But now I’m sure of it as I can be. See how that works?”

“They told me you were a little crazy, you know.”

“Well, there you go.” And with that Gonzales got into his car. “Twenty-four hours after the job is done, amigo. We meet right here. If you or someone else with the rest of the money doesn’t show, things will get very unpleasant…for you.”

Gonzalez dropped the car into gear and took off leaving Arthur Mitchum furious, but helpless.

~ 80 ~

Later that same day. Marlena Ross drove to her father’s house. He and Missy were sitting out by the pool with a pitcher of Margaritas. Missy poured one for Marlena, who took a sip and then set the glass down.

“I just want you to know,” Marlena said. That I’m not a big fan of what you’re doing. Not on this project but before, you know when you killed all those asshole right-wing fanatics and whoever else you may have had killed. But I had a long talk with Jackson about it last night and I believe that what you are doing is a right thing. There’s too much evil in this country and…I guess…you know, somebody has to be chipping away at it.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, sweetie,” Ross said. “This has been the case for the whole of my career. It’s sad to say but this country is constantly on the verge of spinning out of control. Our enemies know that and watch us closely, always looking for chinks in the armour. It’s a terrible thing that the world is like that. But all we can do is keep trying to hold things together. There are a few other groups doing the same thing as we are all around the world.”

Marlena took another sip of her Margarita. “OK. That’s what I came to say, and to wish you good luck in protecting Vice President Dodge. From what I have seen of her, she sounds like a good person.” 

Marlena got up and gave her both dad and Missy hugs.

“Stay safe out there Missy, and keep Jackson safe too.”

“We’ll do our best.” Missy said

“I know you will.” Marlena said and headed back to her car.

~ 81 ~

Over the two years and a few months that had passed since Jackson technically left the Sword of Damocles group, he had done two very successful shows at the Viewfinder Gallery, which were netting him sales in the low-to-mid six figures. But because of that success, he was free to make his own schedule and follow his muse. He was quickly becoming known as a people photographer, especially after his show on the Farmers of Delaware. Right now he was in the process of arranging to photograph firemen from New York on down to South Carolina. He was also finding out that he was a pretty good hustler, and that the Fire Chiefs he talked to all agreed that it would be great PR for fire departments everywhere. 

And now that he had Juliette Dodge’s schedule. He could coordinate a certain amount of that work with his assignment for Blue Fin.

Dodge’s campaign route would take her from east to west over the next several months. She would start with several TV appearances to get her known around the country and then she would kick off her campaign in Boston and work her way in a long zig-zag pattern across the country.

Understanding the mindset of the professional killer, Jackson figured that he would strike earlier rather than later in the campaign. Because travelling long distances with a serious weaponry hidden in your vehicle was a high risk situation. So Jackson figured if it was going to happen anywhere, it would be somewhere along the eastern seaboard.

He had had a conversation with Lisa Franklin from Senator Winter’s office and she had paved the way for him to nose around the first venue ahead of time, and had couriered his and Missy’s staff passes which would allow them to roam freely during the events.

Jackson and Missy had decided to scout the venues together, their first road trip in a quite a while. This time, however it would be in Jackson’s Lexus.

They had scheduled it for the middle of the following week as Dodge’s campaign would start in Boston later that week. So they would spend one day scouting and briefing the security team and the second day at the event with Missy protecting Dodge and Jackson roaming around in the upper levels. From there they would move on to New York City, then Philadelphia. So they would be on the road for the better part of a week and a half. Hopefully, they would get lucky.

~ 82 ~

Pedro Gonzalez, whose real name was Raul Santiago, lived with his wife and two teenaged children in an area called Monmouth Beach in New Jersey. They had a beautiful frame house which he bought for cash back when his kids were just babies. His kid believed that he was a freelance writer and photographer, which explained why he travelled a great deal. 

Raul was a good dad and an even better husband. Besides the people who employed him, his wife was the only other person on earth who knew what he actually did and she was fine with it as long as the money kept coming in. Raul was actually a multi-millionaire, but insisted on maintaining a low profile. Hence the out-of-the-way home in New Jersey. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized by anyone. His disguise was a simple moustache, shades and a ball cap with no logo on it. He drove an older Dodge Lancer to his jobs and always dressed casually so that he would not be noticed for anything odd, different or unique. He was a chameleon and a damn good one.

Gonzalez, too, had Dodge’s schedule and, like Jackson and Missy, was heading out to scout the locations, mainly to figure out when there were the very least number of people in the venue he chose.

When it came to weaponry. Gonzalez was a traditionalist. His weapon of choice had always been the AR-15. Mainly  because it was one of the easiest guns to get hold of on the black market. And they were precision-engineered with very little in the way of drift. Plus the AR-15 was the weapon he started with twenty years ago and felt the most comfortable with. His current favorite configuration was with something called a Nosler barrel and 35.9 grain high velocity ammo. It was deadly accurate up to a max of 750 yards.

The AR-15 broke down and assembled quickly, which made it easy to stash in his car and smuggle into whatever location had to work in and it did just as much damage as many larger guns, of the same calibre if you knew your anatomy, which Gonzales did. 

Gonzalez bought all his ammunition from an underground dealer down Highway 9 in a town called Toms River. This dealer was plugged into the black market and could get Gonzalez just about anything he was looking for in the way of arms, accessories or munitions without any real need for paperwork. It was a cash-only business. As long as he kept his shit together, including leaving no trace of himself at whatever the cops determined to be the shooting site, his assassinations would remain unsolved.

The majority of Gonzales’ business came from an ad he would post periodically on the dark web, which is how this group, represented by Arthur Mitchum who, to Gonzales, looked like a spook, had found him. He’d had a handler for a couple of years, but the money was a lot better if you were your own boss. His handler also took jobs that entailed too much long-distance travel which was always a risk. And in America there was more than enough business on the east coast to keep him close to home, which was where his heart was.  

~ 83 ~

The drive to Boston would take Missy and Jackson about ten hours, so they left at around 8 am, arrived in Boston in the late afternoon, got settled in a nice hotel and walked around downtown until they found a restaurant they could both agree on. 

On the way they both talked about how different it was in a live-in relationship. They also talked a lot about the kind of shooter that people in the government security industry would hire. Missy believed that they would designate a single person for contact and that they would probably hire someone off the dark web as opposed to anyone who would be known to them and could turn on them if they were caught.

“I’m not big fan of hard core Republicans,” Missy said. “But they aren’t stupid. And because this possible threat is coming from inside the protection service, they will know a bit about orchestration.”

‘I agree.” Jackson replied. “I was talking to Tuttle about that one day and he believes there are at least a couple dozen of these contractors in various places around the country.” 

“Trouble is that while they might be good, they will turn on their employers from the moment they get caught and probably have the evidence to back it up and trade for a lighter sentence. That would be, in my opinion at least, the best way to close this whole thing down.” Missy said. “And I honestly don’t think that Damon and William are gonna find out anything on the online side. Intel people are too smart to try and finesse the money out of their agency’s budget. Somebody rich is behind this, and probably just gave them a cash cow to milk.”

“I agree.” Jackson said. “But if they’re not doing this on line and they’re using a private contractor, there has to be some sort of in-person exchange, which is going to expose at least one of them.”

“Good point.” Missy replied. “Sadly, it does nothing to narrow things down. Our best bet is still  disabling this guy before he can do any damage.”

After dinner and a good night’s sleep they drove to the West End where the TD Garden arena was located. This was where both the Boston Celtics basketball team and the Boston Bruins hockey team played. 

The arena manager, a man named Tim Gillespie, met them at the employee’s entrance and gave them a quick tour of the premises.

After he had done that, Jackson asked Gillespie if they could just wander around by themselves for an hour, which he was happy to allow them to do. The arena was set up for basketball, but the Celtics had just started a road trip on a road trip so the court was scheduled to be taken apart that afternoon. Juliette Dodge’s campaign rally, in two days, was the next event scheduled.

Jackson and Missy walked the circumference of the building, under the seats and checked out all the entrances and exits. There were a couple of workmen scattered about repairing some damage to the seats, but other than that the arena was empty. 

“You can see why somebody would choose this as a probable location.” Jackson said. “There are a dozen ways in or out. The guards are gonna have their work cut out for them. They then climbed the stairs up one of the aisles to the very top of the building and again walked the circumference of it. They talked about possible locations where a shooter might position himself and be out of sight. There was also a catwalk that dissected the building, which Gillespie had told them was where any repairs or lighting replacements to the scoreboard could be made. But that was too visible and too vertical, which made the target much smaller.

They then moved to the far end, which they were told would be on the opposite side of the stage during the rally. They sat together in the uppermost row. Jackson took out his range finder. It read a little over little over 350 feet to the lower end of the seats behind the far basket on the court.  

“A hundred and twenty yards. Piece of cake. That’s the upside. Visibility, entry and exit are the downsides.”

Jackson then said nothing for a good minute. “If it were me, I could get in disguised as one of the maintenance or catering crew or even one of the security people. But it’s the fuckin’ gun, you know, Missy. Even if he was using something compact like an AR-15, he’d still have to carry it in or place it beforehand and then carry it out somehow.”

Jackson didn’t know it at the time, but his read on the situation was right on. Gonzales was planning on coming in as part of the catering crew. But Missy had already called the catering company, the TV stations and the security service for the venue and told them to avoid hiring anyone they had not worked with before, so that eliminated that possibility for Gonzales, which he found out from his contact at the catering company.

This meant, according to Jackson’s reasoning, that he would have to break into the venue early in the morning before the rally and hide himself in the rafters. Getting out after the shooting was solved by simply firing more shots into the crowd and panicking everyone there. Then he could slip out in the mad rush for the exits. 

Jackson and Missy went to Gillespie’s office and thanked him for the time to walk the building on their own. 

When they got back to their hotel, Missy called Phillip Ross and gave him a quick summary. 

The next day, Missy went off to visit some friends and Jackson wandered around taking pictures. He particularly liked the harbour. He also visited one of the fire departments and had a brief chat with the Chief, who told him he would be only too willing to let Jackson shoot his crews. So he put them on the list for his next shoot.

~ 84 ~

The next afternoon, Pedro Gonzales arrived in Boston. He drove to a street about a block from the TD Gardens entrance and watched through his binoculars as the Garden’s staff exited and the night guards, three of them, entered. 

He then went and bought some dinner from a Taco truck near one of the parks, and sat in the park reading a book on his Kindle until well after dark. 

He drove to a street about four blocks from the TD Garden The streets were empty as he got out of his car, dressed completely in black from top to bottom. He carried no I.D. other than the fake Secret Service badge. He had his AR-15 and a full clip in pieces in his backpack. He figured there would be one guard stationed at the security desk in the front area of the arena and two others who patrolled the lower level with powerful flashlights. 

He circled the building, sticking close to the wall and out of camera range. He finally came to the employee entrance. He quickly picked the lock and moved inside. The hallway he was in was pitch black. He donned a pair of night vision goggles and carefully made his way to the front row of the hockey arena seating. Both guards were at either end of the building mostly just walking and occasionally flashing their lights up into the seats. This was very haphazard and they were both quite a distance from him as he started to climb the steps to the top of the permanent seating. When he arrived there. He ducked down behind the last row of seats as a beam passed over his head. Half a minute later another beam passed over him. After that, he took a look and saw that the guards were now sitting in the front row of the far corner having a cigarette.

 He made his way around the upper deck, found the beam he was looking for. It was right in the corner of the building and it was wide enough that he could climb up onto it. When he was in position, he was invisible to the lights being shone up into the corners of the building by the two guards below. Gonzales laid on the beam, removing his night vision goggles and putting them in his backpack. 

Five hours later at 8:00 am the guards left the floor. And for about five minutes there was no activity. Gonzales took advantage of the lull to assemble his rifle, screw on the silencer and clip on the Zeiss scope. After he had done that, he slipped off the beam and did some stretching. 

The work he did required both patience and stamina. But most important of all, it required stillness. He drank a bottle of water and urinated into it, then sealed it into a large baggie and put it into his pack. He then ate an energy bar and climbed back on the beam. 

A few hours later the building started to fill up with the crew who would televise the rally and the lighting and sound people who would set everything up. After the seats at the far end of the building were retracted, a stage was lowered from the ceiling. Once the stage settled and the large curtain dropped down to hide the folded up seats, a couple of people started to set up the dias and the microphones. The lighting crews started wheeling in the large lights that would be positioned about 100 feet from the stage. Once they were turned on, Gonzales would be totally invisible from the stage.

He had no idea how many people would be attending this rally. But even if it was a full house, it wouldn’t matter. Once the target went down, all hell would break loose. He would quickly take the gun apart and stuff it in his backpack and join the crowd of people evacuating the building. 

At least that was the plan.

He wasn't a big fan of shooting over a crowd. Inevitably, there would be someone who would hear the gun’s report, even though it was silenced. So he had to be prepared to move quickly and mow down any interference he might encounter, although he didn’t think that would happen. But just in case he had, tucked into a shoulder holster, a Smith and Wesson 38 Semi-Automatic with a fifteen-round clip.

~ 85 ~

Jackson, armed with his FNX pistol and silencer and Missy with her trusty Colt 38 arrived at the TD Garden at around 6 o’clock. They sat in a couple of the empty seats on the floor while the crew scurried around doing all the last minute things they did. They ate sandwiches from Arby's and drank Diet Cokes. 

“If he’s comin’,” Jackson said, “He’s already here. My guess is that he is up behind one of the corner beams farthest from the stage. That’s where I’d be. So I’m gonna hang around up there and see I can spot him. He’s gonna have to make himself a little visible in order to actually fire the shot. He also may not even be here at all. He’s got lots of opportunities to choose from.”

“That’s true,” Missy said. “But you know the longer he waits, the greater the chances that something on the other end will fuck up. And like you said, this is an ideal site.”

As they were talking and eating they noticed that the crew had stopped running around. The lights were set. The banners and flags were hung. The security people were taking their positions and audience was starting to file in. 

Jackson and Missy put on their headsets and activated their phones so they could talk to one another. They gave each other a high five. Missy set off for the stage to direct traffic. Jackson moved down to the far end of the venue and took the stairs to the top row, where he sat down along the far right side. He figured if the shooter was where he thought he would be, because he would want to be able to fire from the right-hand side of the corner beam that supported the roof of the building, that would be the beam to keep an eye on. From where Jackson was sitting, he would have a clear view of him. He didn’t intend to kill the shooter but instead try and do some damage to either his scope or his arm and disable him. This would, he believed, cause the shooter to abandon the weapon and flee. He also assumed that the shooter would have a pistol as well. So if Jackson got the chance, he also would aim for the arm or shoulder or leg. The idea was to take him alive. He very much doubted that Damon and William could find out who exactly was paying the shooter. So they really needed him alive. 

Jackson sat stone still and and all the while was thinking that here he was backl in the shooting business again. But , but after his meeting with the security people and getting the lay of the interior of the building, he realized he could not trust any of them to make the kind of shot that needed to be made to bring this person down they way they needed to.

It was down to him and the shooter. Missy had made sure they both had vests, so if it came to a gunfight his torso at least would be protected.

Jackson watched the beams closely, looking for any sign of movement from behind either one. He was sitting on an aisle seat about five rows from the top and one section in from the rear. He glanced down and saw the floor seats filling up. He saw a band filing in and taking up positions in front of the stage. He saw a tech come out and test the microphones. He saw photographers all along the front row chatting with each other. He saw lighting guys climbing up to check their lights. He saw curtains behind the stage rustling. Then he saw Missy appear on the stage. She stood in the centre of the stage about ten feet behind the dias. She then went to the microphone stand and looked out over the crowd that was now beginning to fill the stadium seats.

Through his headset heard Missy’s voice. “Where are you Jackson?”

“Five rows from the top corner to your left.’ Jackson said. “I’ve got a good view of both corners. If he’s here, I reckon he’s on your right. So if you have to take her off the stage, go to your right and go fast. You’ll cut off what little angle he could have.”

“Roger that. Let me know the second you spot him. I’ll get her off the stage.”

“Will do. That might not be necessary, especially if I can disable either his sight or his arm.”

“Good luck.

”

“Roger that.”

The crowd was now starting to fill the lower stadium seats. Jackson got up out of his seat and walked along the pathway around the far side away from the corners were he thought the shooter would be.

He met one of the private security guards who was patrolling, casually dressed, but with a gun under he sports coat. and mostly paying attention to the people entering the upper level seating. 

“I reckon he will be up behind one or the other of those corner beams.” Jackson said. “Stick with me but just close enough to see him if I draw him out once this thing gets started and Mrs Dodge is on stage. I’m going to try and disable the sight on his weapon or his trigger arm. We really want to take him alive. If anything happens to me, you’ll  have seen him so I want you to follow him at a distance. He’ll try and get to his car if he gets out. Let him go and get the plate number of his car. We can find him from that. Don't try and apprehend him. He’s likely to have a smaller gun and he will know how to use it.”

“Sounds like a plan.” the guard said. “I’m not big on getting shot.”

“Nobody is,” Jackson said.”

 “I’ll stay around where I can see, you, the pillars and the exit doors.” the guard said.

“Good.”

The guard started to walk the other way. Jackson looked down and watched the arena fill up. As he watched, it felt like water rising as the people filled the seats below him. They were a good half hour away from the beginning of the speech. 

The band had started to play. Jackson kept his focus on both the corner beams looking for any sign of movement.   

~ 86 ~

Behind the right beam, which was the farthest from Jackson, Gonzales listened as the crowd noise grew in volume. He heard the band in front of the stage as they started playing. But he wasn’t prepared to move until the lights went down and he was in total darkness behind them.

Jackson watched the corners closely standing beside the doorway to the stairs that led down from the upper level. The lower levels were filled, so people started filing in beside him. They walked past him and paid little attention as they scrambled for the lowest seats.

Jackson spoke into his headset. “This is gonna be tight because if he is here, he’s not gonna make a move until the house lights go down and the spotlights come on. Once he’s in the dark he’ll get himself in position and I should be able to take out the sight on his gun. That will get him running for the exit and give me a clear shot at his legs. Hopefully, he goes down and I can get whatever gun he has away from him.”

“You sure you can make that shot with your pistol?” Missy asked.

“Yeah, there’s a railing that goes all the way around behind the seats. I can anchor myself on that. If I miss hitting the sight or his arm, you’ll have a few seconds cause he’ll be off balance. I’ll let you know and you get her off the stage as quickly as you can.”  

 Jackson waved to Missy who was still standing on the stage. “I see you. Will do.” she said.

“I’m pretty sure he’s here. This setup is ideal. He’d be a fool not to capitalize on it.” 

“OK, Jackson. Make it happen.”

“That’s the plan, Missy.”

Missy walked off the stage and headed down to the dressing room where Juliette Dodge was being made up. Her husband sat on a chair a few feet away, reading a newspaper.

“Jackson is up in the highest level of the seats. He’s found the most likely position that any professional shooter would take. He not going to know for sure until the lights go down and you take the stage. Now if the shooter is there, he will have to reveal himself to make the shot, at which point Jackson will fire a shot at him. If this guy is a pro we think he is, his focus will be on getting his ass out of the building and live to try again another day. When he bolts Jackson will then try and disable him with a shot to the thigh as he’s heading for the exit. Failing that he will have one of the other guards follow the shooter to his car and get a description and his plate number. We want him alive, so we can root out these conspirators.”

“That makes sense. But it’s gonna require some good shooting isn’t it?’ Elliot Dodge said. 

“Yes sir, it is. But Jackson, well, he’s the simply best shooter I have ever seen and I have seen quite a few over the years. The key is that he won’t try a shot until you are behind the dias and standing relatively still. So if you come out and walk around, greet the audience, and keep moving, even for ten seconds that will give Jackson the time he needs.”

“You have a lot of faith in your partner.” Juliet Dodge said.

“Yes, ma’am, I certainly do. But the choice is up to you.”

“Why don’t we just get all the security people up there and surround him.” Elliot Dodge asked.

“He a professional killer. His first instinct would be to shoot his way out. There’s no telling how many people will get killed or injured if he does that, because we don’t know what kind of gun he has.”

“Okay…well.” She thought about it briefly. “If that’s how we play it, that’s how we play it. I just want this over and done.” Juliette Dodge said. She looked over at her husband who took a deep breath and nodded.

~ 87 ~

Jackson moved into what he believed would be an optimal position to get a good shot off. The arena was filled except for the top three rows. 

After a moment, the lights went down and the spotlights came up. As the crowd started cheering and applauding, Jackson pulled out his infra-red eyepiece and stared into the darkness with his gun at his side, he leaned into the railing from the second step down. He focused on the right side of the balustrade because he didn’t really know of any shooter who shot left-handed. After about thirty seconds his eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the corner of the building. He pocketed his infra-red scope. He chambered a nine millimeter bullet and stood perfectly still. He bent his knees so that his gun, resting on the railing, was at his eye level. He slowed his breathing and he waited. Down on the stage, the Mayor of Boston, William Macklin, walked out to the dais. He spoke into the microphone. Jackson tuned him out as he introduced Juliette Dodge. She had not yet taken the stage.

