Six Seconds

79

Cold Butte, Montana

Sirens yelped and emergency lights wigwagged as the papal motorcade made its way through Cold Butte. Cardiac time again.

Walker was in the SUV among the lead vehicles preceding the papal car. Along the route he scanned the faces of people at the barricades, relieved the pope was not walking at the rope but waving from the moving popemobile.

It was safer.

After Seattle, security had been heightened.

The entire route had been swept seven times. K-9 teams had conducted building probes. Bridges, vantage points and streets were patrolled by deputies from five counties. Officers from the Great Falls, Lewistown and Billings police departments and the Montana Highway Patrol supported federal agents.

All were advised “to check everything again and jump on anything out of place! Anything!”

Four helicopters circled above. Three were security; one was the press pool for aerial news pictures.

Sharpshooters and spotters with binoculars were positioned on all rooftops overlooking the procession. Walker was grateful no building was taller than three stories. Skyscrapers were an assassin’s dream.

Huge banners, along with U.S. and papal flags of all sizes, waved and rippled from the street sides. Cameras were ever-present. People smiled, called out to the pope. Some were enraptured, some prayed while news crews captured it all.

As the parade neared the school, Walker’s cell phone vibrated against his chest.

“Blake, it’s Jackson.” The agent calling was out of breath. “We just had a breach on the street at the school. No weapons of any sort.”

“What was it?”

“Lone, hysterical woman jumped the barricade, ran to the school as the choir kids arrived. She was scream ing gibberish about an abducted kid. We grabbed her. According to a nurse at the school, our woman was here a few days earlier making verbal threats against the pope.”

“You got it under control?”

“Yes, but the stranger thing is, the woman is asking for you. By name.”

“Me? How does she know me? You get an ID?”

“Margaret Conlin, early thirties, from Blue Rose Creek, California.”

Blue Rose Creek, California.

Something about it was familiar but Walker could not put his finger on it.

“She say why she’s asking for me?”

“Don’t know, she’s a bit incoherent.”

“Hold her in the command center truck. I’ll take care of it after we get through this.”