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Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.
“How could this have happened?!” the leader demanded. “You told me it was safe! You said I wouldn’t become involved!”
“You’re not involved--there’s nothing that connects you to the operation,” Mitchell said. “As far as everyone else is concerned, I’m in charge.”
The leader was not pleased. The operation had been planned for months, every detail accounted for, every contingency considered--save one. A simple thing like a speeding ticket had screwed everything up.
The team had been stopped by the Syracuse police. Something had possessed them to search that car and they had found everything--the guns, the armor, the grenades. Because of the vice president’s visit, federal officials had quickly been notified. The President’s Guard had been famous for its interrogation techniques ever since their creation by President McClellan. It didn’t take long for a member of the team to crack and reveal the entire plot.
It didn’t take long for the security to tighten. Now, getting close to the vice president would be impossible. And if it was ever connected to the leader, his career would be over. While many in his country agreed with him, the government would care little for that. There was a larger good at stake, though. He had a duty to his people, even if his government disagreed.
Mitchell was the only connection between him and the operation. It wouldn’t be long until Mitchell became a wanted man and he might--just might--get linked to him.
“We have to remain calm,” Mitchell said. “We don’t know that my name will come up. They have to get to Luken first and he’s already at a safehouse.”
The man was a fool. The President’s Guard was a group of the most determined and talented men in the nation. It wouldn’t take them long to figure everything out. The only way to stop the chain was to break it.
“Fine, fine,” the leader said. “Get out of here. Get yourself to the safehouse. Stay there and wait for my instructions.”
The leader walked to the window and watched as Mitchell got in his car and drove away. He watched as Mitchell’s car became nothing more than a small dot of light. He picked up his phone and dialed.
“Get me the Guard,” he said, then put down the phone
He stepped back onto the balcony. It was strangely calm, he noticed. Although he was far out into the countryside, there was no noise whatsoever--not a bird, not a cricket. Just a quiet calm.
There was a knock on the door.
“The quiet before the storm,” he whispered to himself.
* * *
The Washington Post
November 23, 1963
A routine traffic stop uncovered what the President’s Guard says was a bungled attempt to assassinate Vice President Nixon.
“Shortly before the vice president was due to arrive in Syracuse, local police there arrested four men who were driving a van filled with weapons,” said National Security Director John Winslow. “After interrogation by my staff, we determined they were part of a plan to ambush the vice president as he left the airport.”
Winslow said the President’s Guard is also looking for
another man who the attack team said was the ringleader ...
The New York Times
November 23, 1963
Bill Mitchell, an assistant to Vice President Nixon, was
killed in a one-car accident yesterday in the Philadelphia suburbs.
Police said they think Mitchell fell asleep and drove off the road.
According to the Delaware County coroner, Mitchell died immediately.
By the time police arrived at the scene, fire had consumed the entire car
...
* * *
President Kennedy had called together his closest advisers. To his left sat Vice President Nixon, Chief of Staff Bob Morrison and National Security Director Winslow. To his right, brothers John and Robert.
“Mitchell?” Kennedy asked.
“Yes, sir. We believe Mitchell was involved, but I’m not convinced he was behind it,” Winslow replied.
“I don’t believe it--Mitchell was one of my top advisers. Why would he get involved in something like this?” Nixon asked.
“We think he may have been part of a larger plot--we still don’t know where the support came from, though.”
“Keep us informed.”
* * *
Winslow walked down the hall to his office.
Mitchell’s death had thrown a wrench in the process. All signs seemed to point to him, but Winslow was certain that he was not the mastermind. He had worked with Mitchell--he wasn’t bright enough to come up with something like this. There had to be another link and he had to find it soon--the president was demanding answers. There were only three days until the treaty signing and this needed to be settled by then.
