Shadow of Betrayal

CHAPTER 40

They left the car on main street, then walked into the residential neighborhood northeast of the business district. It was already ten minutes after nine, the checkpoint having eaten up more time than they could afford.

“You going to tell us that plan yet?” Nate asked.

“Not yet,” Quinn said.

“You don’t have a plan, do you?”

Before he could reply, Orlando said, “Not a good one.”

Quinn frowned at her, knowing she had a pretty good idea of what he had in mind. “I’m open to other suggestions,” he said.

“Yeah. I know.”

“You guys are giving me a lot of confidence right now,” Nate said.

“It’ll be fine,” Quinn said.

The closer they got to the school, the more cars they found parked on the street. There were a lot of people, too. Most walking up the hill in the same direction they were. The curious out to see political royalty, something that had never occurred in this part of the country. Quinn, Orlando, and Nate blended in, becoming just three more members of the crowd.

The school was located just off Ridgeway Street on Owens Avenue. It backed against a small wilderness area that separated it from the Morro Bay Golf Course. Quinn wished they had time to sneak in from the rear, but he knew they didn’t. In less than fifteen minutes, the limos would begin to arrive. And once that happened, there’d be carnage.

As far as two blocks away, people were taking up positions along the street, trying to get the best view they could. Sheriffs deputies and policemen were spread out along the road, keeping people on the sidewalk as much as possible.

Quinn took the lead, weaving through the crowd to get them as close as possible to the school. They made it to within thirty yards before the growing crowd forced them to stop.

They could see the school building now. It was older, low-slung, and very 1960s. It had a parking lot in front that was empty with the exception of two black Suburbans. Secret Service, no doubt. The crowd had been allowed to within ten feet of the lot’s entrance, but had been stopped from going any farther by several police officers.

“I count at least half a dozen Feds in the lot,” Orlando whispered in Quinn’s ear.

He nodded, then looked at his watch. “Goddammit,” he said. Eight minutes until the scheduled arrival.

Reluctantly he pulled his backpack off his shoulders and handed it to Nate.

“What are you doing?” Nate asked.

“Not now,” Quinn said.

“You’ll need me,” Orlando said. “At least to get started.”

Quinn nodded.

“Is there something I should know about?” Nate asked.

Quinn pulled him close so he could whisper in his ear. “Stay here. If we’re not successful, do what you can to help with the aftermath. Otherwise we’ll contact you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Where do you think we’re going?” Quinn asked. “To stop this.”

“And you don’t need me?”

“At the moment, no. There’s just no sense in all three of us going down.”

Nate’s brow furrowed, but he only said, “Okay. We’ll meet up after.” Quinn hoped Nate was right.

“We’re all set,” Tucker said into his phone. He was standing in the lobby with a few of the other attendants and the handful of children who had been selected to greet the targets out front when they arrived. The rest of the children, and, most important, the delivery devices, had been moved into the auditorium to await the arrival of the guests.

“The trigger?” Mr. Rose asked.

Tucker glanced at Petersen. He was a few feet away with Iris in his arms. “In place, ready to go.”

“Good.”

Tucker wasn’t sure where Mr. Rose was. After the helicopters landed, the old man had taken one of the waiting vehicles for himself and disappeared, leaving the execution of the plan in Tucker’s hands.

“What about the schedule?” Mr. Rose said.

“We’ve been told everything is running on time.”

At that moment, Ms. Stanton entered the lobby from the auditorium, looking both nervous and excited. Tucker smiled at her and gave her a nod. She smiled back and started walking toward him.

Into the phone he said, “The transfers?”

“Once the job is complete, you will get the rest of your money. Just like we discussed.”

“Fine,” Tucker said. “Gotta go. We’re getting close.”

“Don’t disappoint me,” Mr. Rose said.

Tucker disconnected the call just as Ms. Stanton reached him.

“I’m told there might be a few minutes’ delay at most,” she said.

“I would have expected more,” Tucker said, his tone light. “These things never come off on time.”

She put her hand near her mouth like she was about to tell him a secret. “I think it helps that we’re one of the first things on their agenda for today.”

“I think you’re probably right.”

They both laughed at the non-joke.

“So is Iris ready?” Ms. Stanton asked as she looked over at the girl.

“She’ll be plenty ready when they arrive.”

“Of course she will be.” Another smile, then, “I need to check on the others. So just hold your position until you’re given the word to go outside.”

“It’s the moment we’ve been waiting for,” Tucker assured her.

The crowd parted with reluctance as Quinn and Orlando elbowed their way to the front. When there was only one row between them and the loose line of cops holding everyone back, Quinn leaned down and whispered in Orlando’s ear, “Five seconds. That’s all I’ll need.”

She turned and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you,” she said.

Quinn moved into position, going to the right against the stone half-wall that lined the parking lot. Once he was there, he looked back and gave Orlando a quick nod.

She waited a moment, then turned sideways and began trying to squeeze around the woman who was in front of her.

