Closure (Jack Randall) (26 page)

The report currently being read was from the officers assigned to the escort duty. The top one was from the man who was shot. It was actually a transcript of the interview and he proclaimed to admire the shooter, even voicing, off the record, his support and admiration for the man. He had finally been allowed to share his views on Mr. Ping and he hadn’t held back. Was he an accomplice? No, just close to retirement and able to speak his mind. An accomplice wouldn’t have taken a bullet, would he? It was something to consider though.

The fax machine buzzed and spit out paper. A look around the cabin and it was obvious the noise wasn’t going to wake anyone. After a few sheets it was done and the papers were collected.

The Department of Defense sniper list. It showed past and current snipers from all branches of the service. The legend at the bottom explained the various marks next to each name. Some were deployed overseas, some on ships at sea, some “cleared by location” meaning they were on a mission somewhere and that was all you were getting. Others were in jail. Some were in hospitals. Others wounded and ruled out due to injury. A VA report with the list showed who was sick and who was not. Marriage status. Current job. Education level. Race, color, residency. All this and more.

One of these men could be their shooter. He was out there doing something everyone in law enforcement had thought about at least once in their career. That was evident by all his fans. Even the press had jumped on the bandwagon. More and more calls were being aired proclaiming their support for the man. He was becoming an American hero as a growing number of admirers voiced their opinion. He was gaining followers everyday.

Including this agent. The papers were quickly hidden in a personal carry-on bag. The lights stayed off for the remainder of the flight.

The state of Montana holds 3,620 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 2,425 are repeat offenders.

—TWENTY-SIX—

S
am’s internal alarm jerked him awake. He quickly looked around for the alarm clock. 0500. He flopped back down on the bed with a sigh of relief. He silently cursed himself for sleeping like that. His planned on twenty minute combat nap had turned into six hours of sleep. He woke up in the same position he had lain down in. His body was telling him something. Fortunately, his brain still ran the show, and woke him up at his usual hour. He lay listening to the sounds of the hotel. Some traffic could faintly be heard, an engine started in the parking lot; nothing that required his attention. He reached under the pillow to check on the Browning, just in case. Its cool steel and rubber grip were reassuring.

He sat up and was met with his reflection in the mirror. He looked himself over for a few seconds before voicing an opinion.

“You look like shit, Sam.”

He nodded to himself in agreement, and then shook his head in disgust. There was work to do and what was he doing? Talking to himself in the mirror. He pushed himself up and strode to the bathroom, shedding clothes on the way. The hot and then cold shower cleared his head and got his muscles moving. He then managed to brush his teeth while only retching once on the toothpaste. For some reason chemo and toothpaste did not go together. He toweled off and then emptied his bags from the trip yesterday onto the bed. The TV remote was present, so he thumbed the set on and chose a local channel. The usual, crime, weather, sports, more crime. He tuned it out as he dressed. Today he would make his own news.

The large duffel bag he had packed at the storage unit was ready. He contemplated his new look in the mirror. The coveralls looked okay over the casual clothes. He took them off and packed them as well. He did a mental check as he gazed around the room. Once he left, he wouldn’t be coming back. It was no time to forget anything.

Finally satisfied, he placed the bag next to the door before returning to the bathroom and wiping down every surface. He worked his way out of the bathroom and into the main room, repeating the process as he went. When the room was as clean as he could make it, he threw the towel in the bag and left. He saw no one in the hallway or in the parking lot. Sunday morning at 5 a.m. was not a high traffic time. He quickly opened the Cadillac and sniffed for gas fumes. None. The cap on the new can was tight. He slipped the car in gear and drove to the Renaissance. As he passed the large birdbath-like fountain and approached the gate, he could see the guard slumped in the kiosk with the doors and windows shut. He looked up as Sam approached, but when Sam angled to the resident’s gate, he returned to the book he was reading. Sam quickly rolled the window down and punched the numbers in. He held his breath until the gate opened with a jerk. With a final glance at the guard, he drove through and headed toward the house he had seen the day before. The similar design of the homes confused Sam at first, but he soon got his bearings as he continued down the familiar streets in the dark. An early morning dog walker was out on the cart path around the golf course, but that was the only activity he saw. He drove past the house for a few blocks, and without seeing anyone, turned around and headed back. He began thumbing the garage door opener as soon as the house appeared, and was rewarded when it began to open from a distance. He cussed under his breath as the light shone brightly, revealing the empty garage. He should have pulled the bulb, but he really hadn’t had the time. The car was quickly pulled in and the button pushed to shut the door. The door was windowless, but Sam knew some light would escape around the cracks and seams, and that’s all an observant neighbor needed to inspire a phone call. Sam jumped up on the hood and pulled the cover off the opener. The bulb was quickly broken using the remote and Sam received a shower of glass for his trouble. He jumped clear of the hood and glass. Standing on the passenger side, he shook the glass off as best he could. A cut would leave blood, and that was something he had no intention of leaving behind. Sam then walked to the garage door and slid the lock over. If someone hit the button, the door would try to open, but stop when the resistance was noted. The noise would warn him. With that done he listened for a moment before moving to the car and extracting his bag. He donned the coveralls before entering the house and searching every room. Sam doubted he’d find anyone, but he hadn’t gotten this far by being sloppy. Satisfied he was alone, he returned to the bag and unloaded the contents onto the floor. After a quick sort, he moved to the fireplace. The builder or realtor had actually placed some logs in it in case prospective buyers didn’t know what it was. He rearranged them and added some newspaper. The flue was opened and Sam eyeballed the arrangement carefully before returning to the living area. He only had a few minutes left before the sun came up and he needed to be ready before that. The dowels were arranged into the tripod with the help of the duct tape and other items were placed in position. Sam took a leak in the bathroom sink and dead-bolted the front door before settling in on the floor. He was soon treated to a Florida sunrise. The traffic noise from nearby I-75 could be heard in the distance. He was still enjoying the sunrise when some movement caught his eye. A golf ball bounced to a halt on the fairway in front of him.