They had gotten answers from three of the four men the Syracuse police had arrested. Three of them were citizens of the United States. The fourth, though, he was the interesting one. He hadn’t broken under hours of interrogation. There was nothing on record about him. It was as if the man didn’t exist. The three had given up the name Luken and a description of another man, whose name they didn’t know. The description, though, had matched Mitchell almost perfectly. And what nobody else knew is that Winslow had discovered that Mitchell’s accident was no accident. He had found fragments of casing material from a bomb. A bomb that had been professionally made. It was clear that this group was serious. There was big money behind them. The question now was where the money came from.
The most obvious source would be the Confederate States. There were certainly rogue elements in their government that might have been behind this. It was no secret that President Thurmond had almost no control over his administration. But it was still hard to believe they would launch an attack this bold. Nothing like this had been tried by the CSA since the years between the wars.
“Do we have anything new?” Winslow asked his assistant.
“We might. We’ve been doing some searching on the name Luken. We found a Luke N. King who checked into a hotel in Syracuse the day of the arrest. He also rented a car in that name. The car was left in the parking lot of the hotel.”
“So we’re at a dead end, then?”
“Not yet. Another car was stolen from the lot and we’ve got police looking for it up and down the Eastern seaboard.”
“We’ve got to find something. As long as there are people involved in this plot out there, the president and vice president aren’t safe. No director has ever lost a president and I’ll be damned if it will happen on my watch.”
* * *
“We can’t give up. Our people are counting on us.”
“You think I don’t know that? But I have a career to think about. We worked a long time to get someone in the government,” the leader said. “We don’t want to risk this on anything but a sure thing.”
“The treaty is signed in three days. If that happens, it will be almost impossible for us to succeed.”
“I know,” the leader sighed. “All right, Hopkins. The idea was to send a message to the president, to scare him. It didn’t work.”
“Of course it didn’t work ... the men were caught, sir.”
“Of course they were caught ... that was the whole idea!”
“What?!?!”
“They were never supposed to get close to the vice president. If I had wanted him dead, he would be dead. I didn’t want more bloodshed. We’ve all seen enough of that. I thought we could scare the president. Unfortunately, loss of life may now be necessary.”
“We do have the contingency plan, sir.”
“We’re not that desperate yet--too many innocent people would die.”
“We have tried everything else. It is the only option.”
“Not yet! I will not do that until the last minute. There is one other choice--somebody close to the president could be killed. Somebody who doesn’t have the protection of the Guard. The chief of staff, for instance.”
Hopkins smiled. “Brilliant, sir. How will we do it?”
“Leave that to me.”
* * *
“Yes, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”
Morrison hung up the phone and smiled to his secretary.
“I swear that man never stops campaigning. God knows we will need that to sell this treaty to the American people. Anyway, enough of that. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jeannie.”
“Do you want me to call someone to go with you, sir? I mean, with all the threats and everything ...”
“Jeannie, I’m the chief of staff. It’s more likely this ulcer will kill me than some political assassin. I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”
“Have a good night, sir.”
Morrison passed Winslow in the hall.
“How’s it going, John. Any leads?”
“We’re working on it. We’ll get these guys yet.”
“Carry on then, my good man.”
Morrison continued walking through the building down to the White House parking garage. He waved to Ernie, the gate guard, as he walked past, then got into his car and turned the key.
There was a blinding light, followed by a deafening explosion that rocked the entire garage.
* * *
Winslow surveyed the damage. Whoever had done this had known what they were doing. It was the same type of bomb that had been used to kill Mitchell. But this time they hadn’t bothered to hide their intentions. This bombing had been a message. The car was totally destroyed. Even the sewer grate beneath the car had been blown clear.
There was no doubt Morrison had been the target. Ernie had just been unlucky and been too close. Whoever these people were, they didn’t want the president to sign the treaty.
There was someone on the inside. The only way in was past
security or through the tunnel system that runs underneath the White House.
Either way, they knew too much to be from the outside. The problem
was that there were literally hundreds of people who could get past security
without a second look. Looks like their work was cut out for them.
* * *
“What happened? The bomb was supposed to destroy the car, nothing more.”
“Sir, the death of the guard was unintended. It was just one of those freak things.”
“The man has a wife and children. Children who we’ve left fatherless. Don’t you get that?”