Suddenly his eye caught a small speck of light in the dark. It was a reflection in the glass of Gonzales’ scope. Jackson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Just then, the crowd erupted as Juliette Dodge came on stage. Missy shadowed her from ten feet behind.

Jackson took aim at the reflection and gently squeezed the trigger. The bullet left the gun and a fraction of a second later it  exploded in the scope, knocking Gonzales backwards
to the floor behind the corner beam. 

“I hit the sight, Missy. He’s down and running.

Four seconds later, Jackson caught a glimpse of a shadow moving to the right from out behind the beam. He tracked the shadow for several feet then fired. He hit Gonzales in the thigh and he went down. His pistol made a metallic noise as it hit the floor, and slid out of Gonzales’s reach. Jackson was up the steps and running towards the figure in black, splayed out on the floor. 

Juliet Dodge got behind the dias and began her speech.

When Jackson got to Gonzales he dropped a knee into the centre of his back causing him to wince. Jackson pulled a set of plastic cuffs and tied Gonzales’ hands together behind his back. Gonzales didn’t resist. He knew he was caught, so there was no point. He then touched his earpiece. “Send up the cops, Missy. He’s down and under control.”

“Roger that, Jackson.”

Jackson pulled two more long plastic ties from his bag and hooked them to each other. He then wrapped it around Gonzales’s upper thigh to slow the bleeding from the bullet. Gonzales made no sound other than his laboured breathing when his leg was tied off Jackson turned him over and sat him up against the wall. 

Gonzales’s expression was blank.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“Just an educated guess. I was a Marine sniper. It’s what I would have done. More logic than magic.” Jackson said.

“I always believed that myself. Thing is I was told that nobody even knew about this.” 

“Dude. It’s Washington. Everybody eventually knows everything.”

As Jackson and Gonzales waited for the police to arrive, they listened to some of Juliette Dodge’s speech. Then Gonzales said. “You know they’re just gonna find somebody else.”

“Not if you want to be a good citizen.”

“Cooperation always comes with a price. But I will definitely consult with my attorney.” 

“You do that, pal.” Jackson said. “But just remember they’ve got as much reason to want you dead as we have to want you alive.”

“Yeah, well…”

Jackson went through Gonzales’ bag and found a set of keys, which he pocketed. He found nothing else but the AR-15, a bottle of water, a plastic baggie with a bottle of pee in it and some granola bars.

Just then, four Boston police officers arrived. Jackson got to his feet and explained the situation to them. “He’s got a nine-millimeter slug in his thigh, no major bleeding. Other than that he looks to be OK.” Jackson said. He nodded at Gonzales. “Don’t forget what I just told you, amigo.”

Jackson walked away and headed down to the floor. “We got him, Missy. The Boston cops have taken him to a hospital to get his leg fixed up. This is a pretty cut and dry case of attempted murder. I think we can plea bargain a name out of him.”

“Nice work, Jackson.”

“I also got his car keys. I’m gonna go look for his car and see what kind of goodies he has stashed there.I don’t think there’s any more danger here. Sounds like the crowd really loves her.”

“Damn straight.” Missy said then disconnected.

~ 88 ~

Jackson left the arena and started walking the side streets in a methodical way. At the top of each street he pressed the flasher but on Gonzales’ keychain. Four streets later he found the car parked with a ticket on the windshield.

He opened the car and looked around inside. It was empty. He popped the trunk and found a beautifully tooled leather shoulder bag. In it was Gonzales’ wallet, a couple of spare magazines for his rifle and what looked to be a burner phone. He took the phone and slipped it into his shoulder bag, then closed up the car, locked it and walked back to the arena. He didn’t open the phone or even touch it. That would be Phillip Ross or Missy’s department.

He entered the stadium and went backstage to join Missy standing off to the side, with Elliot Dodge. The crowd was receptive and enthusiastic as Juliette Dodge went through all the reasons that she should be president to carry on the work of the Claybourne administration. 

The crowd was with her all the way. 

At the end of the speech, Juliette Dodge flopped down in her dressing room chair. She was pooped. Jackson and Missy were sitting on a sofa behind her. She turned in the chair and took a deep breath. 

“That was the roughest gig I’ve ever done.” She said after she swivelled to look at Missy and Jackson. 

They all got up and had themselves a little group hug. 

“I quite literally couldn’t have made it through without you” She hugged both Missy and Jackson. Elliot Dodge shook their hands warmly.

“You know we’re gonna need some more security as we roll along.” Elliot Dodge said.

“That can be arranged.” Missy said.

Jackson replied. “I found a burner phone in Gonzales’ car. I’m pretty sure this will get us the identity of at least one of the group. After that, it should be fairly short work to put  them all out of business.” 

Missy turned to Juliette Dodge. “This might take a few days, so it would be better if you just laid low until we have these clowns in custody. We got lucky tonight. Best not to push it.”

“I’m all for staying alive.” Juliette Dodge replied.

“Good.” Missy said. “Because from the sounds of things out there you’re gonna have a country to take care of.”

Missy and Jackson were famished, so they decided to treat themselves to an expensive dinner, which just happened to be in their hotel. It was called The Sporting Club and they blew more than $200 on the best steaks they had had in a long time.

~ 89 ~

On their way out of Boston the next day, Missy and Jackson stopped off at the hospital where Gonzales was being held. There were two armed guards sitting outside the room. Inside there was a third armed guard. Gonzales was sitting up in bed reading the Boston Globe.

“Well, well, well. If it’s not Dead Eye dick.” Gonzales said. 

“I hear they got the bullet out and repaired the ligament damage too. At least you’ll be able to walk around the prison yard, maybe even play some hoops.” Jackson said.

Gonzales looked over at Missy. “And who might you be?”

Missy just chuckled. “Listen, Pedro,” she said. “You still have a chance to come out of this with less time. Just give us a name. We’ll tell everybody how cooperative you’ve been and who knows?”

Gonzales just smiled. But he was thinking about it. 

“You’ve found my phone by now, I assume.” he said.

“Yeah, we have.” Jackson replied.

“Well, there’s a picture on it of a DC driver’s licence That’s the gringo who was the bag man. He gave me half the money, which you will never find and the lady VP’s schedule. I figure he's the low man on the totem pole. You get him to flip and you’ll get the whole gang. How helpful is that?”

“Well,” Missy said, “We’ll see what strings we can pull. We have a few.”

“I imagine you do if you could take me down.”

“Jackson took out a small pad and a pen. “Write down the password for your phone, amigo.”

Gonzales did that. “Don’t forget how cooperative I’ve been, gringo.”

“Will do. So long, Pedro.” Jackson said as they turned to leave.

 

It was about nine PM when Missy and Jackson pulled up to Phillip Ross’s house and they both went inside. On their way, Missy opened Rodrigues’s phone and texted Ross the licence plate photo, which Ross, in turn gave to the FBI. 

Missy gave Ross a huge hug and a kiss. 

“The name checked out.” Ross said. “They took him into custody this afternoon. He cut a deal and blew the whole gang to smithereens.” Ross said.

Jackson smiled. “Smithereens. I like it.”

“Great work both of you, especially you, Jackson. I know this was only supposed to be a recon job.”

“Yeah well, shit happens. I honestly can’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

“I think I can squeeze extra half million for both of you. The senator sends his regards. He’s a very happy camper.”

“Whatever you think is fair.” Jackson said. He kissed Missy on the cheek and shook Phillip Ross’s hand. 

On the way home he thought about all the ways he could spin the story to keep Marlena from getting pissed. But by the time he was in the door, he had nothing but the truth. 

And he got paid for it with a pretty solid left hook to his upper arm. Then he got a hug.

3.  JARRETT MORROW

~ 90 ~

Ace Morrow’s real name was Jarrett. But he got the Ace nickname from the six-year hitch he served in the British Special Forces. He left, having achieved the rank of First Lieutenant. The Ace came early in his second year when he was trained for and achieved the rank of Marksman First Class. 

Jarrett was a killer. His weapon was the L115A3 Long Range rifle. It was semi-automatic, had an all-weather sight and an effective range of up to eleven hundred metres. It fired 8.5-millimetre rounds, which were very destructive. The chances of walking away from a good hit from one bullet were next to none.

He spent most of his service in Afghanistan and racked up an impressive record of Taliban kills. He was loved by the soldiers in his unit and feared by the enemy, which is exactly how he liked it.

Jarrett was not a psychopath, although he did believe that one had to be a little touched to have gravitated toward a military career that was 100% about killing. But he was highly motivated. His father, Joshua Morrow, was a veteran himself, and had stressed to young Jarrett the absolute necessity of free democratic nations to defend freedom. Otherwise, the world would become nothing more than a massive slave ship to the wealthy autocrats. Jarrett found this a bit odd since his father was actually one of the people he was referring to. He was the owner of a large and quite successful ceramics company located in Sheffield.

Jarrett had lost his mother to cancer just before he joined the Forces. His father, in his grief, threw himself into his work and used his money to support local Liberal candidates. 

Joshua had high hopes for his son, who was bright, handsome and well-constructed. The very model of a great British soldier. 

The thing Joshua, or even Jarrett himself, didn't count on was that Jarrett could not, for the life of him, walk away from the killing game.

After his discharge, Jarrett took a few months off. He didn’t do much of anything. He kept mainly to himself and took three-day trips down the coast. Something about the ocean, he felt, was good for his soul.

His father never put any pressure on Jarrett to enter the business. He was more interested in his son’s mental state, after his six years in the killing fields. The thought of re-enlisting crossed his mind at least a few times a day. But he was determined to make something of his own happen in civilian life.

Then one day, Jarrett got a phone call.

~ 91 ~

The next day, Jarrett was on his way down to London, to visit his old friend named Sam Delaney, who had called him. Sam and Jarrett were school chums at Eton College. When they graduated, Jarrett joined the army and passed the Special Forces requirements, while Sam headed straight to London to join the internal wing of the British intelligence service, MI-5.

The two men met at a Cantonese restaurant called Three Uncles in central London.

Sam, was shorter than Jarrett by about four inches, but other than that they could have been brothers. They were both handsome, exceedingly well-dressed, and both had an intensity that, even when dialled up slightly, would have frightened any normal human being.

They had just placed their orders and were sitting with glasses of beer. They toasted each other with a ‘Cheers, mate.’ 

“So, six years in hell,” Sam said. “I don't know how you did it, mate.”

“Sometimes I wonder about it myself,” Jarrett said.

“Got any plans now that you're a free man?”

“Not at the moment. Dad wants me to come into the business. But…”

“I get it, Jarrett. It’s a far cry from the battlefield and all that glorious warfare.”

“I wouldn’t call it glorious. But it had its moments. And I’d be lying if I said I didn't miss it.”

“So why pull out?”

Jarrett took a deep breath. “I don’t have a really good answer for that, Sam. I wish I did.”

Sam stared at his old friend and he could see the sadness in his eyes. 

“That life.” Sam said. “It must have felt like the best high ever. It gets under your skin. And after it’s over, well it’s got to be hard to shake. I have felt like that a couple of times myself. On a totally different level, of course.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll just keep looking around. Dad’s not put any pressure on me to make a decision. In fact, he’s encouraged me to go see a bit more of the world before I settle down.”

“That’s a good plan. You should do that. Go see America. It’s better than a night at the circus.”

“You know, my spotter was a Yank. Joined the British forces because he wanted to see how a real army functioned. He told me some stories about America that made my skin crawl.”

“It’s pretty much reverted back to the Wild West over there.” Sam said. “Seems like the idea of modern civilization never really took hold. We hear horror stories ourselves. I’ve often thought they could use a few well-placed snipers like you, only this time you’d be gunning for lunatic right-wing politicians.”

They both had a good laugh about that. As they were, the food arrived and the anti-American quipfest ended.

But Sam, devious little bugger that he had always been, filed away the thought that occurred to him about his old friend. When he got back to his office that afternoon, he made a call to the US.

~ 92 ~

There was a Federal election coming up soon and, the Republicans, who were in only a slight minority in both houses, were leaning on their perennial candidate, who controlled, by far, the largest voting bloc. He had been in office and had failed to win a second term, losing to the current president, a former Senator from California, Juliette Dodge.

This time around, though, things were different. The Dodge government had spent most of its term undoing the damage caused by her competitor, who, with his penchant for name calling constantly referred to her as ‘Do Nothing’ Dodge’. Smelling blood in the water, several of the richest people in the country upped their contributions, because they knew that if their guy was elected, the tax cuts would be even larger than they were the last time he was in office.

Rolland Winter, the ranking Democrat in the US Senate, saw the writing on the wall. He felt the pressure that the Republicans were exerting, and most of all, he understood that the country would likely crumble if the Republicans ever took control, because their leader was more than just rich, stupid and incompetent he was vengeful in the extreme and he considered anyone to the left of him a mortal enemy. And he made no bones about it in the press and in the all too frequent TV appearances that he made.

With the election less than a year off, this was the situation that caused Senator Rolland Winter to schedule a meeting with Phillip Ross, the founder of Blue Fin Consulting, a group that did special things for the Democratic party without leaving so much as a fingerprint on them.

Ross had formed the Blue Fin group after twenty plus years of putting out fires as a senior agent for the NSA. He was a brilliant strategic thinker and planner with connections around the globe. 

Senator Winter had made this decision on his own, because if he had confided in anyone, outside of the President herself, the news would have spread slowly and then like wildfire and Winter, who was basically one term from retirement, would likely be spending that retirement in prison. This was anarchy, pure and simple. There was no way to sugarcoat it. But Winter's feeling was very strong. Desperate times, which, indeed, these were, called for desperate measures.

Winter pulled into the driveway of Phillip Ross’s house in north Richmond, Virginia. He was greeted at the door by Ross’s housekeeper, Darla, who gave him a warm hug. “Mista Ross and Miz Felder are waiting for you out back. There’s iced tea on the table.” Darla said as they walked through the the back of the house. 

“Thank you, Darla.” Winters said as he walked out the rear door of the house. 

Phillip Ross and his partner, Missy Felder, were sitting under a large umbrella beside their pool. Ross and Missy Felder lived had been living together and had been for about a year. 

The Blue Fin Group was almost completely unknown in Washington, which was by design, because the idea for the group was created by Ross and Winter, and would be passed to the next Democrat leader of the Senate when Winter retired. Winter had already used them on several occasions in the past, all of which had been extremely successful.

Winter shook hands with Ross and gave Missy a warm hug, then sat down as Missy poured him a glass of iced tea. Winter took a sip. 

“This is a beautiful spread you have here, Phillip.” Winters said. “Do you still have the other house?”

“Yeah, we do. Marlena and Jackson live there. And we just found out last week that Marlena is pregnant.”

Winters chuckled and raised his glass, “Welcome to grandpa and grandma land.”

“So, I’m assuming you’re a little bit worried about what you’re going to tell us, being as you decided to have our meeting here, which you knew was a bug-free zone.” Ross said.

“Yeah. It’s gotten to be really paranoid in my world.” Winter replied and took another sip of tea. “And, umm, that’s why I’m here. We need to bring this Republican insanity to a close, Phil. It’s depressing the whole fucking country. But worse than that it’s creating the impression that this administration is doing nothing, when we are actually working our asses off. The polls we’re getting back are making us quite nervous. Sooner or later there’s gonna be a massive people revolt and it will be fuckin’ chaos.”

“I’m assuming that nobody else in your orbit knows about this.” Ross said,

“Yeah, this is strictly between Juliette and me. And believe me, we have agonized over it for a couple of weeks now. But I can’t see any other way around it.

Winters took another sip of his lemonade, “The good part is that he’s a sittin’ duck, as far as I can tell. He has no respect for just how vulnerable he is and I gotta believe that there not a single Secret Service agent in his detail who’d be willing to take a bullet for him. Now that’s just some chatter I’ve been hearing. The man is only loved by the idiot class. Everyone else who supports him, including the likely VP candidate are either in it for the tax cuts and or the power trip.”

Ross looked over at Missy who was frowning. “Then she said. “You know, Senator, we’re gonna have to get a little inventive about who we choose.”

“Yeah, as you know, I’ve met Hollis Keene and understand exactly where you’re coming from.” Winter said.

Hollis Keene was the chief agent in the FBI’s counter- terrorism division and a real thorn in the side of the Blue Fin group. He had them pegged for what they really were but fortunately had no proof, only his cop intuition to go on. He had already been lectured once by Winters, but his job was his job and he was relentless at it. Nor did he bluff easily which meant that everyone had to tread very carefully.

Ross leaned back in his chair and took a breath. “Do you believe in luck, Roland?”

“Hmmm. I guess I believe you kind of make your own luck by being it the right place at the right time. That sort of thing. I don’t think there’s anything magical about it if that’s what you mean.”

“Okay, well, suppose I told you that a few days ago, I got a call from a guy I know in MI-5 over in London.”

“Yeah?” 

“He’s in charge of equipping agents with identities and hardware, skills training, that sort of thing. On my last trip to England, we talked, in general terms, about the challenges our countries were facing. This guy, his name is Sam Delaney, is a real go-getter and a smart thinker, Roland. He told he met up with an old school friend who was fresh out of British Special Forces… a sniper with triple-digit kills in Afghanistan and North Africa.

“Interesting. Never thought about importing someone.” Winters said.

“Me neither. But the Brits, they’re a lot more devious than we are. Anyway, Sam got the distinct impression that this guy was just one incentive away from being recruitable.”

Winter leaned back in his chair, lost in thought for a moment. Ross and Missy sat with the patience of Job. 

Winters raised his glass. “Here’s to the Brits. Those devious bastards that I’m proud to say are one of our closest allies.”

They clinked their glasses. 

“So tell me about this sniper fellow.” Winters said.

At the end of the conversation, Winters absently rubbed his face with his hands, which is something he did when he was thinking. Finally, he said. “Get yourself over there and have a chat with him. See what he wants.”

They talked for a while longer and then Winter got to his feet. “Keep me posted.” He pulled a pad and pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote down a number. He ripped off the page and slid it across the table to Ross. “Only call me on this number. It’s not bugged, cause I just bought it at a bodega downtown. No time frame on this but, obviously, the sooner the better, as the saying goes.”

Winter got to his feet. He shook hands with Ross who got to his feet. “I’ll leave this in your capable hands, Phil.” 

“Thank you Senator.”

“I reckon we can cobble about ten million together for this project. It’ll be comin’ from the President’s husband, which means it will be pocket change.”

“Fair enough.” 

“Just gonna say goodbye to Darla. I’ll find my way out.”

The Senator headed toward the back door of the house. Ross sat down in his chair and looked over at Missy. “I believe you make your own luck too.” he said. Missy just smiled because she knew it was true.

~ 93 ~

Two days later, Jarrett Morrow was buzzed into a large row house on Liverpool Road in the Islington area of London. Sam Delany greeted him and showed Jarrett in. Jarrett and Sam went down to the lower level meeting room where Phillip Ross was waiting. 

Introductions were made and all three men sat down with teas in front of them.

“If you listen to the news at all, Mr. Morrow, you undoubtedly know that my country is in a state, let’s call it confusion, right at the moment.” Ross said. “The fascist leaning right-wing movement has gained a great deal of influence, and to tell you the truth they are fucking things up at an astonishing pace. The people I represent are justifiably concerned that this could easily descend into a civil war of sorts, which would not be good for us and, as the dominoes tumble, the rest of the world either.”

“There is a small, but extremely powerful group of individuals who would really like to see this situation cooled down, by taking out some key players in this mess. I’ve been sent to offer you, in your expert capacity, an invitation to come to America and help us with this mission.”

Jarrett looked over at Sam Delaney, who just shrugged.

“You’d like me to come to America to kill your Republican presidential hopeful. Is that what you are asking?”

“Yes.” Ross said without any hesitation. “Just the two front runners at the moment. You’ll be extremely well compensated and protected. And depending on how things turn out, there could be a few more.”

Jarrett laughed, but only a chuckle. “Well, your honesty is most appreciated. You know, I have kept abreast of the goings on in your country and I have to say it’s really quite astonishing. Your country, sir, strikes me a rather huge agglomeration of spoiled brats who have no appreciation whatsoever for how well off they actually are.”

“I can’t disagree with you, Jarrett.” Ross said. “And believe me, if there was a more diplomatic way to get this situation under control, that would be our definite preference. Unfortunately, nothing we have tried along those lines has made any real impact.”

“You mentioned about protection. What does that mean exactly?” Jarrett asked.

“It means that if you are apprehended at any point, you will be remanded to the custody of the State Department and disappeared, or should I say sent home. No questions asked, no names revealed.” 

“So the people behind this have to be quite powerful.

“They are indeed.” Ross replied

Jarrett thought about it for close to a whole minute. He weighed the pros and cons and had a lot of trouble coming up with much consternation. This would get him back into the fray and the very thought of it was exhilarating.