“Hey, watch it,” the lady said. “I’ve been waiting here for hours, so back off.”

Orlando ignored her, and continued to push until she’d worked her way to the front.

“I said I was here first,” the woman said. “Move back.”

“You move back,” Orlando said.

“Officer,” the woman said, her voice rising. “She pushed me out of my place.”

The officer nearest them looked over. “There’s plenty of room for everyone, ma’am,” he said.

“Yeah,” Orlando said. “So just shut up and chill.”

“She’s been there all morning,” a man who was probably the woman’s husband or boyfriend said. “Now move back.”

“I’m here now, so I think I’ll stay. Thanks.”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” the woman said. She was almost yelling now. “But that’s my spot and you’re going to move.”

“Everyone calm down, all right?” the officer said.

“I’m not going anywhere, bitch,” Orlando said.

The woman gaped at her.

“You do not call my wife ‘bitch.’” Husband, then. Not boyfriend. He moved in close, doing the male intimidation thing.

“What are you going to do? Hit me?” Orlando said, then laughed.

“Hey,” the officer said. “Everyone, calm down.”

But the crowd in the immediate area was already craning their necks to see what was going on, then repeating what they’d heard to the others around them.

“I’m calm,” Orlando said. “Tell her to calm the hell down.”

“Officer, I haven’t done anything wrong. This … woman tried to—”

“I didn’t try to do anything.”

Quinn saw what he’d been waiting for. The officers on either side of the one who was trying unsuccessfully to control the situation had started to look over to see what was going on.

“Lady, you’d better leave before something bad happens,” the husband said.

“Did you hear that?” Orlando said. “He threatened me. Hey, did you hear that? I can press charges for that, you know.”

That did it. All three of them began yelling over the top of one another.

Quinn watched the cop nearest him, the last before the wall. He was looking toward Orlando and the others, leaning ever so slightly in their direction. Then, as the yelling became even more intense, he turned to the people in front of him and said, “Stay here.”

The moment he stepped away to help calm the crowd, Quinn moved to the front.

“He told us to stay here,” someone said.

“I’m with the press,” Quinn said, knowing that would stop them for a few moments.

He made it all the way to the end of the half-wall, and was just turning into the parking lot entrance when a voice shouted behind him, “Hey! Stop!”

He raised his hands in the air, but he kept going.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

But Quinn knew that wasn’t true. Just beyond him several kids had been moved out of one of the buildings onto the sidewalk at the other side of the parking lot. Any shot would have had a very good chance of hitting them.

Not only the kids, though. There were a dozen Secret Service agents also in the line of fire. Most of them were now drawing their own weapons and heading in Quinn’s direction.

“Sir, you need to stop right where you are.” This time it was one of the agents who spoke.

“It’s time,” Ms. Stanton said.

Tucker took a deep breath, then removed the electronic activator from his pocket. It had been built into the handset of his cell phone so it would pass unnoticed.

“You’re sure we’re far enough away?” Petersen asked, glancing back toward the auditorium where the explosive devices were waiting.

“Plenty,” Tucker said.

Petersen turned Iris so that her leg was accessible.

“Naaaa,” Iris said, actually scowling at Tucker.

“Just hold still,” he told her.

“Naaaa.”

He touched the series of buttons that engaged the activator. On the display screen a simple bar graph appeared. It was yellow and hovered near the bottom of the screen, but the closer it got to the triggering device embedded in Iris’s leg, the higher the bar rose.

Iris tried to push his hand away.

“Naaaa!” she yelled.

Tucker glanced up and saw that Ms. Stanton was looking in his direction.

“Just a little tired,” he said. “After the drive and everything.”

“Maybe she should wait inside with the others,” Ms. Stanton said.

“She’ll be fine,” Tucker assured her. “I have a juice here for her. That should calm her down.”

Ms. Stanton didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push any further.

“Hold this,” Tucker said to Petersen. He handed him the device. “Just don’t touch any of the buttons.”

Petersen shifted Iris so that he was holding her with only one arm, then took the activator from Tucker. Tucker reached into his pocket and pulled out a juice packet that looked exactly like its more deadly cousins inside, only it was the real thing. He’d grabbed it for just such an emergency. He freed the straw, stuck it in the hole, then held the whole thing out to Iris.

She looked at it, at first acting like she didn’t want it.

“It’s good,” Tucker said. “Come on, take it.”

She finally grabbed ahold of it, and started sucking on the straw.

“Good girl,” he said.

He retrieved the device from Petersen, then moved it over the implant. As the bar on the display filled the screen, he pressed the # and the 7 keys at the same time. The bar graph was replaced by a circle that began turning white in a slow wave, following an invisible second hand as it moved around the dial.

“Hold her still,” he said.

When the advancing white filled three-quarters of the circle, the words Configuration Confirmed flashed twice before disappearing, and the edge of white accelerated. In less than two seconds the circle was complete, and the words Activation Confirmed flashed above it.

