The Bin Laden Plot

54 WASHINGTON, D.C.

Lonnie Mixell stood on the wharf across the street from the Intercontinental, examining the twelve-story building, with its penthouse terrace and bar. He wore a light windbreaker, beneath which was a shoulder holster containing his SIG Sauer P226 with attached suppressor, plus a sheath containing a six-inch knife. As he prepared to step across the street, his mind went to a night a few months earlier, at a location not far away, just across the Potomac River. To the last time he saw Trish alive, with the coward Harrison holding her hostage, shielding himself with a woman.

He had waited months for this day as his wounds from his encounter with Harrison healed, lying awake at night as he imagined the various ways he might take from Harrison what his former best friend had taken from him. He even considered letting Harrison live, to spend the rest of his days with the memory of his wife dying in his arms.

But first, he needed to determine what room Harrison and Angie were in. The Intercontinental at the wharf, where the CIA booked rooms for their officers, wasn’t the kind of place that gave out that information. Any visitor or devious attempt to gain access, such as an individual posing as a food delivery guy, would be told to wait in the lobby while the resident was contacted, confirming it was okay to send him up. This wouldn’t do. He needed the element of surprise.

Mixell had a plan, of course, and he walked across the street and into the alley beside the hotel. There was a service door for personnel, which was shut, plus a loading dock entrance in the side of the building, and the metal roll-up door was also closed. He leaned against the wall not far from the service door and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, even though he didn’t smoke. He had planned ahead, stopping by a convenience store along the way.

He lit a cigarette and took a puff.

It was only a matter of time.