“What about compensation?” Jarrett said finally. 

Tillis said. “Five million US dollars guaranteed no matter how many need to go down.If it’s more than two the price goes up.”

“Who will be my tour guide on this little adventure?”

“Her name is Missy Felder. She’s a seasoned operative. Extremely capable. She is also the woman in my life and I trust her unconditionally. She will take good care of you.”

Jarrett took a deep breath. “My father told me never to sign onto anything dangerous without something in writing, signed off by the highest authority.”

“That will be waiting for you when you arrive in the US.” Ross said.

“Okay, Mr Ross. You have bought yourself a shooter.”

The two men shook on the deal. 

“Thank you for agreeing to do this for us. I’m certain you will find us a very reliable team.” He then handed Jarrett a card with an address in Washington DC, and an envelope with a sheet of directions and $5000 US Dollars in it. “Let Sam know when you’re ready to leave. I’ll make sure Missy is waiting for you when you arrive. The money is for your travel and any special clothing you might wish to purchase. Everything else you will need will be waiting at the address I gave you.”

Ross then pulled another envelope out of his jacket pocket. In it was two copies of a single-page confidentiality agreement, which he explained to Jarrett and Sam and which they both quickly signed. 

With that, Ross got to his feet, shook hands with both men, and headed for the stairs.

Sam and Jarrett sat back down. “Fuckin’ Yanks. They know how to deal with shit.” Sam said.

“How do you know Mr. Ross?”

“He’s former NSA, left about eight years ago and formed his own black bag group. The object was to keep the Democrat government’s fingerprints off anything extreme that needed doing.”

“Funny, he looks like a pretty regular bloke.”

“Naa. He’s a high-level planner. And an innovative thinker. Which is why he jumped over the pond about ten minutes after I called him about you.”

“So this is all your doing.”

“That’s right, mate. After all, what are friends for?”

“Well, I guess I owe you a pint and a half-decent dinner, now don’t I?”

“You do, indeed.” Sam said with a chuckle.

~ 94 ~

A few minutes after Ross had left, Jarrett and Sam climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the art studio was located. 

“This is where we build identities.” Sam said. “And for your trip to America, you’re going to need a new one. If you play your cards right over there, you’ll not have any real use for it. But it will most certainly keep anything from blowing back on us, meaning the intelligence service.”

Jarrett was smart enough to know that his friend was actually protecting him and he appreciated that. 

“Your new identity is Thomas Frederick Archer, of Baltimore Maryland.”

They took Jarrett’s picture and got to work on creating an American identity, which included a cell phone, filled with snapshots, a Maryland driver’s license, and birth card, Medicare card, a Visa card in his new name and a passport with several European country stamps.

He also handed Jarrett a sheet with information about his ‘family’ and his life in America.

“How the hell did you put this together so quickly?”

“It’s what we do, mate. I also had a feeling this offer would be too tempting for you to refuse, so I forged ahead before the fact. The only thing you need to remember, including all this information, is that the Americans are devious to the point of being evil, but they are our allies and we want to keep it that way.” 

An hour and a half later, Jarrett and Sam left the house with Jarrett, now Thomas Archer. He had a full identity package and a camera filled with shots from several parts of England and Europe.

After a pint and a nice East Indian dinner with Sam, Jarrett drove back to Sheffield, stashed his real identity in the small bungalow he lived in and grabbed himself a good night’s sleep. The next morning, he packed a suitcase and took the train to Liverpool, where he took a cab to the airport. He called Sam Delaney to let him know what he was doing, and a few hours later boarded a plane to New York using the return portion of a round-trip ticket Sam had given him. Before the flight was called, he sent a text to the number that was already programmed into his phone, letting them, whoever they were, know that he was on his way. He then tore up the cheat sheet, most of which he had memorized, then shoved it into a waste receptacle, and he was off to America.

As he was waiting for the plane to take off, a text that came back to him gave him complete instructions on getting from JFK airport taking a cab to Grand Central Station and boarding a train to Washington, then taking a cab to the address on the back of the card that Ross had given him. For whatever clandestine reason, they didn’t want him flying directly into Washington, which told Jarrett a lot about how careful his employer was being.

~ 95 ~

Nine and a half hours later, Jarrett was deposited at a townhouse on K Street in Washington. He climbed up the stairs and rang the bell. A few seconds later a good looking blonde woman a few years older than Jarrett answered the door. She was wearing a tracksuit but that didn't disguise the fact that she was, Jarrett thought, nicely assembled. 

“My name is Missy Felder.” the lady said. “And what do I call you?” 

“Thomas Archer.” Jarrett said. “I actually prefer just Archer.”

“Archer it is. And you can call me Missy.”

Missy showed Archer to a large bedroom on the second floor. He tossed his bag onto the armchair in the corner. 

She also handed Archer a business envelope. “This is your get out of jail free card.” she said. “It’s signed by the highest ranking Democrat in the Senate.”

“Thank you. I hope we never have to use it.”

“So do we, Archer.”

“So Missy, do you live here?”

“For the time being. I’ll be your spotter, if you need one and your tour guide.”

“I assume you are former military.” Jarrett said

“No. Actually I came up through law enforcement. First with the FBI, then the Secret Service then, well I met Mr. Ross.” 

“So when do we get briefed?” Jarrett asked.

“Soon enough.”

“I assume you and I are the whole team.” 

“We’re definitely the boots on the ground. We have some other help who you will never meet and I will only use if necessary.” Missy said. “I’ll leave you to get organized. Then come down to the kitchen. I’m cooking tonight.” She showed him the bathroom and then left. 

Archer took a shower and then sat on the bed staring out the window at the gathering dark over the houses across the street. He then got dressed and headed downstairs.

The steaks were beautifully grilled and the Caesar salad was one of the best he had ever tasted.

“As you probably already know,” Missy said. “The Democrats are in power at the moment. Juliette Dodge has been a great president, considering the mess the opposition keeps making in the press. Sadly, their fearless leader has not gone away. He’s still on every TV news show you can imagine and social media spreading lies everywhere he goes, and he goes to a lot of places because our news media has turned into a bunch of bloodsuckers. Republicans are, for want of a better phrase, salivating at the prospect of getting back into power, and are quickly becoming radicalized. As a result, the polls are telling us the country is getting restless.”

“Sounds like every fucked-up democracy on the planet.” Archer said.

“Yeah, I suppose. Anyway, there is a concerned group of Democrats, very powerful people, who have put this project together.”

“Assassination, you mean.”

“Yeah. Assassination.”

“And you couldn’t recruit locally because I imagine the list of usual suspects would be rather short.”

Missy just tilted her head and then gave a slight nod. “Right. Your real value is that you’re both a seasoned sniper and you’re not an American. According to our MI-5 contact in London, you’re now officially missing in action in the hills of Afghanistan”.

Archer didn't say anything for a good long time. The reality that the Democrats in America, of all people, would have the balls to plot this sort of thing and then actually give it a go made him chuckle to himself.

“What?” Missy asked, noticing the chuckle.

“I was just thinking that this is quite out of character for Democrats in America.”

“These are strange times we're living in here, Archer. We, some of us, have just had enough. Fortunately, we can afford to hire someone of your calibre to help pull this off.”

“You do realize that after the first…event…all hell will break loose.”

“That’s fine. The thing about these Republicans is that they are so wrapped up in their own shit they will likely refuse any extra protection. Or at least their protection will be minimal. They can't look like they’re afraid. Bad TVQ and all.”

“Bad TVQ.” Archer said with a chuckle.” That’s so American.”

Missy took a sip of her wine. “A few days ago Congress broke for the summer, and the people we have targeted will be back in their home states. They are, as luck would have it all in the east and in the south. We will have about eight weeks in which to execute a maximum of five events, which means we’ll have more than whole week to travel and scout, if we need it. On the other hand, our thinking is that once we take out the first target, the Republicans will be going nuts trying to replace them, and they’ll use up most of the year and a bit that they have left to mount a really formidable campaign.

“Do they have anyone?” Archer asked.

“They have a Vice Presidential nomination. But our main target, as you probably already know, is a bit of a looney toon. So who knows?” Missy replied.

“So we’ll be leaving in a few days to scout out the first hit which will be in Florida. The second hit is in Kentucky. If we pull these off and it goes the way we think it will go, we may not need to execute any further actions. But that’s just a bit of speculation on my part. The people running this op may feel differently.”

Archer put his fork and knife down and brought his hands to his mouth. He kind of looked like he was praying. “So we’re going to kill the Republican front runner for president and, I assume, his likely choices for Vice President.”

“That’s the plan, Stan.”  Missy said.

“And you think we can actually get away with that?”

“We’re gonna scope it out and you’re gonna tell us.”

“This just gets better and better.”

“Are you being satirical?” Missy asked.

“No. Quite the opposite. I’m honoured to be a part of this plan. We have degenerate politicians in England, but this chap, you’re talking about, he’s in a class of his own.

“Precisely. And the sad part is that he’s been able to convert a whole section of the Congress to this way of thinking, and we are, understandably, quite concerned about it.” 

Archer didn’t say anything for the better part of a minute.

“Whose idea was this? This assassination plot?”

“Above my pay grade.” Missy said, lying through her teeth. “Only Phillip, Mr Ross, knows that. But whoever it is, they have my admiration and my undying loyalty.”

“So how does this work, your group?” 

“Well, Phillip is the logistics. He puts the plan together, along with all the best options. We have me, who is your right hand. We have a gun range owner, also in the Richmond area who has acquired the firearms through an underground weapons network. We have a gunsmith in Richmond who has created the loads and expertly filed the serial numbers off your rifles. And we have a communications expert whose main job on this project is to keep his eye on the FBI, and also to collect the reactions of the public, take the temperature and make sure that the asinine reactions of the Republicans are widely disseminated and we also have a world-class financial hacker, who steals from the rich to keep them from giving to the politicians. It’s a team effort but everyone has plausible deniability. Phillip, Mr Ross, will receive raw intel from a person who has access to all the various planned events, their times and locations etc. for all our targets. Plus we have all their residence information.

“We’re hoping that it gets lots of coverage because the only real skill that these Republicans have is performing for the media. Their outrage should be quite a circus act.”

Archer stared at Missy for a few seconds. “You really hate them, these Republicans.”

“I wouldn’t call it hate. The politicians are nothing but power-seeking opportunists. They want as much as they can get and they don't care who gets damaged along the way. These are not good Americans. They are anarchists pure and simple.”

“But what happens to your so-called democracy once you start down this path of vengeance?” Archer asked

“That’s a very good question, Archer. Sadly I don't have an answer. This is uncharted territory we’re in. But between us, all we can do is get the job done, or as much of it as we can, and then see what happens. After that, it’s over to the politicians. Hopefully, cutting the head off the snake will change the game enough for us to get back to what passes for normal in this country and get Mrs. Dodge re-elected”

~ 96 ~

After dinner, Missy took Archer down into the basement. There was a communications complex there, a large steel cabinet, several chairs and a round table. Missy opened the steel cabinet to reveal two L115A3 long guns, along with suppressors and scopes and three boxes of .338 Lapua loads. 

“My God. This is the same hardware I used in Afghanistan.” He took one of the guns and examined it.”

“Yeah, we did our homework on you. You need to feel comfortable. The guns are all clean and the loads are all hand-made. I ordered a hundred and twenty rounds. But you’ll want to test the guns and key the sights.”

Missy walked to the back of the basement and opened the door. She showed Archer the garage. In it was a newer model Jeep Cherokee. “Nothing special.” Missy said. “Great way to hide in plain sight. And the indoor parking here makes loading and unloading dead easy.”

Missy opened the rear gate. Archer stared at it and saw exactly what it was, although he was impressed with the way it was fabricated. Missy reached over to the side of the hatch space and pressed a button. Suddenly the floor of the hatch quickly opened to an angle of about 45 degrees, revealing an open space about seven inches deep with soft foam top and bottom. It was large enough to stash both weapons, the ammo, the scope, a couple of sandbags and whatever else Archer wanted to bring along. Missy then closed up the space and the hatch.

“Very clever.’ Archer said. “It also answers the question of how we were going to transport the weapons.”

“One of former shooters came up with this idea. He built this for us. But he is more or less retired from the shooting end of the business. He’s actually married to Mr Ross’ daughter.”

They went back inside and sat down at the console.

“This is quite the setup you have here, Missy. Don’t you worry about getting hacked?” Archer asked.

“No. Everything about this operation is offline. We get all the info we need delivered to us on memory keys. It’s old school, this op wouldn’t last ten minutes if we put it online. The only digital connection we have is to cable TV and get every channel on the fucking planet.”

“So this is just me and you?” 

“Yep. Compartmentalization is how we stay safe. Only three people even know who you are. Sam Delaney in London, Phillip Ross and me. And I don't even know who you really are.”

‘Well then, I’d better get to trust you.”

“I hope you will.” 

“So what’s in it for you? I’m doing it for the money and the sport. I have no political dog in this fight. I’d like to understand what your motivation is.”

Missy leaned back in her chair. “This country has had it too good for too long. And we got all that good stuff because everybody was willing to work hard for it. And they came from all over the world to help build this country into a superpower. But over the past few years, things have started to go to hell. A lot of people blame the government and that’s part of it for sure. But the rich and the corporations have been systematically gaining control by buying politicians, mostly Republicans. And they’ve been working hard to convince a lot of basically ignorant people that it’s the Democrats who are fucking them over. 

“The last Republican administration ran up the national debt by about seven trillion. I can’t even visualize that much money. And over the past few years the Republican party has morphed into one that is completely controlled by big money. Currently, the most corrupt of the bunch have formed blocs in both houses that are doing everything they can to make the Democrats look incompetent. They’re willing to tank the whole country to do that. And if this country starts going to hell, it won't be long before a good chunk of the world starts feeling it too.” 

“You’re painting a pretty dark picture of America, Missy.”

“These are dark days, my friend. The objective of this op is to take out some of the ringleaders, starting from the top down. Hopefully, that puts the fear of God into some of the moderates and they start smelling the coffee.”

The coffee analogy was lost on Archer, but he got the general impression.

“But you still haven't answered my question. What’s in it for you?”

“What’s in it for me is that I get to live in a country that isn’t in danger of becoming a totalitarian state. You spent enough time in Afghanistan to know what that looks like.” 

“But we’re talking about cold-blooded murder here.”

“There really is no other kind of murder, Archer. And right here, right now, in America, there really is no viable alternative. This is a dragon that needs to be slain.”

Archer didn't know much about Americans. But he was a pretty good judge of character, and that was telling him the woman he was looking at really did have the strength of her conviction. 

“Alright.” he said. “What happens next?”

“What happens next is you give me your phone.” 

Archer handed her the phone. She accessed a VPN, which was a Virtual Private Network, and then accessed a private  account at Credit Suisse AG, a bank in Zurich. 

She handed Archer a business card from the bank. On the back was a nine-digit account number. and a password. “This is your account at Credit Suisse in Geneva. Before each project, half a million US dollars will be deposited in that account. After each project is completed, another half million. And so on for as long as it’s viable to do that. At the end, whenever that is, you’ll end up with five million.”

“Okay. Now let’s talk about risk.”

“There’s always some risk. But I believe that if we plan each project carefully, keep it simple and stick to our plan, we can evade just about any kind of pursuit. They brought me in because I’m a tactician and I understand the terrain. They also brought me in because I’m a woman and looking like a couple lowers our visibility index by a lot. They brought you in to minimize the possibility of a miss or any other kind of fuckup. It all comes down to tactics and trust, Archer. Hopefully, the authorities spend a lot of time spinning their wheels looking for an American sniper.”

Archer had no other questions. This woman, whoever she was, had convinced him that she was both a thinker and a doer. He didn't need much convincing about the actual targets, he had seen enough of America struggling with itself for the past several years to know that there was a genuine insurrectionist movement going on here.

“Go catch up on your sleep, we’ll start in the morning.”

‘Yes, Ma’am.” Archer said and then headed up the stairs.

~ 97 ~

The next day they drove out to the countryside south of Fredericksburg. They had both rifles, their sights, suppressors and loaded clips in the rear compartment. They turned off onto Highway 3 and rode it to a hole in the wall called Johnson’s Corner. Just north of there, they came to a shooting range. It looked like it had been abandoned for quite a while. They turned in and parked, The clubhouse was an old frame building that had seen better days. But the range itself was close to a thousand yards deep.

“Back in the day, they used to have long gun champion- ships here. My uncle Pete was a state Congressman and a shooter. He brought me here a couple of times when I would come to visit in the summers.” Missy said.

At the far end of the range, there were several hay bales with faded targets painted on them. Archer walked with a few large sheets of Bristol board with three-inch diameter circles on them. With an Exacto knife he sliced and folded each of the three targets and then hung them over the rusted wire holding the bales together. He then paced off what his rangefinder told him was a thousand yards. He was right beside the dilapidated clubhouse building. 

“Bring the car up to about here and park it sideways.” He said to Missy, who did just that. He then got out the guns, fastened the silencers and the scopes and slapped the 5-shot cartridges into both of them. He took out a small sandbag and placed it on the hood of the car. Missy took the range-finder and squinted into it. “Nine hundred and ninety-two yards. Wind is calm.”

Archer set the gun barrel on the sandbag, and spread his legs, pressing his knees against the front tire. He peered through the scope and made the focus adjustments. Then he switched off the safety and gently squeezed off a round. 

“About six inches left.” Missy said, looking through the ranger finder lens.

Archer made the adjustment and squeezed off another round.

“You’re still off about four inches.” Missy said.

“She pulls a bit. That could just be because she’s new and the loads are custom made.” Archer said.

He slowly fired off three clips until he had figured it out. He repeated the process with the second gun. But he knew the weapon he was dealing with and had that figured out fairly quickly. 

He then climbed into the back bench seat of the Jeep, and lowered the passenger side window. He balanced the sandbag on the opening and turned sideways on the seat wiggling around until he was comfortable. He then emptied a clip with each rifle into the paper targets with incredible consistency.

As he was putting the guns away he said to Missy. “We can do this without me getting out of the car, if the situation is right. We’ll be long gone before anybody knows what’s happening.” 

Archer removed the supressor, and carefully wrapped each gun, which had been properly sighted, in some bath towels that Missy had purchased at a Walmart on their way to the range. He stowed the weapons and the sandbag in the rear  compartment. He then picked up the ejected shell casings. While he was doing that he, said. “You also need to get me a pistol. An H&K 9 millimetre would be nice. But whatever your gun person in Richmond has on hand.”

Missy knew better than to question anything that Archer said regarding munitions. They hired him for his expertise and his skill. And so far, he had been a consummate professional.

“I’ll put in the request.”

A few minutes later, they were headed back to DC.

~ 98 ~

The memory key arrived the next morning by courier. Missy opened and decrypted all the files and then transferred them to the larger computer. There were information sheets with the itineraries, for all the public engagements for nine extremist Republicans in Congress and their first target, the ex-President. 

They focused on the Presidential candidate. “There are only two Secret Service agents assigned to him.” Missy said They tend to patrol the perimeters of any event he is attending.”

As Archer and Missy studied the information they had been provided with, they realized two things. One was that the target was almost constantly on the move, which probably made life hellish for the agents assigned to guard him. The second thing was that he played a lot of both golf and tennis. These were venues where his security detail was the most spread out.

After staring at all the images, absorbing intelligence reports and discussing them ad nauseam, they concluded that he was most open and vulnerable in four locations. One was at the airport where he loved to do photo-ops from the stairs leading into his aircraft. Two was coming out of church. Three was on the golf course. And four was on the tennis court at a club close to his actual home. The latter two appealed more to Archer since the first two locations would be crowded and the chances of accidental collateral damage were extremely high. 

Archer wanted to check out the resort where he lived, because, as helpful as maps and satellite images were, they were no substitute for boots on the ground. He had learned that there were always things you could see on location that you might not notice studying even the most meticulous surveillance photos.

Archer was particularly drawn to the photos of the tennis courts. This seemed to be the one area where the palm trees that surrounded the complex were not completely obstructing a clear view of the interior.

He didn’t say anything to Missy about it, but his sixth sense was telling him there was something to that. And he needed to see it for himself to make that determination.

~ 99 ~

The next day, they packed their bags and tossed them in the back seat. On top of the gun chamber was a nylon bag that contained a jack, some flares. some rags and a tire iron.

They drove down to Tuttle’s gun range in Richmond where they picked up the handgun, a Sig Sauer 9 mm with several clips of ammo for Archer. Here Archer met Alvin Tuttle, another team member and a lifelong friend of Phillip Ross. They chatted briefly then Archer stashed the pistol and the clips in the rifle compartment and then they continued south.  

“You know,” Archer said, as they passed through Raleigh-Durham on 95. “I recall reading about a series of assassinations a few years back. The Sword of Damocles, I believe it was called. Was that you lot?”

“Yeah. The attack was directed at the leaders of some of the far-right groups. It was quite a big deal when it was happening. Really got a lot of people thinking about their country in a different way.”

