Takedown (26 page)

W
alter Hess had seen enough.
More
than enough. His abdomen felt like he had eaten a brick and he wanted to vomit. He got up from his seat, picked up his small
television, ripped the plug out of its socket while the pretty young newscaster was still speaking, walked out on the deck
of his small cabin boat, and with a loud scream, threw the TV into the middle of Long Island Sound. He raised his fist toward
the sunny blue sky and yelled angrily, “I did everything you told me to do! I thought you were protecting me!”

Hess fell to his knees and dropped his forehead to the hard fiberglass deck, the hot sun cooking his naked back. What had
he done wrong? What clue had he left behind that led them to him? His face was everywhere…
everywhere.
He’d been betrayed. Forsaken.

He put all his weight onto his forehead, rocking, allowing the coarse, nonskid surface of the deck to dig in… hurt. He needed
to feel the pain. In tears, he prayed, “Why did you allow my clients and neighbors to lie about me the way they did? All I
did was speak your truth to them. Even the people in my own church sold me out. The church you brought me to. Why didn’t the
pastor speak up… defend me? Where was he? Where were you? I’m your soldier. Your tool. Now they know my name, my face, my
family… and they’ll hunt me down like a dog. Why have you forsaken me this way?” he repeated over and over.

An unexpected icy breeze blew over his back and lingered, cooling the sun and causing goose bumps to rise. More discomfort,
he thought. Good. He welcomed it.
Bring it on. Why not?

“What!” He snapped his head up and swung around. “Who’s there?” he shouted, suddenly paranoid. He didn’t understand why he
thought someone was there, but he definitely did. Strange. Like a commercial jingle that wouldn’t leave, he heard words in
his head. Not just words, but sentences. And not just sentences, but dialogue.
Voices.
Was he losing his mind? Was the stress of having his name and face publicized as a terrorist causing him to crack?

“Krogan?” he heard a voice say in his mind. He recognized the voice as being familiar, even his own. But why would he be saying
that word, that name? The name of a serial killer, and more recently a name taken on by the wrestler who’d killed himself
yesterday, according to the news. That must be it. The news had just mentioned his name and his mind was regurgitating useless
information… just like one of those jingles.

“I have come to stay,” said a voice. A different voice this time, definitely not familiar. Not his own. Stronger… more dominant.
But, hey, the mind gets weird stuff stuck in it all the time.

“He’s mine.”

“No longer. You will both serve me.”

The voices were becoming confrontational… territorial… like two animals vying for a piece of meat. Like two—

“Ughh,” Hess gasped as icy cold shot through his body like voltage. He flipped onto his back and began to shake violently,
his eyes rolling back and his teeth locking down on his tongue. He grabbed the sides of his head as a thousand thoughts rushed
by like faces staring out the windows of a speeding train from two feet away. He was no longer in his boat, his natural senses
ripped away to what seemed like other times and places. His ears heard screams, and his eyes saw flames engulfing everything
from straw huts to modern
jets. He saw bare, bleeding knuckles gripping the reins of a horse as it galloped through smoke and pain. He
inhaled
pain. It had a taste that was strangely pleasurable.

Hess bolted upright. He was back in his boat… and no longer shaking. Froth and drool and blood from his bitten tongue dripped
from his chin. But before he could gather his thoughts, another wave of cold energy washed through him, the same energy, but
this time not as violent, as if he had somehow adapted to it. An image appeared before him. An image so vivid, a vision so
real, that he could not see his boat or even the deck he was sitting on. Indeed, he felt as if he were sitting on dirt, feeling
the grit between his fingers. Before him were three crucifixes. He knew the man in the middle was Jesus. There was no question.
He was at Golgotha. There was weeping and laughing. He heard mocking. Jesus lifted His head, His face swollen and bruised.
Lines of dark blood carved His face from the crown of thorns digging into His head. He yelled with a loud voice, “
Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani
.”

Hess knew the words. He understood the meaning. He also understood that he had just spoken the same words in English while
complaining to God on his boat. Jesus had had the same complaint just before He died. And after the complaint, He was resurrected
into a new life… just as now he was being resurrected into a new life. As the vision continued he heard another word he understood.

