Capital Crimes

11

AS THE MEMORIAL SERVICE for Freddie Wallace proceeded, Ted drove the RV across one of the Potomac bridges into Virginia. He found the office building in downtown Arlington, then drove around the area for a couple of minutes before he found a legal parking spot two blocks from the building. He slipped into the rear of the RV, pulling a curtain behind him to prevent being seen through the windshield, and got into a necktie and jacket.

He checked the device once more-every connection, every component, especially the squat switch-and found it in good order. He removed his aeronautical charts and books from their container-a salesman’s catalogue case- carefully slipped the device inside, and snapped it shut. Then he left the RV and walked briskly back toward the building, scanning the street for police cars, security guards, or anyone else who might take note of him.

He reached the office building and walked down the drive past the automated gate and into the parking garage. He kept up his pace as he searched for the car-a black Mercedes S600, with a vanity plate reading right. He found it closer to the elevators than he would have liked, but of course, Van Vandervelt would have a prime parking spot. Right Radio took up two floors of the building, spewing venom from a dozen shock jocks twenty-four hours a day, and Van Vandervelt was their star- the most popular right-wing talk-show host in the country.

Ted heard a car coming, and he devoted half a minute to inspecting the building directory beside the elevator until the car had left the garage. When all was quiet again, he walked quickly to the driver’s side of the Mercedes and checked the door lock. The button was up, the car unlocked, but Ted knew that, in the Mercedes, the alarm would go off at a predetermined interval after the door had opened, unless the key was inserted into the ignition lock. He reckoned he had at least a minute. He set down the catalogue case, unsnapped it, and had one more look around the garage. Still quiet.

He opened the car door and dropped to one knee. Carefully, he slid the device, which was no more than two inches thick at any point, under the seat and pushed it well out of sight of the driver. Then he pulled off the tape that held down the squat switch, closed the door, picked up the catalogue case, and walked quickly toward the exit. He was nearly out of the garage before the car alarm went off, but it was unlikely that anyone would report it, since people had grown so accustomed to car alarms going off randomly in big cities.

The device consisted of twelve ounces of his own homemade plastic explosive and nearly a quart of gasoline in a flat, plastic bottle, along with the requisite electronics, all mounted on a quarter-inch steel plate that would have the effect of directing the force of the explosion upward.

Ted reached the sidewalk and turned back toward the parked RV. From half a block away, he could see a policeman trying to look through a curtained window into the vehicle. He continued straight past the RV, while reaching into his pocket for the little remote control that he always carried with him when leaving the vehicle. It was good for up to a mile, and the entry of the code into its keypad would set off an explosion that would reduce the big RV to ashes in a matter of minutes. He turned left at the next corner and, without looking back, walked out of sight of the RV.

He was not particularly concerned that the policeman was interested in the interior of his rolling home; people were always trying to look inside, to see how it was furnished. He went into a little news shop, bought a Washington Post and sat down on a bench outside to read it. After ten minutes he folded the newspaper, tucked it under an arm, picked up the catalogue case, and walked back the way he had come.

The cop was nowhere in sight, and Ted got into the RV, started the engine, and drove away, switching on the radio, which was already tuned to Right Radio.

“Well, my friends,” Van Vandervelt was saying, “thus ends another two hours of deep-frying liberals in their own juices, of telling the truth for all America to hear. I thank you for having the good taste and judgment to tune in today, and I look forward to having you back tomorrow, when I will puncture the myths surrounding Social Security and tell you how Franklin D. Roosevelt nearly wrecked the country when it was recovering on its own from the Great Depression. See you then. Isn’t it great to be RIGHT?”

Ted switched the radio back to FM and National Public Radio. He stopped for gas, took off his jacket and tie, then headed for the beltway and points north.

VAN VANDERVELT swept his notes off the console into a trash can, got into his jacket, which had been made entirely by one man in Naples, Italy, who made only ten suits a year, two of them for Vandervelt, then he walked out of the studio and back to his office. His secretary followed him inside and closed the door behind him.

She was a tall, leggy girl with high breasts and full lips. “Just a few phone messages,” she said.

“Fuck ”em,“ he said. ”Come here.“

She walked over to him and put her arms around his neck. “Anything special?” she asked, kissing him and letting her tongue play around his lips.

“Just your specialty,” he said. “I’ve got a tee time in an hour.”

She pushed him backward into a chair, dropped to her knees, unzipped his fly, and performed her specialty.

In less than two minutes, he was begging for mercy.

Thus refreshed, Van Vandervelt took the elevator down to the garage, got into his car, and turned down the street toward his golf game. He drove out to Burning Tree and parked the car in the lot near the locker room entrance to the clubhouse. He got out of the car, unknowingly releasing the squat switch, which his own weight had compressed, and before he could close the car door, the Mercedes became a huge fireball. The combination of the plastic explosive and the gasoline, plus what was in the car’s tank, propelled the flaming body of the shock jock nearly thirty yards, where he landed, already dead, just outside the locker room door.

People ran toward the car from all directions.

AS THE PRESIDENTIAL limousine returned from the memorial service and pulled to a halt under the portico of the West Wing, one of the phones in the armrest rang. Will picked it up. “Yes?” He listened for a moment. “When? Thank you.” He replaced the handset.

“You look odd,” Kate said. “What’s happened?”

“Somebody put a bomb in the car of Van Vandervelt, the radio guy.”

“Did it go off?”

“Yes, and he was killed instantly.”

She looked at him closely. “You think this is connected to Freddie’s death?”

“I don’t know, but you have to wonder.”

TED PARKED the RV in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant off I-95, then he pulled the curtain and went into the rear of the vehicle. He switched on the laptop, aligned the satellite dish, and went to the website. He made a change or two to the content, then switched off the computer, locked the RV, and went inside for a bacon cheeseburger, his favorite.