If there was one thing Sam had learned from the CIA, it was the art of deceit and he had become a master. The Georgetown townhouse he approached had a shell corporation listed as its owner and anyone digging would find a number of further shell corporations behind that one. If they ever were lucky enough to reach the end of the line, they would find a small office in a remote Caribbean island with a name plaque on the door. Inside, they would find a desk, a phone and a coffee machine all owned by the same shell corporation that owned the townhouse. It really was a dead end.
Sam winced as he stretched over to the glove box. The pain in his shoulder had lessened but it would be some time before the ligaments and tendons healed. The Senator pushed Sam’s attempt away and opened the glove box for him.
“Is it this?” he asked producing a small remote control with two buttons, one arrow pointing up and one down.
“Yep,” replied Sam, the pain still apparent in his voice. Both Clark and the Senator had offered to drive but Sam insisted that he wanted to keep one eye ahead and one behind. The niggle that someone was following them had not gone away. He checked the mirror again. Normally, with this feeling, he would not have gone near the safehouse but he needed to get his brother out of sight. With the road clear behind, he barked his instructions.
“OK, hit the Up button!”
Sam didn’t miss a beat. The garage door, two houses ahead, lifted up and he continued at speed towards the opening door.
“OK, hit the Down button!”
The Senator looked in horror at the half-raised door they were careering towards. Every instinct told him to ignore his brother. However, decades of knowing that his brother knew best resulted in blind trust and he pressed the Down button.
“What the hell are you doing?” screamed Clark from the backseat as the car turned sharply and the door stopped its upward motion, stalling briefly before beginning to close on the fast approaching car.
Both the Senator and Clark ducked as the car sped towards the narrowing gap, the screech of the tires adding to the drama and eliciting a small scream from Clark. The garage door snapped shut behind the now stationary car. A small scrape on the trunk would be testament to just how close it had been.
Sam turned to Clark. “In answer to your question, making sure nobody sees where we went.”
The sniper followed from a discreet distance, always keeping a number of cars between himself and the Toyota. It was only when they reached the outskirts of Washington at 1 a.m. that things began to get somewhat trickier. With little traffic on the streets, he had to drive without lights and let them remain a full turn ahead at all times. It meant he had to hold well back and dart forward after they turned to ensure he didn’t miss their next one. Everything had gone fine until the final turn onto Q street NW in Georgetown. He had watched from five blocks back as they had turned into the street and, as he had done many times before, he darted down 31st St NW and crawled towards the entrance to Q Street.
As his car emerged onto Q Street, he could see nothing but empty road ahead. He had Senator Baker and Agent Clark’s home address and this was neither of their streets. He sped down the street and looked for taillights on any connecting streets. After two minutes of driving around, he had either lost them or they were back near Q Street. Not wanting to contemplate the former, he parked his car next to Tudor Place and began to walk along Q Street. It was 2 a.m. and very few residents would still be awake in such an affluent suburb. Homes with garages were going to be of interest. Homes with garages and signs of life would be prime suspects.
The sniper worked his way carefully down the street. As much as he wanted to find them, he didn’t want them to find him first.
It was halfway down the street that he saw the movement, indiscernible to all but the most vigilant. It was the flicker of a street lamp on a face in the corner of a window. The sniper did not react. He had them. He turned and retraced his steps back to his car. He retrieved his phone from his pocket. Comfortable that the glow from the handset would not give away his position, he hit the speed dial button.
“Where are you?” he asked his young apprentice. The sniper had to resolve his weaponry issue. He had called his apprentice, a young man who had, much like the sniper, fallen foul of a poor psych evaluation. Although what was poor for some was ideal for others and the young apprentice was certainly proving himself well in the contract killing business.
“OK, you’re about 45 minutes behind me, I’m…” had the moonlight not caught the tip of the blade, the Ka-bar 1222 would have sliced the snipers throat wide open.
Sam cursed as the sniper moved at the last instant causing him to catch nothing but the tiniest piece of flesh. The nick that should have been a slice didn’t even produce so much as a drop of blood.
Sam had sensed being followed but hadn’t been sure. As he directed Clark and his brother to the lounge, instructing them not to go near the window or put a light on, he had slipped out and taken up position in the bushes. If somebody had been following, they would need to recce the area and try to pinpoint their location. It had taken five minutes for the sniper to appear. Sam had seen enough snipers in his time. The man’s use of light and shadow, steadiness and control of breathing, pretty much nailed the guy’s expertise. He was good, spotting the almost imperceptible movement in the window was impressive. Clark had obviously tried to peak out of the corner of the window but the street light had reflected on her skin very briefly as she moved. Sam had watched as the sniper, having spotted the movement, immediately began to retrace his steps. Sam had followed and had had to use every ounce of his training and experience of tracking to ensure the sniper did not spot him. Sam had to know if the sniper had called in their position or whether he was making sure before he did call it in. On hearing the conversation and the fact that whoever he was calling didn’t know where he was, Sam moved. He had moved silently from the bush and swung the knife in a tight arc towards the snipers throat which would ensure an instant kill and silence.