“
Shadahd,
” yelled a voice next to him. No, not next to him… his own voice. The vision faded. He felt different… new… energized.
God had given him a new gift—a new power to continue as never before. He jumped to his feet and looked toward the harbor a
few miles away. He stretched and breathed deeply, then laughed heartily. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so
loud. He was now excited to continue his mission. He quickly found his field scope and clamped it to his transom mount.

The shock of having seen his face on network news was gone.
The ensuing panic that had torn through his mind after hearing his life history lied about and misrepresented by past neighbors
and clients had miraculously subsided. Anger, fear, and hate had been replaced by a determination and strength that could
only come from one place. What more confirmation did he need that he was doing God’s holy work?

From the middle of Long Island Sound, Hess peered through his field scope. Boats were filling historic Hempstead Harbor for
the fireworks show scheduled for that evening. Senator Bruce Sweeney would be speaking in a half hour. The authorities certainly
had their hands full. Their job was virtually impossible: allow everyone to enjoy their constitutional right to celebrate
the Fourth of July while keeping an eye open for a terrorist that might be anywhere and capable of doing the unexpected.

Hess imagined every harbor to be on the same high alert, but he was surprised at the number of patrol boats and even a helicopter
overhead. He could remember how just days earlier he’d been tentative before derailing the train. Now he was fearless… in
fact, excited at the prospect. So excited he could hardly contain himself, as if he were his own newest toy.

Working quickly, he readied his scuba gear and kept it convenient for escape. He then found a baseball cap, put it on backward,
and slid on a large pair of dark sunglasses. So much for a disguise. He now looked like half the other people tooling around
in their boats. He even had fireworks. The only difference between his and theirs was that his were bigger… and way more
fun.

Moments later he was cruising full throttle into the harbor.

Gavin lowered the marine binoculars and rubbed his tired eyes as he and Chris motored slowly through Hempstead Harbor in—
what else?—a Chris-Craft. It was a white twenty-footer that, according
to Chris, he used mostly for… well, boating, whatever that was. Gavin was not a boat enthusiast. In fact, he didn’t like
boats. And he especially didn’t like being on them. The last time he’d been on a boat, two and a half years ago, was the most
memorable and stressful hour in his life. But none of that mattered. Not today. Not as long as Amy and his little baby girl,
Violet Lynn, named after Gavin’s grandmother, were both safe in the hospital… resting finally.

“Anything?” Chris said.

“He’ll be here. I know I would.”

“You mean, Sweeney?”

“Can you think of anyone you’d rather shoot with a fifty BMG?”

“No comment. And besides, he’d need an antitank missile to get through the steel podium he’s standing behind.”

Gavin nodded and said, “That’s what bothers me. He’s planned everything else down to the smallest detail, and by my scorecard,
the only two mistakes he’s made were the pack of cigarettes and underestimating the captain of the
Sachacus
’ ability to think on his feet. I figure Hess knows everything we do and has figured an out-of-the-box solution for it.”

“Let’s hope you’re wrong.”

Gavin pointed as he saw the
Millennium,
another jet ferry similar to the
Sachacus,
leave the dock. “They check the hull of this one?”

Chris snorted. “As a matter of fact, they checked the hulls of every ferry within fifty miles of here and who knows where
else? And they also instituted random route changes between destinations.”

Gavin heard a loud explosion and turned quickly toward it.

“Another M-eighty,” Chris said. “How will we ever know which one is really the Barrett rifle?”

“Sweeny will let us know,” Gavin said, glassing an ocean racer headed toward the peninsula where Sweeney was. He picked up
the
radio and notified the harbor patrol, which had already been notified by the helicopter.

Chris shook his head. “Somehow, I doubt Hess will come blazing in here with an ocean racer after his face has been plastered
on every screen and this place is crawling with police and Feds. If I was him, I’d drift in with the high tide while sitting
back with a beer and a fishing line tied around my big toe.”

“A line around your big toe?” Gavin said, still glassing boats and people at a distance as Chris looked at the closer ones.

“Yeah. This way you know if you got one if you fall asleep. Didn’t you ever read Huck Finn?”

