to check a Secret Service van for the firearm or shooter who had just
wasted their target.
Burton’s plan made a lot of sense to the young agent.
Collin had nothing against Luther Whitney but there was a lot more at
stake than a sixty-six-year-old career criminal’s life. A helluva lot
more. Killing the old man was not something Collin was going to enjoy;
in fact, he would do his best to forget it once done. But that was life.
He was paid to do a job, had in fact sworn to do that job, above all
else. Was he breaking the law? Technically he was committing murder.
Realistically he was just doing what had to be done. He assumed the
President knew about it; Gloria Russell knew about it; and Bill Burton,
a man he respected more than anyone else, had instructed him to do it.
Collins training simply did not permit him to ignore those
instructions. Besides, the old guy had broken into the place. He was
going to do twenty years. He’d never make twenty years. Who wanted to be
in prison at eighty years old? Collin was just saving him a lot of
misery. Given those choices, Collin would’ve taken the round too.
Collin glanced up at the workmen on the scaffolding above the cars as
they struggled to right the replacement panel. One man grabbed the end
of a rope connected to a block and tackle. Slowly the piece began to
rise.
KATE LOOKED up FROM STUDYING HER HANDS AND HER EYES locked on him.
He moved gracefully along the sidewalk. The fedora and muffler hid most
of his features but the walk was unmistakable. Growing up she had always
wanted to be able to glide along the ground like her father, so
effortlessly, so confidently. She started to rise and thought better of
it. Frank had not said at what point he would move in, but Kate didn’t
expect him to wait very long.
Luther stopped in front of the cafd and looked at her. He had not been
this close to his daughter for over a decade, and he was a little unsure
how to proceed. She felt his uncertainty and forced a smile to her lips.
He immediately went to her table and sat down, his back to the street.
Despite the chill he took off his hat and put his sunglasses away in his
pocket.
McCarty sighted through his rifle scope. The iron-gray hair came into
focus and his finger flipped off the safety and then floated to the
trigger.
BARELY A HUNDRED YARDS AWAY, COLLIN WAS MIRRORING those actions. He was
not as hurried as McCarty since he had the advantage of knowing when the
police were going to move in.
MCCARTY’S TRIGGER FINGER CROOKED BACK. EARLIER, HE had noticed the
Workmen on the scaffolding once or twice but then had put them out of
his mind. It was only the second mistake he had ever committed in his
line of Work.
The mirrored panel suddenly jerked upward as the rope was pulled down
and the panel cocked in McCarty’s direction. Catching the failing sun
directly on its surface, the panel threw the reflection, red and
glimmering, full in McCarty’s eyes. Momentary pain shot through his
pupils and his hand jerked involuntarily as the rifle fired. He cursed
and flung down the gun. He made it to the back door five seconds ahead
of schedule.
The bullet struck the umbrella pole and severed it before ricocheting
off and imbedding into the concrete pavement.
Both Kate and Luther went down, father instinctively shielding daughter.
A few seconds later Seth Frank and a dozen uniforms, guns drawn, formed
a semicircle around the pair, facing out, their eyes scanning every nook
and cranny of the street.
“Shut this whole fucking area down,” Frank screamed to the sergeant, who
barked orders into his radio. Uniforms spread out, unmarked cars moved
in.
The workmen stared down at the street, completely oblivious to the
unwitting role they had played in the events unfolding below.
Luther was pulled up and handcuffed and the entire party bustled into
the lobby of the office building. An excited Seth Frank stared at the