Sigma Division

Chapter 28

The Opa-locka Executive Airport wasn’t exactly a hive of activity and that’s why Spicer and his two accomplices were here. The sun was going down over the runway and the three of them were leaning against the Audi as they waited. Spicer felt the weight of his gun under his shirt and it offered a small measure of comfort.

They were silent for a long time and then David Weller spoke.

“Somethin’ I don’t get. In this day and age, how could someone go about stealing an election?”

Esther shrugged. “It’s all done with computers nowadays.”

“And we all know computers can’t be hacked, now do we?” Spicer said with a grin. “You put in a few extra votes at each poll. You buy votes from old people who weren’t planning on going. You take the identity of dead people. There’s a million ways to do it.”

“No way, Spicer. Ford is gonna win because he’s the better man.”

“You still think that?”

“No, but 100 million voters do.” She was coming around to his point of view. The evidence was becoming overwhelming. “They’ve been bombarded with campaign ads for months. He’s hired the best people. Hell, the guy who directs the ads is a multi-Oscar winner from Hollywood. They doubled their TV time in the last few weeks.”

“They know how to sell their shit,” Weller added.

Spicer pushed off from the car and walked away, lost in thought. The gears were turning, everything was falling into place.

“Son of a bitch.”

“What?”

“That’s it! That’s how they did it. Houseman financed the bastard’s campaign. He took government money and leaked it to Ford. The money’s already laundered since Sigma isn’t supposed to exist. All Houseman has to do is sign the checks.”

That was the best argument Esther had heard. She couldn’t keep from believing the theory now. She had faith in her party but it wouldn’t mean anything if the election was fraudulent.

“Excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

Spicer gave her his burner phone and she walked away as she dialed.

“That fucker’s not gonna be my Commander in Chief, that’s for goddamn sure.”

As a loud roar broke the silence, they all looked up. It was the undeniable sound of a Cessna Citation III maneuvering into final approach. They couldn’t see him but they knew was Ned in the cockpit since he had called Spicer to let him know of his plan before he started flying below the radar.

Now they were four.

Spicer was behind the wheel next to Esther while Weller and Ned were in the back. They were parked across the street from the Westin Diplomat in Hollywood. It was about 20 miles north of Miami but the resort was becoming a major attraction for conventions and corporate events.

Rubbing the gun under his shirt, Spicer said, “Your phone call go okay, Esther?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll have people looking for our bodies?”

This time she only nodded in silence.

Ned was still confused. “Why do we have to go in there anyway? I just flew a thousand miles to get away from those assholes.”

“We’re going to change history.”

They left the car and crossed the busy A1A to get to the hotel. Technically, the Common Sense Alliance had only rented a few rooms and the Grand Ballroom but in reality the entire place was involved in the election party. In the lobby there was a funnel effect as waves of supporters wanted to go in but they had to go through the Secret Service checkpoint.

Spicer grew more nervous as they approached the federal agents. They had metal detector wands and they were also checking bags and IDs.

“Come on,” a bored Secret Service agent said with a booming voice. “Move along please!”

Once it was their turn, Esther produced her party identification card. “I’m in charge of the domestic affairs committee. These guys are with me.”

“Fine, but you still all have to be checked out.”

Esther, Ned, and David went through. And then it was Spicer’s turn.

The USSS agent swept the detector along his legs and arms. Spicer struggled to keep his breathing uneventful. His fingers became restless, trembling. If the agent noticed it he would surely be taken to an adjoining room to be questioned. The detector went down his back, then along his chest.

It didn’t beep.

“Okay, you’re fine. Good evening.”

Spicer nodded a curt thanks but he didn’t join the others several feet away. Instead he headed to the reception desk for an instrumental part of the plan.

He was so focused that he didn’t notice who was standing at the mouth of the lobby bar. Dr. Michaels was right there, scanning the crowd. A devilish smirk tipped his mouth when he spotted the former hitman.

He snapped his fingers to catch the attention of two nearby Secret Service agents, calling them over.

Spicer offered his most sincere smile to the lady behind the reception desk. Social engineering wasn’t his forte but he needed to pry information out of her for the most sensitive part of the operation.

“I’m delivering some papers for Mr. Ford and…”

Before he could finish, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Two humorless men in suits were coming his way — obviously federal agents. More troubling was Michaels who was standing beyond them, observing the scene.

“Sir?” the reception woman asked.

Spicer promptly forgot about her. The plan had changed. He took off running and went into a cluster of half-drunk political activists. Creating confusion was his best hope to stay alive.