“Hmm… what happens to Huck Finn’s big toe when a bluefish grabs the line?”

“They don’t have bluefish in the Mississippi.”

“Uh-huh. Let me know the next time you go fishing.” Gavin saw the harbor patrol quickly corral the ocean racer once the boat
passed the “No Wake” buoy near the peninsula. Around the other side of the peninsula was a two-mile stretch of mirror-calm
water coveted by water skiers at high tide and clam diggers at low tide. Beyond
that
was the Roslyn Viaduct and Hess’s storage container. Hess had not returned to the container and at this point probably never
would.

The
Millennium
exited the harbor to the thrill of Jet-Skis and Wave Runners. Gavin figured Chris wanted a piece of the wake also. A ride
with Vinny Randone would cure him of that, Gavin mused, flashing back to when the crazy man had helped him chase down Krogan
the last time. The thought brought him to Amy and Violet. In fact, every thought was bringing him to Amy and Violet. He wanted
to be with them right now. It occurred to him he didn’t even have a picture. He needed to get—

“Look,” Chris said, slapping Gavin on the arm.

“Where?”

“There.” Chris pointed to a small cabin boat that had passed the no-wake line without slowing down.

Gavin was instantly there in his binoculars. He could see two harbor patrol boats leaving the ocean racer. The cabin boat
still wasn’t slowing but was actually veering toward the patrol at what appeared to be full tilt. Not an action that they
were expecting from the stealthy Hess, but to Gavin, eerily reminiscent of another scene he remembered all too well.

“Go!” Gavin said, lowering the glasses.

“Us?”

The surprise in Chris’s face and tone was justified. They were supposed to slowly nudge around as one of a growing number
of spectators and simply look for Hess, who was expected to do the same thing, and be in a position to assist if needed
in their assigned area.

“Yes, us… now… go!”

“But what if—”

“It’s him, Chris… I saw him,” Gavin lied, knowing what he had to say to get Chris to act.

The Chris-Craft responded with authority. Chris had told him many a time about its powerful engine, but Gavin had never paid
attention. Whatever, he couldn’t dispute the thing was fast, and in moments, Gavin was digging for his sunglasses to keep
his eyes from tearing up.

“Goes pretty good, doesn’t it?” Chris yelled proudly.

“Very nice,” Gavin replied, acting unimpressed.

“I love this boat. Turns on a dime, too.”

“That’s great.”

“You should come out more. Bring Amy and Violet. I’ll let you take the helm.”

“Good idea.”

“Or now that you have some money, you should get one, too.”

“Look!” Gavin pointed. The cabin boat, heading dead on to the larger harbor patrol vessels, had managed to juke and outmaneuver
one patrol boat while rounding the peninsula near the power plant. The helicopter flew over Gavin’s head on a straight course
to the disturbance but would have to respect the high-tension wires to avoid being zapped like a bug on a blue insect light.

Maybe
that
was the plan, Gavin briefly thought. Get the helicopter to fly into the wires and crash itself and a tower onto Sweeny and
his rally crowd.
Not very Hesslike, though. Too much left to chance. No way. Keep thinking.

Moments later the Chris-Craft was rounding the peninsula. The first thing Gavin noticed was that the harbor patrol boats had
backed off the chase. The tide was coming in, but it was still too low for the larger boats. The helicopter had smartly steered
clear of the power lines and was flying two or three hundred feet over the cabin boat, which was following the channel markers.

“He’s still speaking,” Gavin yelled, noticing all the cars still in the parking lot at Bar Beach.

“Sweeney?” Chris yelled back as he blew past the harbor patrol boats with an acknowledging wave.

“Yeah,” Gavin said, then picked up the radio and called the ground ops, informing them the confirmation was high on Hess driving
the small cabin boat toward Roslyn, and that they’d better get Sweeney wrapped up. They promptly informed him the senator
had no intention of stepping away from the podium, and the plan was now to contain and capture at a safe distance from the
senator. And not to shoot unless being shot at. The guy in the boat, who had not been identified except at high speed with
binoculars, was at the moment a suspect, nothing more.