It was time to work.

•      •      •

Sydney hadn’t bothered going home. The flight was long and uneventful. At least Jack kept his promise, and everyone slept as best they could on the plane. They had gone their separate ways at Andrews, and while most had family at home, Sydney had made the shorter drive to the office where she fell on the couch in the dungeon for some sleep. She now lay rubbing the crick in her neck acquired from sleeping in a chair at forty thousand feet. The leather couch was so comfortable it sucked her in and the old army poncho liner she had liberated a few years back was the perfect blanket. She vowed not to get up until she was forced to.

Eventually, the lack of sunlight and her own curiosity was enough for her to snake an arm out and check her watch. 10:10. She was amazed her phone hadn’t rung yet. Kicking off the liner, she swung her feet to the cold floor and was running a hand through her Medusa-like tangle of hair when her cell phone rang.

“Damn it.” She scowled at the offending device. It rang back at her. She stood and pranced across the cold floor in her socks and snatched it up.

“Lewis.”

“Morning, Syd,” Jack answered. “Hope you got some sleep. I’m calling everyone in at noon. Wanted to make sure you were up.”

“I am now.” She let a little irritation get through.

“Sorry, get some caffeine in you and get rolling. I’ve already talked with the Director and he wants updates by this afternoon. How long till you can be in?”

“I’m already in.”

“That’s my girl. You sleep in the office last night?”

“Yes.” She stood on one foot to escape the cold floor.

“Well then grab a shower and come up to my office. I’ll get us some breakfast. Half hour?”

“Hour.” Her tone left no room for argument.

“Deal.” He laughed and hung up.

Sydney cradled the receiver and pranced back to the couch. How Jack could operate on such little sleep was beyond her. She had asked him about it once. He had simply shrugged and said “training,” whatever that meant. He had mentioned staying up for days at a time while in the army. He also had the ability to fall sleep within a few seconds. She had watched him settle in, take one deep breath and be out, then wake up later like nothing happened. She had tried it on numerous occasions with no luck. Sometimes he really irritated her.

She looked around the room for her gym bag. She needed to restock her clothing supply at work. It was getting low. She pulled out a set of shorts and a T-shirt. A smell check pronounced them okay for one more use. She only knew one way to wake up and beat the jet lag. A few miles, followed by a long shower. She might be late, but she knew she would get more done if she showed up ready. Jack would just have to forgive her. She found her keys in the pile on the desk. The hair got a few looks on her way to the gym.

•      •      •

Jack had them in the large conference room with all the reports, photos, and other information spread out on the tables. Everyone looked a little ragged, but all were showered and reasonably awake. Larry had made the decision to keep the beard he had started going, despite a few gray hairs. Sydney had managed to find some decent, if somewhat casual clothes in her dungeon closet. Otherwise, they were all back to normal.

“Okay, everyone please listen up.” Jack rose and addressed the room. Several analysts and people from Behavioral Science had joined them. “I’ve had a conversation with the Director this morning. He’s not happy, and is receiving a lot of heat from the Attorney General on this case, and I can’t say I blame him. Example.” Jack held up several newspapers one by one. All had large headlines addressing the sniper shooting. “Personally, I have my own views of the press when it comes to investigations, but after a lot of thought I’ve decided to make a few changes. We will no longer be going into the field and chasing every shooting personally. The field offices will handle all forensics and report to us. The focus of the people in this room will be on forecasting when and where his next target will be. Trips will be made if deemed necessary by myself or the Director. I want you to get in this guy’s head and give me some ideas on where he’s going. So, let’s start from the top.” Jack took off his coat and draped it on the chair before turning to the wall and retracting the projection screen up into its holder, revealing a large dry-erase board. He picked up a marker and turned to the room.

“Well?”

The room was silent until a voice from the back of the room spoke quietly. They all turned to see Dr. Wong stand. A small man and soft-spoken, he had been with the FBI for many years and led one of the behavioral science teams.

“I think we need to look at the
why
before you can project where he, or they, is going next. Just what was it that set this all in motion?” he offered.

“Good!” Jack turned and wrote “Why” in big letters on the board. “Keep going.”

“I’m proceeding on the assumption that this is one man. He’s very angry about something. We think he’s been involved in some way with the justice system and feels he was not treated fairly. By the wording of the letter, his goal is to force the government to change the laws and adopt a harsher, less criminal-friendly system. He also wishes the public to take a stance against crime. His methods suggest he means to do this by way of high profile murders of very public people, who in his eyes have gotten away with serious crimes in the past, or in the lawyer’s case, assisted in those cases. But I caution you to not see him merely as a vigilante. As far as we know, to this point the shootings have not been personal in nature. The victims have no connection to one another, do they? No, he is approaching this in a very deliberate manner. The preparations to carry these shootings out have been made well in advance. This has been given much thought by a very capable mind. He has resources, and the ability to travel without suspicion. He also has skills. Skills that I’ve learned from speaking with Mr. Randall are superior in nature. That is one avenue of approach I suggest you concentrate on. The other would be to identify his potential victims. Who is going to give him the most press coverage and draw attention to his cause? That is the question you need to ask yourself today.”