“Sometimes innocents must be sacrificed for the greater good.”
“If this stops the president from signing the treaty, then I will feel better. Until then, this was just another pointless death.”
* * *
Winslow looked around Morrison’s office. There was nothing that made it clear why Morrison had been chosen. On the wall, a framed degree from Cabrini College, his masters from Harvard, a picture of Morrison with President Kennedy, another with President Taft. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Everything was as it should be. It seemed Morrison was just the unlucky pick by whoever was behind this.
Agent Sullivan ran into the office, breathless.
“Sir, you better see this,” he said as he turned on Morrison’s television.
The president was on the screen.
“... a great tragedy. As you all know, I am meeting with President Strom Thurmond, of the Confederate States of America in two days. At this meeting we will sign a disarmament treaty. This treaty will lead to the permanent demilitarizing of our borders. The time has come to ensure peace for future generations. We believe these attacks are in response to that treaty. That is why I have chosen to tell the public all the facts.
“Although we have lived in peace for 60 years, the threat of war has always loomed over us. When I was elected as your president, I promised a lasting peace and we have now achieved it.
“So I say to those who would try to frighten us ... who would try to pressure us ... that we will not be scared ... we will not be forced off the road to peace. We will succeed.”
Winslow couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Are they insane? This is going to put the president in
even more danger! Call everyone together. We have to step up
our efforts. We just lost our edge.”
* * *
Very interesting tactic, the leader thought to himself. Every attack was making the president even more convinced. Apparently he did have a backbone.
“Start enacting the contingency plan and may God help us all.”
* * *
The treaty signing was tomorrow. The need for secrecy was gone, but the need for security was now even more important. So far, nothing new had occurred, but Winslow had no doubt that something would happen before Kennedy and Thurmond met.
“We found something new on Luken, sir. The car that was stolen in Syracuse turned up in Pennsylvania. It looks like a dead end, though.”
“Damn. Leave our men there. See if they can find anything else.”
* * *
It was 7 a.m. Just six hours until the treaty signing. Winslow had been trying to catch a short nap when the knock came at his office door.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
“What is it?”
“You have to hear it to believe it.”
They walked down the hall to the communication center.
“This call came in a few minutes ago.” He turned to the technician. “Okay, go ahead and play it.”
“Communications center.”
“Give me Winslow.”
“Who is this?”
“That’s not important. Give me Winslow, now.”
“Sir, I don’t know how you got this number, but ...”
“My good man, tell Winslow I can kill the president. That should get his attention. I will call back.”
The technician shut the machine off.
“That was it.”
“God, that was eerie. Not a drop of emotion in his voice. Has he called back?”
“Not yet.”
“Not many people know this number. Get me a list of everyone who would have this number. Strange ... there was something about him that seemed familiar.”
“It sounded like he was disguising his voice, sir.”
“It wasn’t the voice ... it was the way he talked. I just can’t put my finger on it. There was something ...”
“Sir, it’s him.”
Winslow picked up the phone
“This is Winslow.”
“Well, good. Now listen, my good man. Let me assure you, the president will not sign that treaty. We will stop him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say I have the means to ensure its prevention. If the president wants to live, tell him not to sign this treaty. Consider yourself warned.”
Then there was a dial tone.
“Damn. He hung up. Did we get anything?”
“He’s somewhere in the Mid-Atlantic area. That’s the best we could do.”
“All right. I think he’s serious. This is our man. I just wish I could place that syntax.”
“Why would he warn us?”
“Look at what he’s done so far. He’s trying to avoid violence. He wants us to stop the president, but if we won’t, he will.
“I’m going to see the President.”
* * *
10 a.m. Three hours.
“The President won’t back down. He’s going to do it.”
“Where do we go from here, sir?”
“We just have to prepare for the worst. If I could just figure out who it was ...”
“If we had gotten a better trace, sir, we might have a chance. The odds are its probably Pennsylvania. That’s where we found that car, after all.”
“Wait a minute ... where in Pennsylvania?”
“Uh ... small town near Philadelphia. Radnor, I think. Not much there besides ...”