“None of that was traced back to the government, as I recall.”

“Didn’t matter. All that mattered was that some bad actors got taken off the stage. The debate over blame and responsibility made the Democrats look like heroes and the Republicans like assholes.”

“But did it really change anything? I mean, here we are doing more or less the same thing.”

“The stakes are a bit higher here.” Missy said. “But as long as we get in and get out cleanly and leave no evidence, I have no reason to believe we can’t make some decent progress. And this will change a hell of a lot more than public opinion.” Missy said. “This will change the whole fuckin’ ball game.”

“You know, we hear a lot about this country over in England.” Archer said. “It’s widely believed that America is so steeped in violence that it doesn't really matter much who is in power. The violence never seems to abate.”

“I can’t disagree, Archer.” Missy said. “But all we can do is what we can do.”

Archer chuckled. “That’s actually quite profound in its simplicity.”

“I have my moments.” 

It was about eight hundred miles to Jupiter Beach. They decided to do it in two days instead of driving straight through, so they spent a night at a nice motel called the Magnolia Inn in suburban Savannah Georgia. They got into Jupiter Beach at about three the next day. They found another good motel along the strip, slept late and walked around, playing tourist, and hung out on the beach for most of the next day, which was a Friday.

Saturday morning they were up early and drove to the tennis club. It was on a long strip of land separated from the mainland by a channel about 500 feet across.

On the mainland side, there were a series of industrial buildings with large hedgerows along the shoreline to more or less hide them from anyone looking from the club or travelling on the water.

The entry road to these buildings was long and shielded by evergreens. The vehicle entrance to the building Archer wanted to check out was fenced and locked. Archer got out and tested the fence for electricity, of which there was none. He scanned the parking area for cars and saw only one empty rusted van with the company’s logo on it. 

Since there was no traffic to speak of, Archer moved into the trees, deftly scaled the fence and headed for the main building. He went around to the side and found the ladder that went to the roof. It was a bit rusty, but solidly anchored to the cinder block wall of the building. He climbed it and crossed the roof until he came to a skylight that was raised from the floor of the roof by about four feet. He stood beside the skylight and, using his range finder, scanned the estate directly across the canal. Six hundred and two yards. He did a 360 and noticed that there were no taller buildings in sight. The closest one was almost 2000 yards away. He then stared at the tennis court for another few minutes. Finally, he tucked the range finder into his pocket, called Missy, who was driving up and down the roadway and made it back to the car, counting off seconds. He was at 53 seconds when he finally closed the car door and Missy started to drive away.

“How does it look?” she asked.

“Better than I expected, there’s a skylight that makes four-foot high platform. A lot easier because it makes me virtually invisible except for when I’m shooting and probably cuts ten to fifteen seconds off my retreat time. Also means I only have to carry the rifle and my shoulder bag. The only unknown is the sun. I’m shooting pretty much due east. By ten am it should be high enough that it won’t cause any lens flaring in my sight.”

“Missy said nothing, but drove on observing the speed limit, despite the fact that there was no traffic to speak of.

Later that night, well after midnight, Missy and Archer returned to the vacant factory. It was dead silent except for the cicadas and crickets and there was hardly any traffic on the adjacent highway. It was also pretty close to pitch black because there was no moon. Archer climbed out of the car and walked to a small grove of trees close to the entrance gate. With a set of heavy-duty wire cutters, which Missy had purchased for cash at Home Depot, Archer cut a narrow section of the fence to about his own height and two feet across. The fence didn't look any different when he was done, except that he could easily push it back and pass through. This could cut another twenty seconds off his time and it would not be noticed, he reckoned,  until the investigation of the shooting was well underway.

Archer then returned to the car, and they headed off to their motel to grab some sleep before the morning.

~ 100 ~

Very early the following morning, before sunrise Missy and Archer drove to a secluded area about two miles north of the abandoned building where he got out one of the rifles with the scope and silencer. He had, the night before, fashioned a crude sling for the rifle with some twine Missy had purchased along with his wire cutters at Home Depot. It wasn’t comfortable, but he only needed it to go up and down the ladder at the side of the building.

Missy then drove him back to the factory site and Archer entered through the fence and climbed to the roof. He got his gun ready, then snuck a look over the elevated skylight. The light of day was just starting to break. Fortunately for Archer, the day was cloudy so his visibility would be excellent. 

About an hour and a half later, two men walked toward the court: the target and someone else, pushing a large container of tennis balls on rollers; a tennis instructor, Archer assumed. Behind them were two Secret Service people in suits. Archer used his scope and eventually noticed that they took up positions at either end of the court. No one was looking in his direction. Archer got to his feet and picked up the rifle. He got into a comfortable position, with the rifle on its bi-pod, resting on the roof structure. He chambered a round and watched carefully as the target on the right side of the court began to warm up. After a minute or so, he started practicing his serve. His instructor was standing beside him, so it wasn’t a clear shot. After about five minutes of conversation, the instructor went around to the far side of the court. Archer pulled his phone out of his breast pocket and called Missy. 

“Three or four minutes, give or take.” he said into the phone.

“Roger that.” Missy replied. She had been parked, well hidden, along side the roadway about two miles north of the building. She started the Jeep and headed south past the building. She then turned around and started driving very slowly so that Archer would not have to walk around the Jeep to get himself and the gun in.

Archer slipped the phone back into his pocket, then took a deep breath. He watched as the target practised his serving, waiting for the moment when he was standing relatively still. 

That came about forty-five seconds later, when he stopped to listen to something his instructor was saying to him. He never heard the shot that ripped into his chest, through his heart and out through his back. Archer picked up his brass and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He was on the move
as the target hit the ground. He was down the steel ladder and through the fence fifteen seconds later as Missy pulled up. He laid the gun on the floor in front of the rear seat, and put his bag down beside it. A minute or so later they came to a small open area where Missy pulled the car over. Archer quickly got out of the car, pulled the gun out of the rear area, quickly removed the supressor, which had cooled down and the scope and put them into his bag. He opened the hatchback and wrapped the gun in a towel, then slid it into the chamber along with his shoulder bag. The whole operation was complete in less than thirty seconds. As he climbed into the Jeep he could hear sirens off in the distance.

Missy continued along the side road to a turnoff that took them to the mainland and Biscayne Boulevard, where they headed north. Along the way, they, slowed down for several police cars with lights and sirens heading south. 

Instead of fleeing, they drove on for about fifteen minutes and pulled into an IHOP where they went inside and had their breakfast, while twenty miles to the south, all hell was breaking loose.

After they finished their breakfast, they drove a little farther north on Biscayne until they were right out of Miami. They then got onto the I-95 had keep going north. The news was everywhere on the radio. After a while it became tedious and so Archer pulled out a Dire Straits CD from the glove box and slid it in. 

As the familiar music washed over him, he felt himself start to relax. Missy just smiled and on they drove. He was a cool customer, this Archer, or whatever his name was.

~ 101 ~

FBI Special Agents Hollis Keene and James Holcomb, who were the ranking domestic terrorist team, arrived at the resort within hours of the killing. They talked to the Secret Service agents on site and all they had to report was that the shot appeared to have come from across the channel, maybe from the roof of an abandoned factory along the strip that ran parallel to Highway I-95. If that was the case, the agents told Keene and Holcombe, they could be on the highway and be well on their way to anywhere they wanted to go in no time flat. 

The consensus of opinion was that this was that this was a super-pro job, aided by inside information. “From the size of the crater in the ex-President, it had to be some kind of military long gun. Not many cowboys could ride that horse,” Aaron McCabe, the head Secret Service agent said. “Feels like that Damocles thing, only they’ve stepped up their game.”

“Yeah it does feel that way.” Keene said. “Let’s hope it’s not an epidemic.”Gonna be a lot of high-priced noses out of joint over this. Pretty much assures the Dems of another four years.”

“Roger that.” McCabe said. “Wish we had more info for you. It was one and done. Shooter’s got game. The list should be pretty short.” McCabe said. And then he turned and walked away.

Keene and Holcomb walked back to their car. “You reckon this is gonna be another wild goose chase, sir? Holcombe asked.

“All that and a media shit circus to boot, James.”

~ 102 ~

 

The news stories flew past them a mile a minute as they headed north. Once they were convinced they were safely away, they turned off the news, which they had put back on after their breakfast and put on some more music. 

They drove straight north to Fayetteville and found a nice motel and some good Japanese food, along the way. They then got a good night's sleep and made it home by midafternoon the next day. 

Archer stowed the weapons in the basement and cleaned the piece he used while they resumed watching the news. 

In one segment, Hollis Keene was being interviewed. Missy said. “That’s the fed who was in charge of the Sword of Damocles Investigation.”

“Looks pretty well seasoned.”

“Except for the Damocles thing, and some of the shit that happened after that, his record was spotless and his conviction rate was through the roof.” Missy said.

“It’s been my experience that these chaps are only as effective as the evidence they uncover.”

“True enough. But I wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him. Word has it that he actually had the whole Damocles thing figured out but was told to back off from a voice on high.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make certain we don’t leave any tidbits for them.”

The shooting hit the media like a ton of bricks. It was the last thing anyone expected, since the vast majority of the gun-toting lunatics in the country were among the victim’s disciples.

The Republican party was thrown into complete disarray. For the better part the last seven years they had given their undying loyalty to this man, believing, in their hearts that supporting him would be the only way to get back into power.

They all saw him as bulletproof, right up to the point where he wasn’t. The single shot that Archer had fired destroyed his lungs and his heart, what was left over that passed through the body was scattered. The forensics people did a total sweep but found nothing that gave them any real information. A house painter named Delbert James came forward and told the investigators he had seen someone driving away from the abandoned factory, heading north. But that was just through the trees and he couldn’t make out any details about the car other than that it was a dark colour. 

A thorough search of the rooftop that was determined to be the gun site revealed nothing either. The only odd thing was a six-foot high and two-foot wide cut in the fence that surrounded the abandoned factory. Again, no prints or DNA. No nothing.

~ 103  ~

Hollis Keene and James Holcomb sat in their car in the parking lot of the murder scene.

“Remind you of anything, James?”

“Yes sir, it does.”

‘Killin’ redneck assholes, is one thing. But this really is quite a few rungs up the ladder.”

“We could go back to Richmond and talk to the Lyall guy.” Holcomb said.

“We could I suppose. But then again maybe that’s exactly what they’d want us to do. Spin the wheels. Waste time chasin’ shadows.”

What about the Senator or that Ross fellow? Even if it’s just to let them know we have our eye on them?” Holcomb asked.

“As much as I admire your initiative, James, I think we have to start with the shooter and work our way back.”

“Well, then we already have one good candidate in Jackson Lyall.”

Jackson Lyall, was lying in bed with Marlena Ross in North Richmond when the news of the ex-President’s assassination broke. They both sat up in bed and turned up the volume. They watched the broadcast for about ten minutes and then shut it off. 

“Well, it looks like I’ll likely be getting another visit from the FBI.” Jackson said.

“Well, you do qualify as one of the usual suspects. Fortunately, you have a really good alibi, which is me.”

“Still in all, I wonder who would actually have the nerve to put something like that together.” But in the back of his mind he already knew the answer to that question.

Half an hour later they were both back to sleep.

~ 104 ~

The country was quite literally turned inside out amid the chaos that had erupted following the shooting. Even Republicans who weren’t supportive of the former president were angry and demanding that the government get to the bottom of it. Media coverage was wall-to-wall. A massive march on Washington was staged and a couple million people flocked into the city demanding justice.

Senator Winters sat in his office in a state of unbridled glee. They had indeed killed the fatted calf, and they would continue to knock off anyone who pretended to the throne. And Winters knew exactly who they were because they were on the list, in order of possibility, that he had given to Phillip Ross. 

Winters used his burner phone to call Ross. “Well Phillip, looks like it’s bad news for the bad guys, he said barely able to contain his joy.”

“Looks that way, Senator.”

“There will be a pretty substantial power struggle over the coming weeks.”

“We’ll do what we can to make it all you’re hoping for.”

“Good man, Phil. Keep me up to speed. I’ll probably be at the house. They’ll be stewin’ in this for a while”

“Yes sir, will do.”

Winters disconnected and returned to his office where he stared out at the angry disillusioned mob. At least the events of the past taught them to keep it in check and not storm the barricades. It would be very interesting, Winters thought, to see what would happen after the next pin went down.

~ 105 ~

Archer spent the next three days wandering around Washington looking at all the buildings and monuments and quietly chuckling to himself at just how much America thought of itself.

On the fourth day, when the initial shock and anger had subsided a bit, Missy and Archer received their next briefing. The target was Republican firebrand Desmond Lowell. He was cut from the same cloth as the former president, but was a good twenty-five years younger and a good fifty percent crazier. He was the most outspoken of the radicalized Republicans in Congress and, like several other lunatics, was vying to be the next Republican presidential nominee. He would have settled for the Vice President’s job. But nothing was certain because the presumptive and now deceased presidential candidate had made no definite announcement. It was rumoured that Lowell was being groomed to be nominated as vice-president, contrary to the popular belief that it was actually a female from Georgia. But in Washington rumours were a dime a dozen. And now, all bets were off because the big job was up for grabs.

Lowell was from Lexington Kentucky. His family, like many upper-class Kentucky families, had made their fortune from the coal mining and distribution business.

Lowell was forty-four years old and was able to afford a powerful political machine that kept his profile high all year round. He was handsome and well-liked among his constituents in the Congressional district he served. He was married and had two teenage children, both of whom, along with his wife, were away visiting their grandparents in neighbouring Louisville. This gave Lowell free rein to attend a number of events scheduled for him in Lexington and the surrounding communities.

Missy and Archer studied his schedule and diagrammed it on a map of Lexington. There wasn’t much in the way of public opportunity, perhaps exiting one of the many town halls he was scheduled to do. But one spot stood out, and they would know more once they were on location.

Early the next morning they set out, heading south and west skirting the Monongahela National Forest, then north to Highway 64 which would take them right into Lexington. On their way, they stopped at a small town called Hurricane where they ate a late lunch at a place called Farley’s Famous Hot Dogs which they enjoyed with something called frozen Root Beer, during which time Archer experienced his first case of brain freeze. But the dogs were delicious and they made it a note to drop in on their way back if that was in the cards.

After cruising around the city and through Lowell’s neighbourhood, they made their decision.

They knew that Lowell would be alone at his house and he lived in a very upscale area where the houses were relatively secluded from each other, they decided that the best place to take him down would right at his front door. According to Missy Lowell was offered full time protection but chose to only have it during the events he attended.

The plan they devised was quick and simple. First, they would make sure that Lowell had no security at his home. Second, they would park the car across the street from Lowell’s house. Archer would get into the backseat and prop his gun on a sandbag over the open window. Missy would go to the house and ring the doorbell. She would then move to the side of the house out of sight. Lowell would open the door, see no one there. In that moment of hesitation, Archer would take the shot. It would likely blow him back into the house. Then Missy would quickly come around and close the door, but not completely,  jog to the car and they would leave, heading out of town as quickly and directly as they could. They were reasonably certain that the body would not be discovered for at least a few minutes, if not hours, as it was late at night and there were very few lights visible in neighbouring houses.

The plan was a good one, and it went off without a hitch. Lowell, in a sweatshirt and jeans was blown back into his house with a massive hole in his chest. Missy then came around, stepped over Lowell, closed the porch light, pushed the dead Lowell’s legs aside, closed the front door and got back to the Jeep.

An hour later, they were parked in the empty parking lot of a Dollar Tree in a town called Winchester, where Archer stowed his gear in the back compartment of the Jeep. They then took shifts driving back to DC, because they did not want to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves by checking in late to a motel. Farley’s Famous Hot Dogs would have to wait.

On the way back Missy called Ross and told them they were a couple hours out, but that Damon should release the message anyway. 

By about eight am the following morning the news of the Lowell assassination started to break. Evidently, the body was found by a UPS driver delivering a package to Lowell’s house at 7 am that morning. 

By the time they were safely home around two in the afternoon, the story had busted wide open, but they were both too tired to care.

~ 106 ~

The next day, Phillip Ross met with Senator Winters in their usual place on the National Mall. The area was chock-a-block with tourists and protestors alike. 

“Well, Phil,” the Senator said as he sat down. “This is more fun than a fuckin’ turkey shoot in late October. The Republicans are absolutely beside themselves. And for all their bluster, only the real idiots have designs on the White House now. Trouble is nobody knows them. And nobody really gives a shit about some backbencher, so there’s no support inside the machinery. It’s a great time to be a Democrat, my friend.”

“Do you want us to carry on?” Ross asked.

“Now that’s a very good question. Right now I’d have to say let’s let it fester for a spell and see what happens. Somebody with an actual profile might step up. But my guess is that they’ll wait this out and rebuild. Hopefully end up a bit more centrist now that the main radical influence has been put down.”

“I’ll keep the shooter in the country.”

“The Feebs will no doubt be comin’ after you again. And since this is a different kettle of fish, I won’t be able to have a chat with them. I can still keep your shooter out of the hot water, if it should come to that. But there’s not much I can do about that fuckin’ Hollis Keene. I have no doubt he’ll be sniffin’ around. ”

“We knew that going in, sir. We have structured the mission to account for that.”

“Good.” And with that the Senator got to his feet, along with Ross. “Lots of pissed-off people here today. I haven’t had this much fun since the Clinton scandal.”

“Those were the good old days, sir.”

“Keep your shooter in the country for now. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Will do, Senator.”

“Thanks for your help, Phil. Always appreciated.”

Ross stood beside the bench as the Senator sauntered back toward the Capitol.

~ 107 ~

In Atlanta, Hollis Keene and James Holcomb sat on their favourite bench in the park across the road from their office.

“The candidate and the front runner for succession. Talk about killin’ the Republicans’ chances.” Keene said.

“There has to be some sort of inside source we can tap. I mean, these killings came off without so much as a blip on the radar. There has to be someone pulling on the strings somewhere.” Holcomb said.

“You’re probably right, James. Trouble is that this is gonna be out of our hands in another day or so unless we come up with something solid in the way of a lead.”

“Have you contacted your friend in Annapolis?”

“Daryl Stone? Yeah. He’s taking another wade through the files but the trouble is the gun. There’s just aren’t all that many swingin’ dicks that can handle a piece like that and all of them are accounted for.”

They sat quietly for a minute or two then Holcomb said. “Well, maybe they imported someone, you know, a mercenary from another country. I mean, hell, whoever planned this thing had to know that we would be looking through all the local talent.”

Keene said nothing but pulled out his phone, checked his directory then punched in a number. “Angus McFadden please, Hollis Keene, FBI, calling. He waited a few seconds and turned on his speaker. A few seconds later, he heard. “Angus McFadden.” 

“Hollis Keene, Angus.”

McFadden chuckled. “Hollis Keene you old sod. How goes the battle? Hear you’re up to your ass in alligators these days.”

“Pretty much, Angus. We have this crazy-ass idea that maybe the shooter we’re looking for was imported. So, of course, I thought about Merry Old England. Anywhere in the British Isles for that matter.”

Angus laughed. “So I suppose you want me to take a little look around and see if there’s anything….untoward.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“I can try, but I’ll tell you this right now, getting anything useful out of Special Forces or MI-5 or 6 is like trying to get blood from a stone.”

“Just give it the old college try. I’ll owe you a big one if you come through.”

“You’ll owe me a big one either way, sport. Leave it with me.”

“Time, as they say, is of the essence.”

“Always is, Hollis.”

Keene disconnected.

“Who does he work for?” Holcomb asked.

“Himself. He’s one of the premier systems hackers in the eastern world.”

“Is that legal?”

“No, James. It’s about as illegal as it gets. But desperate times call for desperate measures. If we can find this guy, we can nail him because I’m pretty sure there won’t be any kind of Washington halo over his head. Not with dead politicos.”

 Keene got to his feet and Holcomb followed. “In the meantime, let’s get up to Richmond and rattle some cages.”

~ 108 ~

The next afternoon, Phillip Ross drove back to Washington and then, after parking his car took a long walk to the K Street house where Missy and Thomas Archer were staying. 

Missy greeted him with a huge hug and a curious look on her face. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, sweetie, but has something gone wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. Where’s your partner in crime?”

“He’s downstairs watching some soccer game. He calls it football. Can you imagine?”

Missy and Ross headed down to the basement. Archer was sitting on one of the office chairs with his feet up on the desk. On the big screen in front of him was a soccer game and the frenetic voice of an announcer in an accent so thick they could barely understand him. Archer clicked off the volume and rose to shake hands with Ross.”

“So much for never seeing you again, sir.” Archer said.

“Yeah, well, we are kind of playing it by ear at the moment.” Ross said.

They all sat down. 

“First of all I just want to convey my gratitude. And that of our client. You may not realize it but you have actually saved this country from what could have been a bloody civil war.”

Archer shook his head. “Doesn’t really look that way to me, at least from the news stories we’ve been watching.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. The media here are just as bad as they are in your country. Things will calm down. The main thing is that the Republicans have lost their ace and their ace in the hole, so to speak. It will take a long time for them to regroup and groom a new leader.”