“Mr. Lee. Mr. Jones. Are you coming?” It was Ms. Stanton again.

She was near the door, holding it open so the last of the greeters could head outside.

“Coming now,” Tucker said.

He slipped the phone into his pocket. As soon as he could, he’d dump it. He didn’t need it anymore. The triggering implant inside Iris was now active. Less than a minute after the girl got within twenty-five feet of the binary explosives, they would detonate.

“Sorry about that,” he said to Ms. Stanton as he stepped outside. “She’s fine now. Just needed a little juice.”

He smiled at her, but the look she gave back was less than approving.

God, he couldn’t wait to get away from all these kids.

The parking lot where they’d arrived in the bus was now devoid of all but a couple of government vehicles. But they wouldn’t be a concern. During the upcoming confusion, Tucker would simply be able to run out the gates like he was afraid for his life, then walk the few blocks to the car that had been staged for his escape. Less than thirty minutes after the spouses of the G8 leaders had been killed, Tucker and his men would be on the 101 Freeway headed south toward Los Angeles. And once in L.A., no one would ever find them.

“All those holding children please move to the center,” Ms. Stanton said.

Petersen glanced at Tucker.

“You know what to do,” Tucker whispered.

Petersen walked over to where the other child minders were gathering. His job would be to get one of the VIPs to carry Iris into the auditorium.

“The rest of you, split up so you’re in equal groups on either side.”

Tucker moved to the left and took position at the far end of the group, graciously declining offers to be closer to where the action would be.

“I’m just along for the ride,” he said. “You all did the real work.”

One of the agents walked over to the group.

“My name is Agent Dettling,” he said. “I’m in charge of the arrival. I just wanted to let you all know we’ve just received the five-minute warning. So please, no wandering around at this point. And when the cars arrive, Ms. Stanton will step out to greet the First Lady and her guests, but the rest of you should remain where you are like we discussed earlier. Now, are there any questions?”

There weren’t; most of those present were either too excited or too nervous to say anything.

“Great,” Dettling said. “Then everything should go smoothly.”

As he stepped away, the woman standing next to Tucker said something in a low voice.

“Excuse me?” Tucker said.

“What?” She sounded startled. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I was … well, I was practicing what I was going to say.”

Tucker laughed. “No problem. Completely under—”

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

Tucker whipped his head around, looking toward the voice. It had come from somewhere beyond the street.

A man dressed in dark jeans, black T-shirt, and a jacket had entered the parking lot and was walking toward where Tucker and the others were waiting, his hands raised in the air. Several Secret Service agents already had their guns drawn, and aimed at the man as they walked quickly toward him.

“Sir, you need to stop right where you are.” The voice was that of Agent Dettling, but it hardly registered to Tucker.

What caused him to freeze was the man with his hands in the air.

Jonathan Quinn.

“Fuck me,” Tucker said under his breath.

Quinn stopped twenty feet into the parking lot, his arms still raised above his head.

A quartet of Secret Service agents walked toward him. Each had a gun trained on his chest. Behind Quinn, back toward the exit to the street, he could hear at least as many police officers closing in.

Quinn focused on one of the men in front of him. “I need to talk to the agent in charge.”

“Sir, get down on your knees, then lay down on the ground,” the agent said.

“I need to talk to the agent in charge.”

“Get down on your knees, then lay on the ground. Now!”

Quinn knew they were going to rush him, but if they did, he’d lose what advantage he had.

“You need to call off the event,” he said. “There’s a bomb.”

Everyone stopped moving.

Tucker pulled out his phone and the piece of paper he’d been given when the helicopters had landed. Somewhere out in the streets surrounding the school there were two parked cars with enough explosives to get everyone’s attention. The plan was to set them off thirty seconds after the bombs in the school were detonated, helping to create even more chaos so that Tucker and his men could get away. All he had to do was call the phone number on the paper, then the first would go off a moment later, the next twenty seconds after that.

He glanced at Petersen. “Be ready,” he mouthed.

One of the agents lifted his wrist to his mouth and spoke too low for Quinn to hear.

“I’m not joking around,” Quinn said. “Call it off. There’s a bomb in the building.”

“On the ground,” the first agent said.

Quinn looked past him toward the crowd gathered on the sidewalk. It was a mix of adults and children, all staring at him, the children in curiosity and the adults in fear. All, that was, except the large man standing toward one end. The look he gave Quinn wasn’t fear. It was anger.

Hello, Leo, he thought.

And several people away from Tucker, toward the middle of the group, was one of the men Quinn had seen at Yellowhammer. He was holding Iris in his arms.

“It’s him!” Quinn said, still keeping his arm raised, but pointing in Tucker’s direction. “The bomber. He’s right there!”

The agents didn’t turn around, their training keeping them focused on what they considered to be the primary threat. But Quinn had said it loud enough to reach the crowd at the sidewalk. Several of the adults and two of the agents who had held back looked where he was pointing.

“On the ground n—”

The agent’s voice was cut off by the near-deafening boom of an explosion.