“Cabrini College.”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“Are our men still there?”
“Yes. but ...”
“Put them on alert.” He turned to another agent. “Go to Morrison’s office. Get me that copy of his Cabrini College yearbook he has on his bookshelf. Now!”
“Sir, I don’t understand ...”
“That person who called ... he called me ‘my good man.’ That’s what Morrison used to always say and Cabrini is where he went to school.”
“But Morrison is dead.”
“That’s what we were meant to think.”
* * *
11 a.m. Two hours.
“Sir, we found it. A Theodore Luken King. Graduated the same year as Morrison. He lives in Philadelphia.”
“All right, that’s our man. Send our men in.”
“They’re already on their way. They’ll be there in ten minutes.”
* * *
11:15 a.m.
“No one there, sir. The house was empty, but someone had been there. They were building a bomb, sir.”
“Tighten the security around the President. Put a watch
on every entrance to the White House. Close Pennsylvania Avenue.
We’re gonna get this bastard.”
* * *
11:45 a.m.
Morrison had himself safely positioned in the Ford Theater. It was ironic, really. He would succeed in almost the exact spot that John Wilkes Booth had failed almost 100 years ago.
He had noticed the increased security around the White House. They obviously thought they could stop him. Fools.
He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone. He had tried everything he could to avoid it. But he would, he could not, let the treaty be signed. The United States could be a world superpower if they would only open their eyes. As one nation, the USA and the CSA would be able to rival the European Union, even the Soviet Union as a world power. If they signed this treaty it meant the wimps in the government would finally win. It would be the end of any chance of a union.
He was willing to die for what he believed, for the good of his country. In one hour, he would.
He looked down at the package. It was hard to believe what
the Soviets were doing with technology these days. A device no bigger
than a radio, but with enough firepower to level a city block.
* * *
Noon
No sign of anything yet.
Winslow was getting frustrated.
“All right. I need twenty men. We’re going to search every building in this area. Divide them up into teams of two. And give me one. I’m going out there.”
* * *
12:30 p.m.
They had already checked three buildings. No luck. Nothing from the other ten teams, either.
“Let’s check here, then we’ll go back.”
“The Ford Theater, sir. Isn’t that where ...”
“Yeah, I see the irony. Let’s go.”
* * *
Morrison couldn’t believe it. Winslow and another agent were outside.
They must be searching every building, he thought to himself.
Well, they would be easy enough to distract.
He took the bomb and climbed up to one of the private boxes, settling in just before Winslow and his partner walked in.
“Place looks deserted,” Winslow said. “Check the boxes, just to make sure.”
Winslow heard a sharp crack. It took him a second before he realized he was being shot at.
“Where did that come from, Johnson?” he asked as they both dove behind a row of seats.
“One of the boxes.”
Another shot rang out. This time, he saw where it was coming from. Winslow and Johnson returned fire.
“Morrison, I know it’s you! Give up!”
“Hey, I’m impressed, my good man. I thought I might have been too subtle for you. I’m glad you figured it out. Too bad you’re too late to stop me. If I were you, I’d get out of the city.”
Morrison stood up, but before Winslow could do anything he saw him grab what looked like a small triggering device.
“No!” Winslow yelled, as he was swallowed by a flash of light.
* * *
London Times
Nov. 30, 1963
While officials in Washington are celebrating the signing of the historic pact, they are mourning the loss of a historic landmark. Only moments before the pact was signed, an explosion rocked the Ford Theater. Fire department officials there are saying a boiler in the basement of the historic theater overheated, causing the disaster ...
Sergei smiled as he put down the paper.
Stupid Americans, he thought to himself.
All he had to do was tell that Morrison character that a simple military-style bomb was a nuclear device. And that was enough to keep the Unionists from trying anything else to stop the signing of the treaty. A treaty that was of the utmost importance to his nation.
It was funny, he thought to himself. If those Americans could ever have unified, it might have meant trouble for Mother Russia. But that wouldn’t be a problem.
He chuckled. Not in this dimension, anyway.