“So are you telling me the job is done?”

“No. There may be more that needs to be done. When we started we had a list of five key players. Two are gone. But, taking the temperature out there has changed things a bit. We’ve decided on a wait-and-see sort of strategy. The minute someone shows any sign of rising up out of the quagmire, we will quickly profile them and take them out.”

“So what do I do in the meantime?”

“Ross opened his briefcase to reveal that it was filled with money, an older looking cell phone, an iPad and a business card from a BMW dealership. “There’s a hundred thousand in cash here. We’ve also leased you a new BMW, which your friend Sam Delany told me you favored. He also told me you had a desire to see a bit of America. Well, here’s your opportunity. We will contact you when we need you. But you can feel free to hit the road at any time. Call it a paid vacation.”

Missy walked over to the far drawer of the computer table, opened it and pulled out a key on a key ring. She handed it to Archer. “If you get back before we know whether or not we need you, you can stay here until were 100% sure.”

“I would also suggest, just to be on the safe side, that you dye your hair a different colour and shave your facial hair, just on the very off chance that the FBI figures out who you are.” Ross said. “Besides you can’t can’t go back to England just yet anyway, because the cover story is that you’re MIA. And if it turns out that more action is required, we’d like to be able to activate you quickly and quietly. As long as you are presumed MIA, the FBI won’t be looking for you.”

“Are they anywhere close to that?”

“I don’t think so. But I’ll find out for certain pretty soon. I’m sure they’re on their way up here. I am one of the usual suspects based on past operations.”

“Tell me, Mr Ross, was this part of the plan or are you just winging it?”

“The plan was to take out all five of the worst of them. But the client has noticed that a lot of highly destructive infighting has already begun. He wants to let things simmer for at least a few weeks, then determine if further action is necessary. Your contract was for five kills and you will be fully compensated whether you execute the last three or not.”

Archer just nodded and closed the case. “So it looks like I’ll be taking off on an American holiday.”

“I trust you will keep as low a profile as possible.”

“Of course,” Archer said. 

“I’ll be taking Missy with me when we leave.” Ross said, “So you will have the house all to yourself. Call me if you run into any difficulty.”

“I rather thought I might like to visit New York City. Sounds like a fascinating place.” 

They had a final drink and Ross and Missy told him about New York and things he should see when he got there. He was grateful for the advice. Half an hour later he was alone in the house. 

~ 109 ~

The next day, Hollis Keene and James Holcombe flew into DC, drove down to Richmond and entered the offices of Blue Fin Consulting. They were shown into Phillip Ross’ office and took seats directly across from him.

“Looks like you gentlemen have drawn a shitty hand once again.” Ross said, careful not to betray any smugness.

“Yes, sir, we have indeed, “ Hollis said.

“Well, what can I tell you? The game here is still the same at my end. Lot of planning, all of which is classified or private sector, and none of anybody’s business. No political killings to speak of, if that’s what you’re here to inquire about.”

“No sir. We’re not here for that reason. We are here to pick your brain if we might.”

Ross chuckled. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“You know the stakes are much higher now than just a bunch of dead redneck assholes.” Keene said.

“I should think so.” Ross said. 

“So let me put it to you this way. If it was you who was planning this sort of action, how would you go about it?”

Ross sat back and thought about it for a moment. “I assume that these people were killed with pretty high calibre bullets.”

“As far as we can tell,” Keene said.

“Well, knowing that you can track anyone with that capability, and probably already have come up empty, I would say that whoever was doing this shooting had been secretly trained. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“What if he were imported. You know, an international hired gun?” Keene asked.

“Well, that certainly opens up a whole different line of enquiry. But from my experience, that’s something that would take a good deal of time to piece together. That theory multiplies the suspect list by, I don’t know, a factor of ten to twenty. Then there’s the issues of cooperation and extortion. The world thinks of us as a big old piggy bank. I wouldn’t want to risk my operation in that way.” 

“But wouldn’t it stand to reason,” Keene said, “That anyone who had this sort of assassination in mind would mostly likely be looking at allied countries?” Holcomb asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. But if it were my op, I’d be looking for a shooter who is as far away from any of the usual suspects as you can get. This includes allies, because that’s the first place you would look. Another thought I had, just last night, in fact, was that mastering a big rifle takes a bit of skill and practice. But any half-decent marksman with the right incentive either political, financial or both, could get fairly skillful without a whole lot of trouble. I know that opens a wide gash in any theory you might be entertaining, but it’s as viable a possibility as anything else.”

Ross could tell from the looks on the faces of both men that they were completely lost in the maze of possibilities.

“You came to pick my brain, which means you have at least a modicum of respect for it. Well, that’s what I think. I know it doesn’t help. These killings, they are extremely well-planned and flawlessly executed. Maybe you should also be looking at the Republican party. I mean someone has got to step up and take over the reins of power there. Maybe shifting it back toward the centre. If you were really being honest with yourselves you’d consider that another possibility.”

Suddenly, Hollis Keene started to chuckle. “You know, we came here today because you beat us last time. And we were sure this was something you had come up with.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Ross said. “I’m a Republican.  I’m not crazy about what’s happened with the party over the past few years. HOw far tot he right they have moved. Hopefully this wakes everybody up. But I’m not holding my breath waiting for that to happen. All I know is that whoever is pulling this one off, is probably someone you will never find. But I know you have to go through the motions, and I sincerely wish you the best of luck.”

With that, Ross and Holcombe got to their feet.

“Thanks for meeting with us. You’ve given us a lot to think about.”

“My pleasure.” Ross said, and as the elevator shut, he just shook his head and walked back to his office.

~ 110 ~

In Washington, the administration issued messages of condolence to the families of the two victims, and pledged to put every available resource to work on bringing the shooter and the people behind these killings to justice.

The president addressed the nation at 7 PM on the day after the second shooting, She expressed shock and dismay and spouted all the usual platitudes. But deep inside her soul was singing. Because she had thrown the opposition into a complete state of chaos and knowing the cannibals they were, they would spend months trying to devour each other.

It had been a long time since a government in the United States had been in a position of absolute control. With the death of the leader and the frontrunner to be his successor, moderate Republicans in Congress appeared to shed their fear and started issuing statements of support for the initiatives the Democrats were putting into place.

This show of confidence took all the wind out of the sails of the radical right Republicans, And the leadership void left them all scrambling for as much power as they could grab within the minority they had become. 

As went the politicians so went the public. With no public martyr and cheerleader to lead them, the so-called radical slowly began to fade back into obscurity. 

~ 111 ~

Archer dyed his hair light brown and shaved his beard. He spent a few days looking around New York City, and then headed south, picking up Highway 81 at Harrisburg. He drove casually taking in the countryside, for two days until he ended up in Nashville, where he checked into a motel just off Music Row and spent the next five days there doing day trips around the area and spending his evenings in the clubs listening to live country music, which was one of his passions.

On the fifth night, he saw a girl on stage at a small club called Louie’s Stage. Her name was Colleen McHale. She was a spunky Scottish girl who sang Bob Dylan songs and sounded like a younger version of the famous folk singer Joan Baez. Her voice was high, crystal clear and full of passion. 

Archer was smitten. After she finished her set to very generous applause, he offered to buy her a drink. Then he offered to take her for a late dinner, which was fine with her. 

He found out her entire life story that night. She had been born in Glasgow and started singing in some of the pubs there. But her real love was for Dylan’s music, and for that she knew she needed to be in America. So with her scant savings she worked her way over on a cruise ship singing old songs to older people, then took a bus from Miami to Nashville.

When she asked Archer about himself, all he could really tell her was that he was a retired soldier who had come into some money from a family inheritance and was on a bit of a road trip to see America, but had every intention of returning to England.

They spent the night together in his motel room and the next day, he drove her to the bedsitter where she was living. She packed her things and threw them in the Beamer and off they went. They drove around the Southern states for another couple weeks, making it all the way through Texas to New Mexico. Colleen wrote lyrics and chords while Archer drove. In the evenings she would record them into a small recorder she carried with her. 

One day about three weeks after he had left Washington, Archer got a call from Phillip Ross, summoning him back to DC and announcing to him that the project was complete and that he could now go home.

Two days later he showed up at the K Street house where Missy was waiting for him. She transferred the rest of the five million into his account and was not altogether surprised to see a beautiful Scottish girl with him.

That evening, Phillip Ross, came by with another non-disclosure agreement, this time to be signed by Colleen. After that was done Ross explained the situation to her. She looked over at Archer and smiled. All she said was. “Them fuckin’ Republicans got exactly what they deserved.”

The next day, they were flown back to England on a jet chartered by Phillip Ross. He turned over his Archer identity to his MI-5 friend, Sam Delany and became Jarrett Morrow once again. Delany told him the identity would be available to him should he ever need it again.

Hollis Keene was called up in front of a select committee in Congress, and was quite forthright in reporting that there were several avenues of enquiry that were being followed but as yet there were no concrete leads. Like the shootings of a few years earlier, there was no traceable physical evidence, no witnesses and no solid theories for him to put forth.

Keene’s friend, Angus McFadden had scoured the intelligence services of both England and the US and was sad to report that he had come up dry. Keene thanked him for his work and promised a favour that would be collected by McFadden at a later date.

The next week, the British news services received a story about how Jarrett Morrow had been found, alive and well in Kabul. He had been returned home and awarded the Medal of Valour for his service to King and country.

After the ceremony, Jarrett and Colleen drove up to Sheffield. They had a long dinner with Jarrett’s father, who was the only other person who suspected what was up with his son. Jarrett told his father that he and Colleen were moving to London. The next day they drove up to Glasgow and had a nice dinner with Colleen’s folks. Then they headed down to London. 

Two weeks later, Jarrett entered into an agreement with a man named Malcom Briggs, another referral from his friend Sam Delaney and an assistant director of MI-6, who found themselves occasionally in need of a highly trained sniper.

With part of the money he had made in America, Jarrett bought himself a houseboat which was anchored at the Dove Pier in Hammersmith. It was a renovated craft with a lot of luxurious appointments and a wide rear deck. It was a steal at just nine hundred thousand pounds. The rest of his money, he gave over to an investment advisor. So and between his investment dividends, his MI-6 monthly retainer and his military pension, he and Colleen were able to live quite comfortably. Jarrett built and equipped a small studio in the smallest bedroom of the boat, which is where Colleen recorded all her demos.

One night, Jarrett and Colleen had dinner with Sam Delaney and his wife, Dianna, who, as it turned out, was one of the owners of a large London talent management agency. She invited Colleen to come for an interview, which turned out to be the key to getting her started on her own music career in England.

From time to time, Phillip Ross would call Jarrett, just to see how he was doing. Jarrett had little to report. He spent most of his days his days reading and cycling around the city stopping off for a pint at different pubs. He called it the Great Pub Tour of London. He figured that someday he would write a book about it. But he was in no hurry. Colleen was kept busy doing commercial work and auditioning for various record companies in London. About six months later she was signed to Island Records.

In America, the investigation into the assassinations of the two key Republican players moved on slowly and unproductively. A new successor was chosen but the Republicans had wasted so much time on infighting that the Democrats walked away with the elections and solid majorities in both houses. 

This, in turn, led to a series of retirements of old-guard Republicans, and slowly but surely a new, more progressive contingent took over. But it would be years before they were well enough organized to mount any sort of significant attack on the Democrats.

All of which was tot he credit of the Sword of Damocles.

4. HENRY FEATHER

~ 112 ~

Henry Feather was lying on his bed looking up at the ceiling in his bedroom in the house he shared with his father, the US Democratic Senator from Maryland, and their housekeeper, Flora Neeley. 

He had been back home for eight months from four years as a sniper in the US Army and, for the last five months, had been working with his girlfriend and next-door neighbour Lucy Maxwell, as a writer and Lucy’s creative partner in the Baltimore-based marketing company that Lucy’s father owned. 

It was a Saturday afternoon. His father was downstairs in his study, reading over a bunch of legislation which was going to be voted on when he went back to Washington. 

Henry was thinking about a lady named Missy Felder, who had made a suggestion to him a while ago. Missy’s business card was lying on his chest as he lay in his bed and stared up at the ceiling.Over the course of the next half-hour, he made up his mind to call her first thing on Monday.

Having made that decision, he got up and then headed over to Lucy’s house to watch an NBA game on TV.

~ 113 ~

The following Tuesday, Henry drove his new Lexus down to the address he was given in downtown Richmond, which was about a three-and-a-half-hour drive. Across the street from a low-rise office building was a coffee shop, which he entered. There were only two people in the shop at the time, they were sitting at a table t

ogether. 

Henry got a coffee and walked over to the table. 

“Mr. Tuttle?” he said to the older man, who extended his hand, which Henry shook. 

“Just Tuttle, son.” 

“Henry Feather.” Henry replied. 

The man next to Tuttle was casually dressed with long hair and a beard. He extended his hand and said, “Damon Reese.”

Henry shook Damon’s hand and then sat down.

“Missy tells us you might be interested in joining the Blue Fin team.” Tuttle said.

“Interested is the operative word, sir.” Henry said.

Damon Reese reached down into his bag and pulled out a ThinkPad with a touch screen. He played with it for a few seconds, then flipped it around to Henry. He also set a digital pen down beside it.

“This is our non-disclosure agreement. Read it over and if you agree with it, sign it at the bottom.” Damon said. “Then we can talk freely.”

Henry read the non-disclosure thoroughly and didn’t see anything objectionable in it. But it was definitely iron-clad. So he picked up the pen and signed and dated it on Reese’s iPad, then gave it back to him.

“Okay,” Tuttle, said. “We’re good to go. What do you need to know?”

“Well, first of all, I would like to understand what this Blue Fin Consulting group is.”

“Well, it’s a lot of things.” Tuttle said. “Mostly a problem-solving organization with clients in both the private and public sectors. It’s run by a man named Phillip Ross, who is ex-NSA and his lady, Missy Felder, who you already know.”

“So, problem solving. What’s that all about?”

“It’s a range of things. Mr. Ross handles private sector work separately, which is mostly orchestrating mergers, acquisitions and partnership agreements and dissolutions. The rest of us handle the government work.”

“Which is?” Henry asked.

“Whatever needs to be done that the government doesn’t want their fingerprints on.” Tuttle said.

“So I would assume that this involves assassination or Ms. Felder wouldn’t have asked me to consider joining.”

Tuttle nodded. “Yep.”

“How is the group structured?”Henry asked.

“Well, there’s Mr Ross, who you will meet if you’re interested in joining. He does all the planning and is the government interface. Ms. Felder, who you know is ex-FBI and Secret Service, does scouting and works with the shooter on the mission. There’s Jackson Lyle, who you’ve also met. He started off as a shooter, then pulled back after one long mission. Jackson does mostly investigative work in his spare time, but has become a well-known photographer, with worldwide representation, which you also probably already knew. He’s married to Mr. Ross’s daughter, Marlena. Then there’s myself. I provide the munitions, all untraceable. I own a gun range just outside of town. Mr. Ross and I grew up here together. Finally, there’s Damon here and his partner, William Ling. Damon is in charge of all communications with a bit of hacking on the side. William is a genius-level financial hacker.”  

“Wow, that’s quite an assortment of skills.” Henry said. “So how would I get to and from any given project. I would obviously need to be carrying a weapon of some sort.”

“You will have a specially designed Jeep to drive with a hidden compartment to carry your weapon that’s, so far, proven to be quite foolproof. And you’ll have Missy with you on your missions.” Tuttle said.

“So is there an active project that you’re looking at?”

“Nothing in particular at this point, but you never know what’s around the next bend. Missy and Jackson were impressed with you when they went up to help you with the Lebanese assholes who were after your dad. They both thought you might make a good addition to the team. That’s about it.” Tuttle said.

Henry sipped his coffee and then said. “You know I spent the last several months working with my girlfriend as a writer in her dad’s marketing company. But that got old a lot sooner than I thought it would. I was definitely not cut out for office life.”

“You’re not the first sniper we’ve had who had a similar sort of story,” Reese said. “It’s addictive a hell.”

“Yeah, it kind of is.” Henry said. “What about security? I mean you’re talking about pretty illegal stuff here.” Henry asked.

“Well, as long as the Dems are in power and depending on the project, we mostly have immunity, which means we are taken off any suspect lists we happen to end up on. So far, no one has ever been arrested. There has been one particular FBI guy who had a special interest in us. But he’s had the riot act read to him by our Washington contact, and has pretty much backed off.” Reese said.

“So basically this group is an assassination squad.” Henry said.

“For the most part. We also take Republican donor money out of the picture, and quite a bit of it, truth be told, thanks to Damon and William.”

“How much, if I may ask?”

Damon looked at Tuttle. “So far close to five billion.”

“Shit. What do you do with it?” Henry asked.

“Nothing. It just sits in a Nassau bank earning interest.” Damon replied. “It’s our retirement fund.”

Henry leaned back in his seat and took another sip of his coffee. He was thinking hard. Then he said. “What kind of money can I expect to make?” 

“Jackson will put you through the paces. But if you’re as good as he thinks you might be, probably a million per hit. That’s been the going rate since we started.”

“So you’ve had other shooters.”

“Yeah. Three, counting Jackson.” Tuttle said.

“And what happened to them?”

“Well, one blew himself up.’ Tuttle said. “Completely unrelated to us. Jackson, of course. And the third was a loaner from MI-5 in England.” He just did a two-part project.”

“So it’s a high turnover job.” Henry said.

“It’s a high pressure job. What you do with the opportunity is completely up to you.” Tuttle said in a voice that was more emphatic than conversational.

“Okay.” Henry said. “I’m not gonna say yes or no today. I want to think this through. It’s Tuesday. So I’ll give you an answer by the end of the week.”

Tuttle just smiled. “I was hoping you would say that.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’ve always been leery about people who make up their minds too quickly.”

“Well it’s a big decision.” Henry said. “Will you expect me to move here?”

“Only if you want to. We have a house just a little ways south from here. It’s yours to use if you want. We all live in Richmond.”

“Okay.”

“And just make sure you don’t talk to anyone else about this, other than your dad if you choose to. He already sort of knows who we are.”

“Roger that. I don't think I’ll be talkin’ to him about this.”

With that, Henry got to his feet, shook hands with both men and left the coffee shop.”

Tuttle and Damon sat back down. 

“What do you think?” Damon asked. 

“I think he could be a slightly younger version of Jackson.” Tuttle replied. “Asked all the right questions and didn’t get freaked by the answers.” He then picked up his phone and called Phillip Ross. “We’ll know by Friday. But he looks good so far.” Tuttle said.

~ 114 ~

All the way back home and for the next two days, Henry thought a lot about what he was getting into. He knew he had the mental capability and the skills to do the job. He also knew what a political mess the country was in at the moment, and how the Democrats were working their tails off to keep things from blowing apart. So it was probably a job that needed doing, and that if he could contribute to helping out the current government, which he knew to be much better than the alternative, that would definitely be a good thing.

The only thing he worried about was getting into a situation with the law, where he might have to kill someone who wasn’t the real enemy. That kind of bugged him. But the more he thought it through, the less it bothered him. 

Did that mean he was psychotic? His shooting instructor at West Point told him that there was a touch of the psychopath in everyone, but that snipers had maybe just a little bit more. He accepted that. He also accepted that the everyday world had made him feel bored and uncomfortable. Maybe he could get over that, but for what? Contentment, acceptance of the status quo, a normal life? He had no idea what a normal life was like. And on top of that, he had no desire to find out.

If all this meant that he had, indeed, made up his mind and was thinking about what he would take with him when he headed to Richmond, then so be it. You never know until you try.

Henry had decided not to tell his dad about the offer that was on the table for fear his dad would try and talk him out of it. 

So three mornings later he called the number Tuttle had given him.

“Tuttle here.”

“Good morning, Tuttle, this is Henry.”

“Morning, Henry.”

“So here’s the thing. I’m in, but not prepared to move to Richmond just yet.”

“That’s OK. The house and the car are there for you to use when we need you. Depending on the project, it may take four or five days, or even a month or two between events. It all depends on DC. So you can either stay there or at home, whatever suits you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I’m gonna get hold of Mr. Ross and we’ll set up a meeting.” Tuttle said.

“Fine with me, sir.”

“Welcome aboard, son. I’ll text you the address, and the time, once we have everybody available.”

“Thanks, I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Henry disconnected and leaned back in his chair. His computer was open in front of him. He had been working for the past few weeks on a biography of sorts. But he figured he would not be able to write about any of this activity.

The text came through within half an hour. The time was set for Saturday afternoon. It would be at Mr. Ross’s house, the address of which was included with the text.