As the phone clattered and smashed to the ground, the sniper avoided the blade and was already bringing his silenced pistol to bear with his other hand. Sam was just recovering from his initial strike as the silencer closed in on his face. Like his opponent, Sam reacted quickly and as the sniper depressed the trigger, Sam’s left hand burned as he pushed the barrel from his face and towards the sniper’s car. Two bullets tore through the side panel and rear tire respectively. With little strength in his left hand, Sam had no option but to drop the knife and use both hands against the pistol. Seeing an opportunity, the sniper took it and delivered a massive punch to the side of Sam's head. As Sam was forced from his feet, his two-handed grip on the pistol, although weakened, was enough to wrestle the gun free from the sniper. Sam was down but with the pistol within his reach, he was most definitely not out.
The sniper surveyed the situation in an instant. Sam had the pistol, his car had a flat and his phone was useless. Live to fight another day was a motto the sniper very much lived by. So he turned and ran. He needed his apprentice and some more weapons. Therefore, he needed a phone.
Sam shook his head, The blow had been a good one and had certainly blown off the cobwebs. The pistol lay at his side and he quickly raised it in the direction the sniper had run. As with most snipers, he was quick and more importantly, silent. By the time he had him in his sights, he had vaulted the gate and was just disappearing out of sight behind the wall of Tudor Place, a five and a half acre historic house and garden in the heart of Georgetown and open to the public. Sam picked up his knife and noted the shattered cell phone. He looked at the board detailing the opening hours. The sniper would not have missed the fact that the building would be unoccupied at night and being a tourist attraction, would have public phones.
Sam sprinted after the sniper and clearing the gate, picked up his trail. As the clouds moved across the sky, the moonlight that had assisted the sniper in avoiding the knife came and went. Shadows were thrown and disappeared almost as one. Sam stopped. This time, the sniper knew he was being trailed and from what Sam had witnessed so far, this guy was very good indeed. Although he had the pistol, the sniper, if he wanted, could let Sam walk past within inches and then disarm him.
Sam stopped running and listened. His concerns were unfounded, the sniper had obviously only one concern, alerting somebody to his location. The tinkle of breaking glass from twenty yards through the undergrowth meant he was breaking into the house. Sam picked up the pace and sprinted. He could just make out the dark shape slithering through one of the small panes that led into the drawing room. Sam had always enjoyed visiting the house and grounds when stationed in Washington and loved the peace and tranquility of being transported back to a century when life was more peaceful and far easier. It was one of the main reasons he had purchased the house on Q Street. This was his favorite part of Washington.
Sam knew the public phone was located just off the main hall which was just through the Saloon. The sniper was very close to getting back up. So far, no alarm had been triggered. The system was as antiquated as the house and required a window or door to be opened to trigger it which was just the way Sam wanted it. It also meant that he didn’t need to be overly careful. He had the pistol and the sniper was endangering his brother and himself. And, by association, he was guilty of the murder of his son, wife and dog. It was this realization that sent Sam charging towards the Saloon window, with its semi circular floor-to-ceiling portico window. Two spits from the pistol eased his way through as Sam jumped through the window at full pelt. The sniper, caught in the middle of the large and open Saloon room, threw his hands up in surrender; knowing that his benefactor would come to his aid, once the police became involved.
“OK, you win!” offered the sniper, standing with his hands in the air.
Sam almost laughed at the poor guy. He had misunderstood the situation very badly indeed. He must have assumed that, as his brother was a Senator, they would do the right thing.
Sam did. The first two bullets removed the sniper’s kneecaps. The screams, although deafening, were contained within the old building’s solid walls. Even then, the large grounds meant the nearest home was hundreds of feet away.
“You’ve got approximately 60 seconds to justify an extension to your miserable life!” offered Sam as he pointed the pistol at the sniper’s head.
It took approximately three minutes for the sniper to tell Sam what he needed to know. Nobody knew where the sniper was, other than roughly Washington and even then, it was his apprentice who had no knowledge of who their client was nor who the target was. The client was a man called James Lawson. Sam recognized the name but didn’t know where from. He confirmed the main target was Senator Charles Baker and his companions i.e. Clark and Sam. It also transpired that the sniper was unaware of and as such not involved in the attack on Sam’s family. That earned him, after his three minute extension,a carefully placed bullet in the head and not the gut shot that Sam had been contemplating.
Sam couldn’t cover the break-in but he could dispose of the body. A small pond in the grounds would have to suffice in the short term. Dragging a dead weight with one and a half arms was not easy but he managed and after putting the body in the pond, he found a number of large stones to lay on top. The depth and age of the pond made it unlikely that the body would be spotted, for at least a few days A quick return to the house to pick up cartridges and to wipe down visible blood stains left nothing but a break-in for the police to investigate.
The final task was to move the sniper’s car. With a bullet hole and a flat tire, it would stand out in the tree-lined street of multimillion dollar properties. A six-block ride had the tire all but shredded as he pulled into the University of Georgetown Hospital. Avoiding the CCTV cameras, Sam parked next to a number of other cars and jogged back towards the townhouse.
It was time to have a serious chat with Senator Charles Baker and find out how James Lawson fitted into the picture.