~ 115 ~

Henry was raised in a wealthy by a father who was very rich before he got into politics, so Phillip Ross’s house on the north side of Richmond wasn’t intimidating to him at all. There were five high end cars parked in the driveway with plenty of room for a couple more. It was a beautiful day and he assumed everyone would be outside, so he walked around to the back of the house. Sure enough, they were all sitting there. There was Tuttle, Jackson, Missy, Damon Reese, a younger oriental-looking man he had never seen and another older man, whom he assumed was Phillip Ross. When Tuttle spotted him, he got to his feet. 

“Come on in, son.” He said. “I assume you know everyone here, except Mr. Ross and, I guess, young William Ling.”

Ross walked forward and shook Henry’s hand. “Phillip Ross. Good to meet you, Henry.” William just smiled, did a little wave and nodded, then sat back down.

“Thank you sir. Quite a gathering you’ve got here.”

“Come and have a seat. There’s some beer in the cooler if you like.”

Henry walked to the cooler, which was on a smaller side table and took a beer. He then  sat down and took a swig of his beer. “He looked at Missy and Jackson. “Good to see you guys again.”

“Well, it’s great to see you too, Henry.” Missy said. “I was just thinking about you the other day, wondering if you’d lost interest or not.”

“Believe it or not I went to work in my girlfriend’s marketing company. That lasted all of about six months before I started feeling claustrophobic as hell. So here I am, loaded for bear, so to speak.”

“Well, this is all of us including our computer guys.” Ross said. “So if you have any more questions, this is the chance for you to ask them. You’re non-disclosured up, so everything you hear will be the unvarnished truth.”

“My main question is for you, sir.” Henry said to Ross. “I’m curious about how you ended up doing this.”

“Well, I was in the intelligence service, NSA to be precise for twenty years.” Ross said. “Then about seven years ago more or less, I was approached by a Democratic Senator. He sat me down and told me that he was sick and tired of the Republicans just taking the law into their own hands and how he would like to have a project group who could, well, more or less do the same thing. The idea appealed to me. The money appealed to me as well, so I put in my papers and retired from the NSA and formed this group. It took about two years to come together completely. At first, it was just Tuttle, Damon and myself. Most of our early work was online sabotage. Then Tuttle found us our first shooter, who worked with us for two years, before blowing himself up, which I know he told you about. I heard about Missy a few days after she left the Secret Service. Then Tuttle found Jackson and a little later, when we started targeting the money people, Damon recruited William Ling. Jackson was replaced on by a British sniper, for just two projects. And now Missy and Jackson have found you. We had a couple of other shooters, but they were not ex-military and while they had the skills and got the job done, they decided on a one-and-done. You have the same option and everybody here will understand. It takes a certain type, you know to do this job, but this is how you find out. We had another shooter lined up, but he was from Ukraine and left to fight for his country. That’s the long and short of it.”

“Okay well, that’s all I needed to know.” Henry said.

“So what about you, Henry?” Ross asked.

 “I was an army sniper in Africa. Joined after West Point. I’ve been back for almost a year now and I couldn’t help but notice how much of a mess the Republicans are tying to make. I missed the Trump fiasco. I know there’s a lot of big money still propping them up, mostly for the tax breaks. If the stuff this group does can help, even just a little, to clean things up, then I’m all for it.”

“Well, that’s wonderful Henry.” Ross said. “And the timing couldn’t have been better. Because just this morning, I got a call from my contact in DC. We’re getting together tomorrow and he’s going to brief me on a new project.”

“Did he give you any idea what it would be about? Or is that a stupid question?” Henry asked.

“No, it’s a good question.” But we never talk specifics on the phone. You can never tell who’s listening. He basically just invited me over for brunch, which is one of our codes, and, sometimes, it’s also brunch.”

“So how quickly does a project start after you’ve been briefed.” Henry asked.

“Depends on the project, but so far we’ve never been rushed. I like to take a few days with Missy and Damon and plan things out. It also gives Tuttle time to source clean weapons. But the rule is not to rush if you don’t have to. That way we keep all our bases covered and everybody out of harm’s way.”

“I get it.” Henry said.

“Good.” Ross said. “I understand you want to keep living at home until you get a better feel for things. But the little house is always available to you. Tuttle will give you the lock code and the address.”

“Also before each mission, Damon Reese gives us all special cell phones that are disconnected from any network, via one of the older Starlink satellites that are out of use but still in orbit, so we can talk freely to each other.” 

Damon reached into his bag and pulled out several older black flip phones and chargers and handed one to everybody.

“Just tap the names of whoever you want to talk to, and it will connect you.’ Damon said. “Becuse it’s sat-based, distance is not an issue. It’s a firewalled closed-circuit network…not exactly legal, but then, neither is the work we do.”

“Okay. That’s clever.” Henry said. “Oh yeah, I did have one more question. Tuttle told me there’s some FBI guy who’s very suspicious. What’s the deal with him?”

Phillip Ross took a deep breath. “Yeah, his name is Hollis Keene. He’s based in Atlanta. Not exactly sure how he honed in on us. But he did and it was a bit of a hassle for a while. But the FBI, you know, like any law enforcement group, needs evidence, and we simply don’t leave any.”

“The hardware you will use will have had its identifiers removed, the numbers burned off and the bullets are all hand-made and built to disintegrate after contact. It’s pretty simple, but 100% effective.” Tuttle said.

For the next half hour Jackson and Henry told war stories and then it was time for Henry to hit the road.

~ 116 ~

Three days later, Henry was back in Richmond with his car filled with clothing, his computer, printer and a couple of lamps. He had decided that the four-hour drive back to Richmond from home wasn’t worth the time it took and the gas it wasted. 

He found the house down south of West Broad Street, and spent the next half hour emptying his car and getting organized. After he had everything in the house, he walked around and had a look at it. The furniture was all pretty cozy but rather old-looking. But the bed in the master bedroom was comfortable and the kitchen was fully equipped. 

He was making a shortlist of what he wanted to pick up food-wise when his closed-circuit phone rang. It was Jackson.

“Hey Jackson.”

“Are you in Richmond?”

“Yeah, the back and forth thing very quickly got to be a lot of driving.”

“Let me take you out to dinner. Do you like ribs?”

“Who doesn’t like ribs?”

“OK there’s a place on West Broad called Rudy’s. Best ribs in the state. I‘ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Okay.”

“How do you like the house?”

“It’s umm, quaint.”

       “That’s a good word for it. I’ll see you in an hour. Just drive up to West Broad and turn right, it’s about three blocks along.”

“Roger that.”

They disconnected and Henry spent half an hour putting his stuff away and finishing his grocery list. Then he grabbed a quick shower and headed off to meet up with Jackson.

Jackson was already there, sitting at a table with his laptop opened and a bottle of Coors Light beside him. The restaurant was about half full. It had a bar with half a dozen stools at the back by the kitchen. Off to the side was an area with video games and a pool table. Henry noticed that most of the people eating looked to be a lot older than him. He shook hands with Jackson and sat down. A few seconds later, a good-looking woman showed up at the table.

“Josie, this is Henry. Henry this is Josie.”

“You want a beer there, Henry?” Josie said.

“You read my mind, ma’am.”

Josie just smiled. “You soldiers are all so polite.” And she scooted off after dropping menus on the table before she left.

“The ribs here are the best. But everything else is damn good too.” Jackson said as he pointed to the bar. “The older guy behind the bar, that’s Rudy. Vietnam vet and all-round good guy.”

“Sounds like I don’t need to know anything more about where to eat around here.” Henry said.

“First meal I had when I got here a few years back was right here. We haven’t been anywhere else since.”

“So where are you from, you know, originally?” Henry asked.

“Louisiana, small town you never heard of.”

“So what brought you here?”

“Believe it or not, at the end of my tour, I threw a dart over my shoulder at a map of the US and it stuck here.”

“For real?”

“Yessirree. Best move I ever made. Met my wife here and she got me into the photo art business big time.”

“Tuttle said you only did one mission for the group.”

“Yeah, it had five parts and that fuckin’ FBI guy was on us. How he figured it out, I’ll have no idea.”

“And now you’re married to Mr. Ross’s daughter.” Henry said.

“Yep. And happier than a pig in slop.”

Just then Josie came back to the table and put down Henry’s beer. 

“We’ll both be havin’ the ribs, Josie.”

“You got it, Jackson.” Josie said.

While they were waiting, Jackson took Henry up to the bar and introduced him to Rudy.

“Good to meet you son.” Rudy said.

“Same here sir.”

“Army or marines?” Rudy asked

“Army sir, had my own little sniper squad in Africa.”

“Africa?”

“Yeah, it was a terrorist shooting gallery.”

“I’ll bet.” Rudy said.

“Henry’s gonna be around for a while on and off, so this ain’t the last you’ll see of him.” Jackson said.

“Well, I’ve been told these are the world’s best ribs.”

“Well, you got that right.” Rudy said. And then he launched into a Vietnam story. They chatted for about ten minutes then Rudy then held out his hand as he saw Josie walking by with their orders. “Good to meet you son.”

Henry shook hands with Rudy then they went back to their table and dug in.

They talked for about half an hour or so while they were eating. Jackson only gave him one solid bit of advice. “Never forget, anybody you’re shooting at, they are the scum of the earth. Sad to say there’s no shortage here in the USA.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“You do that and it will be very good for your mental health.”

The next day Jackson came by, and he and Henry, driving the Jeep, headed out to Tuttle’s gun range. They stopped and picked up some cantaloupes along the way. They backed the Jeep up to the rear door and went inside. 

Sitting on the table was a beautiful Accuracy International AX150. A 50 calibre long gun, with a silencer attached. Beside it were 6 five-shot clips, four of which were marked with an X.

Tuttle was out front with a customer. 

“The gun you were using in Africa was a lot lighter than this baby. But it’s very well balanced and doesn’t kick anywhere near as much as you think it might just looking at it. Pick it up.”

Henry picked the gun up and pointed it at the side wall of the building. It had a beautiful Zeiss scope. He could feel the weight of it but also the balance made it feel lighter when he was holding it in a firing position.

“This is deadly accurate up to 1200 yards.” Jackson said. “Which is how you’ll be getting away clean. No bad guy on the planet has security out that far. And the best part of all is that nobody walks away from gettin’ a body hit from one of these rounds. They’ll either check out instantly or bleed out quickly. So you’ve got a whole torso to shoot at.”

Henry had done a lot of arm and upper-body work in school, in the army and at home, so the gun actually didn’t feel all that heavy to him. It was just longer, but so beautifully balanced he figured he’d get used to it pretty quickly.

“It’s a dandy piece of hardware.”

 “It most certainly is.”

“Easy to clean?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll show you all that once we’ve blown away some melons.”

Jackson went out and talked to Tuttle for a second then came back. He grabbed the x-marked clips and the gun. They stashed it all in the hidden back compartment, in between two layers of foam that would keep the gun from sliding around. They drove out to the highway and up about three miles and then turned off. After about thirty seconds, they came to a long straight stretch of road. 

They stopped and set up three tripods with the melons taped to the tops, then drove back, about 1000 yards, according to Jackson’s range finder. 

Jackson turned the Jeep sideways and fastened the bi-pod to the gun. Using the hood of the Jeep with the bi-pod extended allowed Henry to stand fairly straight. They spent the next fifteen minutes or so shooting at the melons. Jackson was pleasantly surprised at just how quickly Henry figured out the gun and was able to demolish the melons within two cartridges worth of shooting.

“And you’ve never used a fifty cal before?” Jackson asked.

“Oh, I’d remember that for sure. What a beautiful gun.”

“Served me well as I’m sure it will you.” Jackson said. “We’ll go back to Tuttle’s and get’er cleaned up, then you’ll be good to go, whenever that is.”

They headed back to the gun range. Jackson showed Henry how to clean the gun, which was pretty simple for a shooter like Henry. While they were gone Tuttle had gotten out the FNX pistol with three loaded clips and a small box of loads as well as a cleaning kit and a small box of mercury/magnesium- tipped rounds for the rifle.  They then put everything into the gun compartment in the back of the Jeep and went back inside.

They sat down with Tuttle at a table in the front of the shop. There were half a dozen or so people shooting but the building they were in was almost completely soundproof.

“You can tell Mr. Ross that we are good to go,” Jackson said. 

“Will do.” Tuttle said. And then he looked at Henry. “And you, my friend, need to open an offshore account. I don’t care where, just as long as you give me the account name and deposit code. I will be transferring your money into it. We don’t deal in cash and we try and keep away from anything in the US. Too many nosey people hangin’ around.”

“Believe it or not, I actually did that. ‘Cause I was thinking the same thing.”

He pulled a small slip of paper from his wallet and handed it to Tuttle, which smiled and nodded.

“Jackson. Thanks for your help, again.” Tuttle said.

“My pleasure Tut. It’s the least I can do.”

“You’ve done way more than your share. The president owes you her life. I’d say that was above and beyond.”

“Wait. Was that the thing that happened in Boston?” Henry asked.

Jackson nodded.

“I read about that. Never saw a mention of your name.”

“Good.”

“Good? That kinda makes you a national hero.”

“Yeah and also kinda paints a big bullseye on your back. Sometimes heroics aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, Henry.”

Henry thought about that for a bit. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

Jackson nodded. Then got up. “Okay. That’s it. Let’s go, Henry. The tutorial is done. See you soon, Tut. ”

Forty-five minutes later, Jackson was shaking hands with Henry in Tuttle’s Driveway in North Richmond, where he had left his car. Henry had a big gun in the back of his Jeep and a job to do just as soon as the logistics were figured out.

~ 117 ~

Senator Rolland Winters was sitting at his desk in his study of his large house on the south side of Richmond, when his wife, Millie, showed Phillip Ross in. 

The Senator got up, and the two men shook hands warmly. Winters then walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured out two tumblers of Glenfiddich for them. 

“So how are things working out these days, Phil?” Winters asked.

“A lot of small projects, a few big ones. The usual I suppose. Damocles is back at full strength personnel-wise. And, of course, it’s always nice to hear from you, sir. ”

“Yeah. Well this one is a doozy.”

“Do tell.”

Winters sat down at one of the two chairs in front of his desk and Ross took the other. They clinked their glasses and took sips of their scotch.”

“There’s a guy. Filthy rich industrialist. Elmore Bishop. Has a lot of government contracts. He was a heavy Trumper back in the dark days.”

“There are still a few of those, aren’t there?”

“Yeah, but this guy, he’s a little different. What with his influence and big money, he’s pretty much got control of the Republicans. And with balance of seats in the house and senate a little too close for comfort and a pair of turncoats we have on our side, it’s gettin’ tougher and tougher to keep things moving in a positive direction.”

“So are we talking about a Trifecta?”

“Maybe, but I think that taking the uber-rich shit disturber out of the picture will bring everything in line and we can get back to business as usual.”

Winters pushed a thin file folder over to Ross’s side of the big desk.

“This Bishop. He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies, so in addition to being a pest in DC he does a lot of running around putting out fires in his own organization. Since he is a slave driving asshole with more money than brains, there are always a lot of fires to be put out.”

Ross flipped through the file. He knew a fair bit about this guy, because he was all over the news. A real egomaniac. It would be a genuine public service to take him out.

“Is he paranoid at all, meaning does he have a lot of protection?”

“No. Like most gazillionaires, he feels kind of invincible. He travels with one guy. An old friend who also happens to be an ex-soldier in his home country’s army. Racist as they come because his main job was killing black insurrectionists. No, the tricky part is that he jumps around a lot. His main protection is that he doesn’t disclose his schedule.”

“But he must have a home somewhere.”

“Yeah, it’s all in the file, and that’s probably the best place to nail him. But it’s gonna require the patience of Job to wait him out.”

“If that’s what it takes.” Ross said.

“He’s gotten next to the new Republican candidate, and he’s already starting to throw money around to build this guy’s persona.”

“Does he have a constituency? The last guy had a bunch of fucked up southern rednecks and a huge assortment of other disgruntled assholes.”

“He’s hoping to pick up all of them. He’s cut from the same cloth and Lord knows if you make enough promises to those idiots, they’ll get behind him.”

“Does the Republicans have a shot at the job? Ross asked.

“I don’t think so, but what he does have a shot at is
 reunifying the Republicans in DC and that’s the serious concern. But take away Bishop’s big-time funding and the smaller funding that will get scared off by the PR, and his constant nosiness in DC and it will take the Republicans that much longer to pull their shit together.”

“So what about your turncoats?”

“I’m not sure what to do about them. All depends on how it goes with the money guy. Long and short is that if we take this guy out of the picture, we slow down the whole process considerably. As you know they’re already having real funding challenges, because they don’t really have themselves a backup Man For All Seasons. But this Bishop is just  starting to  pour in enough money to build one. It would be nice to pick up a couple of seats in both houses, which we figure we can do if the propaganda is dialled down and the new Republican guy is underfunded.

They talked for another twenty minutes or so. Winters was delighted to hear that Marlena was pregnant and that her husband was building himself a strong international reputation in the photography business. Ross had given Winters a set of Jackson’s Delaware Farmers series as a thank you/Christmas gift.

Winters, who was about ten years older than Ross, had one son: an ex-air force fighter pilot, who was currently in Israel training their fighter pilots, and helping to keep the Middle East from blowing up into a Russia/Ukraine situation. 

“Some days, you know, Phil. I wake up and feel like the world is just about ready to crack into a million pieces.”

“I know what you mean, Senator.”

“You’re one of the guys with the glue gun, Phil. Let’s use it to get rid of this big money threat and we’ll all feel a little better about things.”

“Budget?”

“Five million for the big kahuna. Another five for the turncoats, if it comes to that.”

“Fair enough. Maybe we can dig up some dirt on them and you can get them back in line that way.” 

“Whatever works short of actual elimination. That would draw a lot of heat.”

Ross got to his feet and picked up the files. “I’ll keep you posted, Rolland.”

“Go get’em Phil.”

Ross left the house after taking the time to give Millie Winters a hug.

~ 118 ~

 

Very few people on the planet knew the location of Elmore Bishop’s central Texas retreat, and all of them were generously bribed into secrecy. The way Senator Winters found out about it was through the initiative of one of the Senate Pages, Charlie Obermann who had, quite by accident, overheard Bishop talking about it to the Senator the Republicans were putting up for the presidential nomination.

He quietly and discreetly passed the information along to Winters because Charlie hated the Republicans as much as anyone in the political sphere with any common sense. Winters rewarded him by pulling the strings to have him promoted to a more prestigious position, for which Charlie was eternally grateful. 

Then Winters got an idea. So he sent his newly minted legislative assistant, Charlie, out to Dulles airport to photograph Bishop’s private jet, which the grateful Charlie was only too happy to do.

After Phillip Ross’s meeting with Senator Winters, Ross went back to his house and sat down to figure out the main thing he would need to know about Bishop to be able to somehow track him. 

As he looked though the file, it became obvious that the Senator was one step ahead of him, and had figured out that one of the things Bishop could not control was the aviation regulation that required Bishop’s pilot to file flight plans and that his flight history which would give Missy and Henry a better fix on when to head down to Texas.

The meeting was mid-morning two days later. Everyone was on hand. When they were all seated around the table in Ross’s backyard and Damon had scanned the area to make sure it was clean, Ross handed out folders containing all the pertinent information.

“Okay, this project is in two parts. The first part is a definite, the second may just be a little look-see. We’ll see how that plays out.

“On the first page of your file, you’ll see a picture of a man you will recognize. He needs to be gone, and the sooner the better, because he is already influencing political decision-making, and we can only assume that he’s just getting started.

“The trick with this guy is that he’s kind of elusive. He’s involved with so many different things that it’s hard to track his movements. What we know for sure is that he has a house in Beaumont Texas. It’s actually not a very big house for a guy with his kind of wealth, but it is on its own 14-acre estate, and kind of isolated, which is good for us. Thanks to Damon, we know exactly where that is. My original thinking was that we just watch the Beaumont airport and find the right vantage point and wait him out. But then I found this picture of his plane.” He held up the photo of the plane. 

Damon laughed out loud. Everybody looked at him. 

“Well, this makes it dead easy.’ Damon said. “Because the FAA network has more holes in it than a spaghetti strainer. So I can track his movements, even hack his flight history, and we can figure out his pattern. Then, a couple days before he’s due to land near Beaumont, you guys can head out and get set up. Whoever had the idea to photograph the plane should get a medal.”

“I’ll pass that along, Damon. So we’re good to go on that front. He also has a pool there and we know he swims for exercise so he’s outside a lot. What we don’t know is what level of protection the guy has when he’s at home. So we have to check that out ahead of time. But we can learn a lot by just staking the place out for a day or two and watching closely.”

He then turned to Henry. “This is going to test your patience more than anything, Henry. It may take a couple of days. And you have to be prepared for both a day or night shot.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Missy. You need to check out motels in the area. Don’t want you guys staying in the same place for two nights running.”

Missy just nodded.

Then Ross turned to William Ling and Damon. 

“Damon, after we get the flight schedule, you need to hack his emails and texts, evidently he sends a lot. See if you can give Missy and Henry any more detail. William, I need you to see if you can get into his offshore accounts and if you can, move as much money as possible. This will piss him off and throw him off balance. But we’ll save that and time it to hit when we know he’s home. We want him distracted and finding out all his money is missing will do that. So that’s it for job one.”

Then he turned to Jackson and Tuttle. “When you both have time, I’d like you two to scope out these two turncoat Dems. Their DC addresses are in your deck. Go through their places and see what you can find that we can use against them. We’re not crazy about killing politicians. Damon, you hack their computers and see if there’s anything there we can use. I’d love to find out what’s being used to coerce them into siding with the Republicans. Probably there’s some money bein’ moved. This is a good time because Congress is in recess and they’ll both be back in their home states.”

“Okay.” Jackson said. “What happens if they show up?”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to take them out, but just as a last resort. 

“Okay.” Jackson said. “I’ve got some time over the next couple of weeks.”

“I’ll close up the range for a week or so. It’s a little hot for shooting anyway.” Tuttle said. 

“Good. Then we’re all set. Just be safe out there. If you feel the walls closing in, even a little, get the hell out. This is slightly more issue-sensitive than time-sensitive.”

After the meeting broke up. Missy came over to sit with Henry. 

“Okay, we’re going to Texas so you need to get yourself some Texas duds. Your jeans are fine, and your Nikes, but you’ll probably need a couple of denim shirts and a hat. I’ll go shopping with you, if you like.”

“That would be great.”

“Good. So let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Missy.” Henry said.

Missy kissed Ross on the cheek. “We’re gonna go get Henry outfitted for the Lone Star State.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go into the office for a bit and clean up some stuff.”

“I’ll see you at dinner.” Missy said.

She and Henry took off together. On their way to the mall, Missy filled him in on how things would work.
 “We’ll do one day of surveillance. That should be all we need. On the second day, we’re gonna find a place, where you can wait comfortably, and I can be no more than a couple hundred yards away in the Jeep. When you’re done, you pick up your ejected shell casings and hightail it back to the truck. The back hatch will be open and you can just lay the gun and your bag in and close everything up. We can be out of there in thirty seconds. The best thing about the fifty-cal gun is that it unless you hit absolute dead-centre mass, it will blow the victim sideways and anybody who is close by will have a hard time figuring exactly which direction the shot came from, but even if they’re off by as little as ten degrees, that’s a huge time advantage for us.”

“Wow, you’ve got this down to a science, Missy.”

“Yeah, well, you kinda pick this up as you go. Jackson and I figured out a lot of stuff on our excursions”

“I have to admit, I’m a little nervous.” Henry said.

“A little nervous is a good thing. Keeps you thinking. And this is a thinking person’s game.”

~ 119 ~

The billionaire in question, Elmore Bishop, owned a number of private sector equipment manufacturing companies, many of which did business with the government. He also owned a ton of blue-chip stocks. And had a controlling interest in a couple dozen other manufacturing and service businesses. Being a hustler and a go-getter, he quickly realized that everything in America could be bought with enough money. Politicians, other businesses, fanatical loyalty, even genuinely outstanding female companionship.

Bishop lived primarily on his plane, a refurbished 727, mainly because he spent a lot of time going from one place to another putting out fires, replacing burned-out executives and looking for new businesses to buy. 

He was rumoured to be the richest man in America, with an estimated worth in the area of $600 billion. Lately, he had attached himself to the current frontrunner in the race for the Republican presidential nomination and was in the early stages of propping up his campaign finances, the proviso being, of course, that favours were owed This gave him inside access and more influence in the political system than any private citizen had a right to. 

Bishop’s bricks-and-mortar home was a relatively modest estate in the woodlands north and a bit east of Beaumont, Texas. The estate was about 14 acres, which consisted of a stylishly modern house with windows all around and a ring of evergreens tightly spaced around the borders of his property. This had been done about fifteen years earlier and the trees had grown into a dense prickly wall. Around the inside of the treeline, he had installed a four-foot-high electric fence that packed a whopping 5000-volt charge to anyone coming into contact with it. So he felt relatively safe, not so much from assassination but from anyone in the press who might want to do some sort of tacky ‘lifestyles of the rich and famous’ type photography. 

In his arrogance, he believed he had no enemies that he knew of, because while he may have been an avaricious, latter-day Ebenezer Scrooge, his business dealings were all cordial, generous and above board. But once he took over a business, he then started to read the riot act to everyone, and suddenly the businesses went from whatever they were to  modern-day slave ships, because beneath his cordial exterior, Bishop was a monster. But he was also a true elitist and would never in a million years bring himself to believe that any of his ‘worker bees’, as he called them, would plot to do him harm. 

Bishop’s only protection came in the form of an ex-army captain named Trevor Mason, who had been friends with Bishop for most of his life. Mason’s family were quite a bit less well off than Bishop’s. But because Bishop liked having his friend and protector around, he persuaded his father to pay for Mason’s tuition to the same private school he went to. After his military duty, Mason rejoined Bishop on his climb to the top of the business world as friend, protector and sometimes advisor. The two men shared the same cynical world-view and were determined to grab and hold onto as much power as they possibly could.

Bishop was in his early fifties and the years of flying and fighting and debating and no small amount of drinking and womanizing were beginning to take its toll on him as he found himself in need of more days off, which hadn’t been the case up until he hit his mid-fifties.

He had kept himself fit through a lot of walking around the perimeter of his property and swimming fifty to sixty lengths of his pool a couple times a day. He ate sensibly and, as a result, was quite trim, which was a real advantage because he had pretty much all his energy at his disposal whenever he needed it. 

Over the last several years, Bishop had become interested in US politics. At first, it was basically to influence policies that made sure his companies were paying the very least amount of tax possible. But when he realized how dumb most politicians and voters were, his interest grew into an obsession with controlling the government by getting next to and lavishing support on the presumptive frontrunner for the Republican party. 

Over the years his ego had grown to the point where he really believed himself to have the makings of a kingmaker. And the most malleable politicians all seemed to be Republicans, so that was where he staked his claim.  

As far and away the largest donor the Republicans had, he soon found himself in a position to influence legislation, which is what he did. His belief was that the government was spending an excessive amount of tax dollars on programs to prop up people with no real ambition, not to mention the masses of immigrants that flowed into the country from the south. So he started advocating shifting those dollars into high tech, defence spending and border protection which is where a substantial piece of his business empire resided.

With the Democrats holding only a slight majority after the last election, which returned Juliette Dodge to the presidency, Bishop also realized that, historically, a third consecutive term for a Democrat president would have been, more or less, a miracle, based on the degree of division in the country. So this was his time to strike, and push his Republican guy through the roof, with the media he controlled and the money he was willing to part with to make sure things went his way.

Once the early polls started to show the effects of this powerful surge of activity, the Democrats realized that something had to be done. And it was precisely that which caused Senator Winters to reach out to the Blue Fin Group for help.

In short, Bishop was just one election away from having almost complete control of the country.

~ 120 ~

It only took Damon Reese about twenty minutes to find and download the flight history of Bishop’s plane for the past two years. Once he had it, he texted the file to Phillip Ross, who studied it carefully. 

Ross’s NSA background came in very handy when trying to figure out puzzles. Starting at a point two years earlier, he slowly scanned down the list, visualizing the flight of Bishop’s plane from place to place. Just past the beginning of the second year, he began to see the pattern, plus a definite increase in the frequency of his stays at his home base in Texas. Mostly, they were after trips from Washington. Ross could understand that. Politicians had always worn him out as well.

Perhaps Bishop had simply become more adept at dealing with his companies online and by phone and therefore felt less need to be on site. Or perhaps his age and the sixteen hour work days were catching up with him. That and a lot of sleeping in spurts on planes and constant travel. It didn’t really matter much what the reason was, the good news was that he was now staying home for around three to five days, every time his plane took him there. 

He called Damon and they talked about it for a bit. Damon told Ross that William had also been studying Bishop’s expenditures and they included; an individual who was paid monthly to take care of the yard, which was done on a one-day-a-week basis, a two-lady house cleaning crew and a cook who bought all his groceries and made a number of meals that he and Mason could just heat up. This all happened on the Monday of the week, when Bishop would most likely be elsewhere.

So, it was quite likely there would be no extra people around, other than Mason.

Ross and Damon agreed that somewhere around the sixth or seventh day of activity Missy and Henry could head down and find themselves a setup. They left it that Missy and Henry would get on the road when they believed it would be four days before Bishop’s arrival. That would give them two days to get down there and another day to find the ideal and a final day to execute the project. 

Before Ross disconnected with Damon Reese, he asked about how William Ling was making out with the financial attack. Damon replied that it was a bit of a challenge, but that William had many tricks up his sleeve and he felt optimistic.

As fate would have it, just two hours later William found the right gateway to Bishop’s household account as well as another very large account, more than fourteen billion which was likely his political support money. Damon immediately called Ross. Ross told them to keep it under their hat until Missy gave them the signal. William figured he could syphon off all of the fourteen-plus billion that was in the account. And that Bishop would likely be notified immediately.

After Ross disconnected from his call with Damon, he leaned back in his chair and reflected on just how much of this highly educated guesswork was supposition.

Three days later, Damon called Missy in the late afternoon and told her that she and Henry should take off for Texas the next morning. He texted Missy a map of exactly where Bishop’s property was located. 

So off they went, around mid-morning of the following day. They drove straight through to Nashville, had a great steak dinner and shared a motel room. They were careful to keep Henry as invisible as possible to the motel clerk. 

The next day, around four in the afternoon they arrived in Beaumont. Missy checked them into a motel, then she went and got them some dinner. Afterward, they took a drive out east of the city and came to the road that led into Bishop’s estate. 

They drove past and turned up a side road that ran along the north wall of the property. They could see nothing of the house itself because the evergreens were so dense that Henry would have to be right up against them to be able to see through. Missy turned at the next crossroad, which was nothing more than a dirt track that ran east along the property line. She stopped a few hundred yards in and Henry got out and made his way through the woods to the evergreens. He had his rangefinder with him and through the branches he was able to see the entire rear end of the house. 

There was a slightly elevated deck that was shaded with an artsy-looking green canvas awning. In front of that was the pool, which looked to be rectangular and fairly large, with some lounge chairs along one side. There was no diving board, just a railing in the corner closest to the deck, which Henry assumed led down some steps. He assessed the field of vision as excellent and the distance, about 420 yards, which was ideal. He also noticed that both Bishop and Trevor Mason were sitting on the deck, drinking beer. Mason was reading a book while Bishop stared into his laptop. 

Henry shuffled along the evergreens to get a slightly better angle and then called Missy. “I think this is the spot. I’m coming back to the Jeep right now so pop the hatch and time me … go.

Henry walked quickly but carefully back to the car, slipped the scope into the compartment, pushed it closed and covered it, then shut the hatch and got into the car. 

Forty-seven seconds give or take. That’s pretty good.” Missy said.

“By the way. They were there.” Henry said.

“They were? That’s weird.” 

“They must have skipped a stop on their usual route.”

“Looks like.” Missy said. And she dropped the car into gear. It took them a little less than a minute to get to the main road. They headed back to town, checked into another motel, watched some TV and then turned in. Before going to sleep Missy called Ross and told him they were good to go. They agreed on doing it in the morning which would give them a lot of daylight to put between themselves and the shoot site.

The next morning they were up early. They skipped breakfast, which they decided would be brunch or lunch on the road in Louisiana.

It was a warm, muggy day, but mosquito season had passed so the woods were relatively bug-free and dense enough to actually be a little cooler. 

As they pulled up to Henry’s entry spot, he got out. Missy popped the hatch. Henry put on his surgical gloves, screwed on the silencer, and slapped in a clip of the mercury/magnesium loads. He put a second clip in his bag, then lowered the hatch and walked into the woods. He chatted to Missy while he walked with his phone in his breast pocket and his earbuds in his ears.

Once Henry was set up, Missy disconnected and called William Ling and gave him the go-ahead. Then she called Henry back. “OK, we’re set up.” 

“Let’s hope he gets the call from his bank. He’ll be totally distracted.” Henry said.

“Take’em both any way you can, Henry.” Missy said.

“Roger that.”

Henry found the tree he had marked the day before. He gently laid his rifle onto a fairly thick branch that was about shoulder-high. He took a bottle of water out of the shoulder bag he was carrying and took a long slug.

“Did Mr Ross tell you how much money William was gonna get out of his account?” Henry asked.

“Un huh. A little over fourteen billion.”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right.” 

A little more than a half hour later, Henry saw, through his sight, that there was some activity in the back room of the house, which he assumed was the kitchen. It went on for a few minutes. 

Suddenly, Bishop, holding a cell phone and dressed in a pair of swimming trunks, slammed out onto the deck. Henry could hear him screaming from where he was.

“Oh oh. I think he just found out about the money.” Henry said.

He jacked a bullet into the chamber of his rifle.

On the deck, Bishop threw the phone down on the table. Henry could hear it clatter as it hit the tabletop and fell to the floor. Then Mason walked out the door. Bishop had his back to Henry. Mason grabbed Bishop by the shoulders, obviously trying to calm him down. 

It was at that exact moment that Henry took the shot. Half a second later, both men slammed into the sliding screen door and went down in a heap.

Henry was stunned. 

“Henry are you there? I heard the shot. Are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry Missy. I kinda freaked myself out.”

“Is it done?”

“Yeah. I got them both with one bullet.”

Missy chuckled. “Okay then. Pick up your brass and get your ass back here.”

Henry snapped out of it quickly. He found the casing and dropped it into his shoulder bag, then trotted on back to the Jeep. He removed the warm silencer with a rag, then stashed the gun and silencer, closed up the compartment and then Missy shut the rear gate of the Jeep from inside. Henry got in and they took off.

Once they were clear and on the highway heading toward Louisiana, Missy said. “You look pretty dazed, my friend.”

“Yeah, well how often do you get a perfect twofer.”

“So how did that come about?” 

“Well, Bishop came out on the deck with a cell phone. He was screamin’ at somebody.”

“Probably his banker.” Missy said.

“Yeah. Then he slammed the phone onto the table and the other guy…”

“Mason.”

“Yeah. He came out and grabbed Bishop by the shoulders trying to calm him down. That’s when I took the shot and they both blew into the screen door.”

“That’s some shootin’, Henry.”

Henry pushed his hair back and shivered. “Yeah. I guess so.”

They made it to Jackson, Mississippi in about four and a half hours, and found a nice place to have a late lunch. Before they headed north Missy called Phillip Ross. “You’re not gonna believe this.” Then she told him the story. “Tell Jackson.” she said. “He’ll really appreciate it.”

After lunch, they headed north and got into Nashville at around 9:30 that evening. They had picked up some sandwiches along the way. Missy called Ross again from their motel room. 

“We haven’t heard anything on the radio or TV. We’re gonna spend the night here in Nashville and be back tomorrow, probably early evening…Sure. That sounds great. I’ll keep you posted.”

“We’re gonna have dinner at Rudy’s, once we get back tomorrow.” Missy said, after she disconnected.

“Sounds like a plan.” Henry said. But even after almost ten hours and a several hundred miles he was still shaking like a leaf.”
“That’ll wear off.” Missy said. And it won’t come back either. Because once you see the political ramifications of this, you’ll feel like a real patriot.”

“I hope so, Missy.”

“No sweat. You dun good, Henry.”

~ 121 ~

The bodies of Bishop and Mason were discovered two days later when the lawn-cutting guy, Darius Bolton, drove in and went around back to open the shed and get out the riding lawn mower and edge trimmer. He thought it was unusual that their car was still in the driveway. So he walked over to the pool area. When he saw the bodies, he immediately called the Beaumont PD and a squad car was dispatched. They were greeted by Bolton at the front of the house. 

“They’re out back with big fuckin’ holes in’em.” Bolton said. “I didn’t touch anything.”

The two uniform cops, Pierce Jamison and Elroy Timms, walked around the back and saw the two bodies. Flies were everywhere around the corpses, and there was blood splatter that covered most of the screen, which was partially beneath them, and in a long streak on the kitchen floor.

Jamison immediately called for the detectives and the medical examiner, even though it was painfully obvious they were goners. Then he and Timms taped off the entire area. Jamison then started walking to the far end of the property. As he did, Bolton said. “Careful not to touch the fence. It’s electrified. I can shut it off, if you like.”

“You do that, Darius. When I get out there, you give me a wave that it’s all clear.” 

Jamison was a hunter, and a twelve-year veteran who knew what to look for. But he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t find anything. This was not the world’s most difficult shot to make, but whoever did it must have been some kind of pro with a pretty big gun to blow holes that big into both guys at the same time.

He got to the fence and turned around. Darius waved an all clear at him. But the trees were so dense that the only way he could get in would be to drive around to the service road out the back. He walked along for a while and didn’t notice anything unusual. But then that was to be expected. After only a minute or so out at the edge of the property line, he walked back. Several minutes later, two ambulances arrived along with an unmarked car with two detectives, Matt Casey and Julien Gomez. Then a third car came up the driveway; the medical examiner, Dr. Geraldine Sutter. They talked to both Jamison and Timms, then Bolton. Then they went to look at the bodies.

“Musta been some fuckin’ cannon to take out both guys at the same time and blow them into the screen.” Casey said.

Geraldine Sutter, aka Gerry, just nodded. “Fifty cal, I reckon. Probably won’t find a bullet. Blowing holes that big means they were tipped with something, like mercury or magnesium so it would have fragmented soon as it hit something solid like the second guy’s spine.”

Gomez walked over to the table and noticed the phone in pieces. “This phone was slammed into that table. Didn’t just drop there. Once the crime scene guys are done, we should find someone who can figure out who he was talkin’ to that pissed him off that badly.”

“You know who these guys were, eh?” Casey asked Gomez.

Gomez, who was fairly new to Beaumont, having earned his detective shield down in Brownsville, shook his head.

“The guy on his face with the crater in his back was one of the richest people in the country. The guy underneath him was his bodyguard and best friend.” Casey said.

“That the guy who’s been fuckin’ around up in DC tryin’ to sell the country a Republican president?” Gomez asked.

“Yeah. So we can assume this was an all-pro job.”

“Fuck, that means the goddamn FBI.”

“Yep. And we get to sit around and play with ourselves.”

Sutter took pictures of the whole scene, including the pieces of the phone and the splatter across the kitchen floor. 

“Cause of death is pretty obvious.” she said, “Some real good shooter with a real big gun.”

“You have any estimate on time of death?” Casey asked.

“The decomposition was pretty far along. I’d guess a couple days ago at least. Maybe you can get a better time fix off the phone if anybody can put it back together enough to read anything.”

Then she turned to the two waiting ambulance guys. “We’re done. Take’m downtown.” Then she turned to Casey. “I’ll get right on it. But you’ll probably get more info from the phone. I’m pretty sure all I’m gonna find are lead fragments,” she said.

“Thanks Gerry.” Oh, by the way, this is Julien Gomez. He’s the new guy, replacing Wiley Forrest.”

“Yeah, I heard Wiley retired.” Nice to meet you Julien, Gerry Sutter.” Gerry said as she closed up her bag. “I’ll get my assistant to email you the pictures. Try and find some next of kin so we know where to ship the bodies.”

Then Gerry was gone.

The two detectives stayed long enough to inspect the scene after the bodies were moved, they carefully gathered up the pieces of the broken phone on the deck. 

“Nice place.” Julien said. “A little low-key for a big time billionaire.”

“The way I hear it, he spent most of his time on his plane. Had fuckin’ businesses all over the place.” Casey replied.

As soon as they did a walkthrough of the house, they left it with the uniforms. “The FBI will be all over this presently,” Casey said. “If they show up, just refer them to us. If they come directly to us, I’ll let you know.”

Then Casey and Gomez got in their car and headed back to town.

Around the same time that Casey and Gomez were investigating the mysterious shooting of America’s richest man, Phillip Ross, Missy, Tuttle and Henry were sitting down for ribs at Rudy’s. They made better time than they thought they would so it was late afternoon and the lunch hour crowd was gone, so they could talk freely.

“I told Jackson about your twofer. He was totally impressed.” Ross said.

“Yeah, well, about ninety percent of it, I guess, was just dumb luck.’ Henry said. “Got the shakes for a while after. Missy told me that it would pass, and it did. I’m good now.” 

“Yeah. It’s a bit out there as experiences go,” Tuttle said. “But you know what? You deleted one of the biggest threats our country has seen in a long time.”

Henry just smiled and bit into his ribs. He spent the rest of the meal listening to stories from all three and got to know them all a bit better.”

The only thing that Henry was disappointed about was that he couldn’t share this with anyone, not even his father or Lucy. He’d have to keep it to himself for the rest of his life.

At the end of the meal, Henry said. “You know if there’s nothing else on the horizon. I think I’m gonna head home and see if I still have a girlfriend.”

“There will be two million in your offshore account tomorrow. I sincerely hope we can count on you again, Henry, because you did a splendid job.” Ross said.

“In for a penny, in for a pound sir.” Henry said as he got up, shook hands with Tuttle and Ross and hugged Missy. 

“Give my regards to the rest of the group. “I’ll clean the rifle and bring it back to you on my way back north tomorrow, he said to Tuttle. 

“No need, Henry. Jackson will pick up everything, Jeep included, tomorrow, then drive it to my house and stash it in my garage.” Tuttle replied. “We’ll see you soon.” 

Henry shook hands with everyone and waved at Rudy then left the restaurant and got into the Jeep, then headed down the few blocks to the house. He was dead tired when he got there so he just had a shower, read a bit on his Kindle and conked out half an hour later.

The next morning he, got his stuff out of the Jeep, then quickly packed his suitcase and tossed it all into the trunk of the Lexus. Just before he was ready to leave, a taxi dropped Jackson off in front of the house. He walked up the driveway to where Henry was standing.”

“Great work, Henry.” Jackson said.

“Thanks.” Henry replied. “You come to get the Jeep and gun?”

“Yeah, and to see how you were doing.”

Henry took a deep breath. “Well, I was a little shaky for the first nine…ten hours or so. Then it calmed down. Havin’ Missy to talk to made it a lot easier than if I’d been on my own.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said. “She has that effect on people.”

“Well, thank you for all your help, Jackson.” Henry said.

“It’s all for the cause, Henry.” Jackson replied. “You know this country has always done better with a Democratic government. All the Republicans have ever done is run up the debt and keep the rich in a low tax bracket.”

“There’s always that.”

“Look,” Jackson said. “This…you know what you’re feeling right now, is gonna stay with you for a while. But it will fade. Trust me.”

Henry absently scratched his head. “You’re right, you know. I believe that. Just right now, I’d like to be home and with my girl.”

“Know the feeling very well, Henry.”

Henry closed the trunk. “Keys are on the hook inside. I’m all packed. You can lock up.”

“Will do.” Jackson said, as the two men shook hands. “And we’ll likely see you soon. Sadly, this country has more than its share of dangerous assholes.”

Henry started up his Lexus and headed down the driveway at just about the same time the story was breaking nationally. So all the way back up to Owings Mills, he took it all in and realized that he was part of something pretty big and pretty small at the same time.

~ 122 ~

The next day, FBI Special Agents Hollis Keene and James Holcomb arrived at the FBI field office in downtown Beaumont. They were given a car and directed to police headquarters, where Casey and Gomez, who had been pre-advised, were waiting for them in one of the larger evidence rooms. They had posted all the relevant photos on a corkboard on the far wall. 

Keene and Holcomb were shown in. The two detectives stood up and hands were shaken all around. Gomez poured coffee for everyone and they all sat down at the table. 

“Understand you guys will be takin’ over this investigation,” Casey said. “Anything we can do to help, we’re happy to do it.”

“Maybe you could take us through what you know right now.” Keene said.

“Well,” Casey said, because he was the senior detective. “The vics, Elmore Bishop and Trevor Mason were billionaire and bodyguard in that order. They appear to have been killed roughly three days ago now, but because they live out in the country, nobody knew about it until two days later, when the lawn guy, one Darius Bolton, a local, came to cut the grass, went round back and what he found is plastered on the corkboard. Darius then called the patrol officers and they called us.

“From the size of the holes in both these guys, we deduced that somebody with skills had hit them with at least a 50 calibre bullet, which we found no trace of. The men were facing each other and were killed, we assume, by the same bullet. Lots of blood, no bullet fragments that we found. I then went down to the far end of the property about three hundred odd yards, in fact, and walked along the fence line. The whole property with the exception of the front gate is wall-to-wall spruce trees. I further assumed that whoever did this came through the woods at the back. There’s a dirt road running about thirty yards east of the property. So they walked through the woods, set up, shot, walked back to their vehicle and got the fuck out of there, way before anybody knew a damn thing. Ground was rock hard so no discernible tire tracks.

“We also found pieces of a high end cell phone that looked to have been smashed on the table on the deck. We’re having our techs look at it to see if we can nail down a time of death at least, and if we’re really lucky, who Bishop had been talking to. That’s about it. And since they were out in the boonies, there were really no neighbours to question. And now we are talking to you guys.”

“OK.” Keene said. “Thanks for that update. We’re gonna need copies of everything, any forensics and autopsy info, plus anything you find out from the phone. If you don’t get anything, we’ll take it back to Atlanta and see what we can do.”

“Do you want to visit the site?” Gomez asked.

“Are we gonna learn any more than what you just told us?” Keene asked.

“I don’t think so.” Gomez replied.

“The only question I would have is how many people in town knew about Bishop?” Holcomb asked.

“Hard to say.” Casey said. “He never really came to town at all. Not even for groceries. He had a part-time cook who did all of that. But you know, Darius Bolton knew about him. And Darius, well, you know small towns. Could be just him. Could be hundreds of folks. The cops all knew for sure. But we’re pretty much a Republican town, so a political motive would be hard to come by. And I’ve been on the force for twenty years and have never heard tell of anyone around here who could handle a 50 calibre gun. That’s what heavy-duty snipers use. And we have no snipers among our veteran  population.”

Keene took a deep breath, then he and Holcombe got to their feet. “Okay, well thanks for the excellent briefing gentlemen. We’re gonna go find a place to stay. We’ll be back in tomorrow to pick up the crime scene package and get any info you may have pulled off the phone. And, of course the phone itself.”

Hands were shaken all around, then Keene and Holcombe left the station. 

Casey and Gomez sat back down. 

“Well, that was short and sweet. Fucking feds.” Casey said.

“Well, let’s face it’s better having them out there chasing shadows than us.” Gomez replied. 

“Make them a couple of decks and file it. I’ll type out the report so far, Then we can go see Gerry and the tech guys.” Casey said, but there was definitely a little sadness in voice. “Juicy murders are hard to come by in a town like this. The minute one does happen, the fucking Feds swoop in. Go figure.” 

Keene and Holcombe found a motel just outside the downtown core. They registered, dropped their bags and headed off looking for a restaurant. Lot of TexMex stuff around which was fine with both of them. They got settled in and ordered at a place called elCamino. While they were waiting for their beers, Keene asked. “So what do you think, James, another tail-chasing session?”

“Pretty much, sir. It would have helped if there were any witnesses or even some kind of motive. I assume a lot of people hated the guy. Comes with the uber-rich territory, but this just feels so…familiar.” 

“You’re right about that, James.” Keene said. “Whoever is doing this is, well, let’s just say that have my grudging admiration. They show up, execute and disappear without so much as a by your leave. They’re deadly accurate and they’ve got the skills to operate a small cannon. The only thing that gets me thinking is just where they get their information. I mean by all accounts this Bishop character is all over the place, practically lives on his plane. How the hell did they know when he’d be home?

“Maybe there’s a third party…world class hacker type. They’ve got world-class everything else.” Holcomb said.

“Yeah, and maybe there’s a heavy-duty planner who’s orchestrating it all.”

“Oh no, sir. Please. Not Ross again. We’ve beat that into the ground.”

“Yeah we have. But have you ever really been satisfied with any of our interactions with him.”

“Well he was a high level spook. These guys are not exactly sparkling conversationalists.”

“Yeah, but it would be interesting to see if a certain Senator comes crawling out of the woodwork if we were to go visit Mr Ross.”

Holcomb took a deep breath and sighed, just as the food was put down in front of him. “Let’s at least have dinner first.” he said. 

~ 123 ~

The next morning, the news of the massive hack of one of Elmore Bishop’s offshore account was everywhere. The initial release came directly from the heavily guarded computer of Damon Reese and was signed by the infamous Sword of Damocles group. 

The night before, it was mass emailed out to more than 500 television stations coast to coast and to all the newspapers in every major city in the country. 

The Sword of Damocles Comes Down Again

The demise of major league Republican donor and wannabe kingmaker, Elmore Bishop in Beaumont Texas, should serve as a grim reminder to all those with designs on turning America into any sort of oligarchy. Furthermore, we have taken more than $14 billion of his money, so his heirs, if he has any, will be in for an unpleasant surprise.

America is the leading free democratic republic in the world today. And we are more than prepared to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

                                The Sword of Damocles

As Hollis Keene and James Holcomb waited in Houston to board their flight to Washington, they could not believe the amount of traffic at the Houston airport which was the closest to Beaumont. The town was going to be overrun with reporters looking for a scoop. They would turn the place inside out and upside down and, a few days later, they would head home empty-handed. 

“The media in this country have gone straight to hell, James. Look at them all. What a fucking circus.”

“You’ve got that right, sir.”

They got to Dulles airport four hours later and rented a car. They didn’t want to waste time going to the Washington office. 

They got down to Richmond at about noon. When they did, they called Phillip Ross’s office and were politely told that Mr Ross was taking the week off. 

So they drove to his house. They saw three cars, two of which they recognized. As they got out of their car, they heard sounds coming from the rear of the house. So they went around.

Phillip Ross and Missy Felder were sitting at a table reading newspapers. Jackson Lyall and Ross’s pregnant daughter, Marlena, were sitting at the half submerged in the pool as the mid-day sun beat down upon them.

Ross noticed the agents right away. 

He waved them over. 

“Missy, you remember Agents Keene and Holcomb.”

“Of course, come to question us about that evil bastard, Elmore Bishop, no doubt.” Missy said.

“Please, have a seat.” Ross said. The two agents sat down opposite Ross and Missy Felder. “Back in the water is my daughter Marlena and her husband, Jackson, who I’m sure you remember from one of your earlier visits to our fair city.” 

Neither Jackson nor Marlena said anything.

“So how can we help you gentlemen today?” Ross asked.

“Well you know.” Keene said. “We’re just rolling though the usual suspects list and you’re always right up there near the top.”

“So I assume you’d like to know our whereabouts over the past week. I hate to disappoint you. But Missy and I have been right here. A stay-at-home vacation, if you will. Jackson and my daughter have been working in her studio downtown, in fact, putting together a new showing of his work in Baltimore in the fall. So we are all, how do they say it in the movies, alibied up.”

“Yes, I thought you would be.” Keene said. “But we do have to go through the motions, since we haven’t been able to develop even a tiny lead back to this Sword of Damocles group.” 

“Yeah, well, as much as I am personally rejoicing in Mr. Bishop’s demise, I have a feeling that you will soon be filing this in your unsolved cases drawer. Mr Bishop was not just disliked but actually hated by every single democratic Senator and Congressmen in Washington. Even some moderate Republicans. Now, if one of those people ever got it in their mind to take him down and steal, what was it, thirteen billion from him, well I’d be happy to buy them a drink at any bar of their choosing. But alas, none of us have left the city limits in over a week. So there you have it. You can put some surveillance on us if you like. But last time all they got was a plate of cookies for their trouble. There will be no cookies this time, Agent Keene, just a big old nothing burger.”

Keene and Holcomb got to their feet. They said their goodbyes and nodded to Jackson and Marlena. They listened for their car to start.”

“I’m beginning to think you like it when they come around.” Missy said.

“I must confess, it’s a lot of fun.” Ross said.

Keene and Holcomb drove through the town for a while, thinking. After about twenty minutes, Holcomb said. “I’ll be honest with you, sir. I’m beginning to feel guilty about the taxpayer dollars we are spending chasing this man.”

But Keene said nothing. Instead, he opened his phone and called Damon Reese.

“Damon Reese.”

“Mr Reese. You’re a hard man to get hold of. This is Special Agent Hollis Keene with the FBI.”

“Okay.”

“So I’d like to meet with you. I have a few questions.” 

“Questions. What kind of questions are we talking about here?”

“I’d rather save that till we can meet.”

“Hmmm. Well, let me see. There’s a restaurant called Rudy’s Ribs.”

“I’ve been to Rudy’s.”

“OK. I was gonna go there for a late lunch. So why don’t we meet there say around three?”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“We’ll see you then.”

Keene disconnected. “Turn the car around James. We’re going to have some ribs.”

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at a round table in the far corner of Rudy’s Ribs. They had both ordered coffees, and were about halfway through when Damon Reese walked in. He was wearing his usual cargo shorts and Hawaiian shirt. He spotted the Feds right away, because they stood out like a sore thumb in their dark grey suits.

Damon caught Josie, the waitress and asked her for a coffee. She nodded, and Reese walked over to the table and sat down. 

“Damon Reese?” Keene asked

“In the flesh”, Reese responded. “Agents Keene and Holcomb, I assume. So to what do I owe the pleasure of this little tete-a-tete?”

“We’re just curious about your connection to Phillip Ross and Missy Felder.” 

“Well, I built and maintain websites for both of them. They are just two of about forty clients I have.”

“I know you’ve heard about the Sword of Damocles Group.” Keene asked

“Well sure, they’ve been raisin’ hell for a few years now.”

“Suppose I told you I suspected that Phillip Ross was the mastermind of that group.”

Reese smiled and then chuckled. “Wow. You really believe that!”

“Well, you do work for him and he’s been very secretive about his work.”

“And that makes him some fucking domestic terrorist? You guys are way out to lunch. The work Mr. Ross does… I don’t know exactly what it all is, but it sure as hell doesn’t involve any of the kind of the stuff this Sword of Damocles group is pulling.”

“Have you ever worked on any of his confidential projects?”

“Yeah, of course I have. That’s exactly how I know you’re barking up the wrong tree. Most of the stuff he does is outside the country. He has no interest in hooligans like the fanatics that Damocles group took out. And he sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with the asshole billionaire who just got assassinated. I was digging around about him and he was a pretty nasty son-of-a-bitch.” Damon said.

“Why were you digging around, as you say, about Mr. Bishop.”

“I’m writing a book on the Sword of Damocles group.”

“So you’ve been in touch with them?” Hollis asked.

“No. Not yet at least. I’ve been looking around though and Mr. Ross is nowhere in my sights. Best I can figure so far is that these are rich college kids who’ve become radicalized.”

Josie showed up to take their orders. Reese spent the next hour working hard on being completely evasive. He could sense the frustration building in the agents, which made him feel pretty good inside.

The meeting ended like all the other meetings they had had with the group of suspects in Richmond. As far as they knew, they had exhausted the last possibility here.

~ 124 ~

As they were sitting in the Dulles departures lounge, Hollis Keene got a call from none other than Senator Rolland Winters.

“Senator. What can I do for you sir?”

“For me, nothing, son. But what you can do for yourself is back off this loco obsession you have with Philip Ross. I told you last time this would a) lead you nowhere and b) get you into a heap of trouble.” 

“Yes sir, you did. but with all due respect, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check on all the people on my suspect list.”

“I understand that, son. But you have driven this nail into the wood and now it’s starting to look like some kinda overkill.”

“Well, if it’s any gratification to you, sir. We are sitting in Dulles waiting to be taken back home.”

‘Well that’s good to hear. But I’ll tell you the truth son. I understand the frustration you’re feeling, but if you keep messing with people who are doing confidential work for the US government, it will not end will for you. And this is absolutely the last time I will tell you that.”

“I hear you, sir.”

Keene disconnected. Holcomb chuckled.

“What?”

“Well it’s just comforting to know that my opinion of all this is shared.”

“Well, whatever floats your boat, James. Of course, you realize we are back to zero leads.”

“Well sir, like you said one time, and it stuck in my head, we’re not dealing with your average criminal minds, despite what Mr. Reese professes to believe.”

“No, we’re not, James. I really wish we were. But it just seems to me that the only people who are benefiting from this activity are the Democrats.”

“Well, there you go. Cuts our suspect list in half.”

“There’s always that.” Keene said. But in the back of his mind, he was having a lot of trouble getting around his instincts.

~ 125 ~

Henry Feather was lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling again. He was still trying to get past the notion that he was now a hired gun and over to the other notion that he was doing something good for his country. But it was a hard leap to make. Harder than Henry believed it would be in the beginning. The people he was working with were all good souls. They were dedicated to keeping the country from turning into some kind of shithole, which he knew the Republicans would turn it into through their greed and enslavement to big business. It seemed they wanted power
for a completely different reason than the Democrats did. 

As that thought sunk in he started to feel a little better. 

Then, when Lucy entered the room and jumped on him, he forgot everything.

“Where the hell have you been, soldier?”

“Had a little something to take care of in DC.” Henry said. “You know, army stuff. Then I ran into an old buddy and we drove down to Chesapeake Bay, where he lives, and did some fishing.”

“I never knew you were a fisherman.”

“Neither did I until he lent me a rod and reel and I got on his boat. There’s something very zen-like about it. So I stayed with him and his wife for a few days and then headed back here.”

“Well, I missed you.”

“Same here, sweetie.”

“So does this mean you’re back for good?”

‘You just never can tell. On the way home I stopped off in Richmond. That town is growin’ like a weed. I talked to a developer there and I think I’m gonna invest in some real estate down that way. So that’ll take me down there every now and then.” 

Henry hated lying to Lucy about what he was actually doing down in Richmond, but he was also a bit proud of himself that he was able to spin that yarn so easily.

“You’re not thinking about moving down there?” Lucy asked.

“No, no, nothing like that. I like living here, keeping the overhead low for the time being.”

“Well, that’s good because I kinda like havin’ you around.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Henry then rolled over and kissed Lucy and for the rest of the afternoon they just lay on his bed fooling around and talking about nothing in particular. But underneath it all, Henry was waiting for the next call from Phillip Ross.

~ 126 ~

Phillip Ross was sitting on a bench at the Capitol Reflecting Pool, surrounded by tourists. After a few minutes, Senator Winters came walking up. Ross got to his feet, and the two men began to walk around the pool.

“Well, we really fucked’em in the ear this time, Phil. The level of panic is palpable.” Winters said.

“Well, that’s good to hear, Senator. We broke in a new shooter for this project and it couldn’t have worked out better.”

“I hear tell he got them both with a single shot.” Winters said. “That’s some shootin’.”

“Sometimes you catch a break like that. Doesn’t happen often, but when it does, we’re always happy about it.”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I think it’s gonna be some time before they find a new Daddy Warbucks. But there’s always something goin’ on with those clowns.”

“Anything specific?”

“Not just yet. But there a bit of a rumour floating around’ around. I’ll keep you posted. How are things at your end?”

“Lots of business, it’s a really entrepreneurial world, Rolland. Speakin’ of which we uh, investigated the residences of your turncoats. Didn’t come up with anything we could use though.”

“Let’s just let that roll on for a bit longer…see if this last event has any effect on them, you know, bringing them back into the fold, so to speak. The Republicans are really spooked. Maybe some of that spilled over.”

“It’s your call, Senator.”

“Yeah, well. Things are a lot safer at the moment thanks to you. Trouble is the whole situation can turn on a fuckin’ dime.”

“Well, our team is pretty solid. By the way, Missy and I are gonna get married soon. Would love to have you and the Missus attend. I could use a best man.” 

“Just say when, Phil. And by the way, the fee’s been deposited in your offshore account. And thank you and your group for their service.”

“I’ll let them know, sir.” Ross said.

The two men shook hands warmly. 

“Well, you have a good day, Rolland.”

“You too, Phil. Talk soon.” And he headed back toward the limo that was waiting for him nearby.

They were on the far side of the pool. But it was a beautiful day, so Ross decided to keep walking. As he walked, he thought a lot about how familiar he was with everything around him. But he also realized he didn’t miss it one bit.”

~ 127 ~

Tuttle unloaded the AX150 into the back room vault at his range. 

Tuttle was, and had been, since the beginning of his role in Phillip Ross’s underground organization, a very cautious man. And it was this caution, along with the cleverness and sanity of all the other players, that had kept and, hopefully, would continue to keep the FBI at arm’s length.

Later that afternoon, he decided it was time to check up on Henry. He had been home for close to a week and Tuttle was interested in his mental state.

Henry was sitting on his back deck reading, when his group phone rang.

“Henry, it’s Tuttle.”

“Hi Tuttle. How are things down your way?”

“Just fine. The FBI showed up again, banged their heads against a couple of walls and left. But Damon got a free lunch out of it.”

Henry laughed.

“And how are things with you, son?” Tuttle asked.

“I’m OK. A lot of stuff faded pretty quickly. Helps to be back home, you know. There’s not another project shaping up is there?”

“No, this is just a courtesy call to see how you’re doin’. You sound just fine. Are you sleeping well?”

Yes sir, I am. I think about things from time to time. I’m also thinkin’ about buying a rifle. Gotta keep up my skills, you know.”

“You head down here and we’ll get you taken care of. Employee discount and all.”

Henry laughed. “Yeah, I just might do that.”

“Well, you sound good, so I’m happy about that.” 

Okay, thanks for checkin’ up on me. Any word on what’s goin’ on in DC?”

“Not much at all. The Republicans got hit hard and they’ll all nosin’ around for another mega-donor. But they’re gonna have a helluva time finding one, at least for the foreseeable future, and that was a big part of the plan.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Kinda justifies things in my mind.”

“I thought it would. You take care, Henry, and get your ass down here when you’re ready to buy that long gun.”

“Will do, sir.”

With that, Henry disconnected and took a deep breath. He was gonna be alright, he told himself, and for the first time since he had blown Bishop and Mason away, he actually believed it.