Stephen Leather - The Long shot

“We’ll be down on the diamond when the helicopter lands,” said Howard. “Then we’ll follow you up to the sky box. I guess he’ll be most vulnerable walking from the helicopter to the stand?”

“Actually, no. He’ll be shielded from the tall buildings by the helicopter,” said Sanger. “He’ll be most vulnerable in the sky box.” He gestured over at the buildings looking down on the ballpark. “We’ve got men on all the floors which Andy Kim says are potential trouble spots. Ed Mulholland has arranged for a hundred rookies from the Academy to help. We’ve got sixty around the ballpark and we’re using them to monitor the buildings, too.” Overhead they heard the thud of helicopter rotors and they looked up at a Maryland National Guard Huey, circling over the ballpark. “There are two National Guard Hueys up there, and a Police spotter helicopter. We’ve got snipers from the Baltimore SWAT unit in the Hueys, and on top of some of the taller buildings.” He gestured around the stand. “We’ve brought in almost a hundred extra agents in plain clothes and they’re scattered among the spectators.”

He pointed to a long, brick building to the right of the stadium, many of whose windows looked directly down into the ballpark. “We’ve got snipers in there, too.”

Joker looked over at the building. It was so close that he could see the faces of the people looking out. If they were offices, he could imagine a lot of people offering to work overtime on game nights. They had a perfect view of the ballpark, almost as close as some of the spectators who’d paid to get in.

“I can’t stress enough how important it is that you keep the identification we’ve given you in full view at all times,” continued Sanger. “I’d like you to also keep your FBI badges visible, too. And don’t make any movement that could in any way be interpreted as being hostile to the President. Everyone’s a little jittery today.”

The three men nodded. “Okay,” said Sanger, “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got a few more checks to make before Marine One touches down.” He turned to go, and then stopped short as if he’d just remembered something. “Oh yeah,” he said, “we picked up Patrick Farrell this morning. He denies all knowledge of Matthew Bailey, but we’re putting the squeeze on him right now. If he knows anything, we’ll get him to talk.”

He smiled and walked off. “What is it with the dark glasses?” asked Joker. “How come all Secret Service agents have them?”

“Gives them an air of mystery,” said Clutesi. “Makes them seem more than human. Sorta like your jacket.” He grinned and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. It was in the high eighties and humid.

Howard smiled. “It’s more than image,” he said. Through the earpiece he heard Sanger calling in for situation reports from agents on top of a bank building. “They can look over a crowd, and no one knows who or what they’re looking at. Without the glasses they’d only have eye contact with a few individuals — with them, they can stare out a whole crowd. And if a psychopath thinks he’s been stared at, he’s not going to do anything stupid. That’s the theory anyway.” He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a pair of Ray-Bans. He put them on, and grinned. “And if you can’t beat ‘em. .”

Joker looked out over the ballpark. He put his binoculars to his eyes and scanned across the Marriott Hotel and the Holiday Inn to the tops of the tallest tower blocks in the distance. On one he saw two men in blue overalls with ‘SWAT’ stencilled on their chests in white letters. One of them had a rifle with a telescopic sight and a blue cap, with the peak pointed backwards. “Four seconds, you said?” Joker asked.

Howard looked through his binoculars. “That’s for the sniper who was two thousand yards away,” he said. “A shot from those buildings there would take less than a second.”

“Where would the long shot come from?” Joker asked.

Howard pointed to a spot over the city. “That way, about four hundred feet or so in the air. I guess that would be a twenty-five storey building or so, and as you can see there’s nothing that big anywhere near there.”

Joker nodded, and scanned the crowds with his high-powered binoculars. “You really think Hennessy will be here?”

Howard shrugged. “Maybe,” he said.

Matthew Bailey looked at the altimeter and saw that they were still at nine hundred feet. Directly below were several brick apartment buildings, their flat roofs peppered with air-conditioning units. Bailey had been surprised how easy it was to steer the large airship, once he’d followed Farrell’s advice and begun to treat it more as a boat and less as an aeroplane. The constant vibration was a nuisance and he hoped that Lovell wouldn’t find it too much of a distraction when it came to making his shot.

“You can start to descend now, we’ve passed over the tallest buildings,” Farrell said through the headset.

Bailey nodded and rotated the control wheel slightly forward. The nose of the airship dipped down like a whale preparing to swim deep. Farrell was keeping a close eye on the GPS, and cross-referencing it with the DME and VOR, trying to pinpoint the airship’s position until they were in the exact spot for Lovell’s two thousand yard shot. Farrell turned round and nodded at Lovell. “Nearly there,” he shouted over the noise of the two engines. “Now would be a good time.”

Lovell smiled and reached down into his bag. He took out a small automatic pistol and shot the cameraman in the neck. The assistant looked up, his mouth open, and Lovell shot him in the forehead. Blood and brain matter peppered the window and the assistant slumped forward onto the camera equipment they’d been preparing. The cameraman had clasped his hands to his wounded neck and blood was dribbling through his fingers as his mouth worked soundlessly. Lovell put a second bullet into the man’s skull and he fell sideways, his massive bulk sending a shudder through the gondola. Lovell flicked the safety back on the automatic and put it back into his bag. The cartridges he had used had specially reduced loads which resulted in comparatively slow-moving bullets, fast enough to kill at close range but slow enough to stay lodged within the bodies and not pass through the walls or windows of the gondola.

Lovell unfastened his harness and dragged the bodies to the far end of the gondola, where they wouldn’t get in his way, and then knelt down and unpacked his rifle.

Bailey unbuckled his harness and slipped out of his seat, taking care not to unplug his headset. He pulled a green nylon bag from under Farrell’s seat. Inside was a laser targeting device, normally used by hunters, which had been fixed to a metal frame and a telescopic sight. Bailey carried it over to the hole in the bottom of the gondola where the television crew had been installing their camera. Bailey slid their equipment to the side and fixed the laser into the mounting, attaching it with four bolts.

Mary Hennessy handed her ticket to the grey-haired man at the gate, took the stub he gave her, and pushed through the turnstile, taking care not to snag her bag on the chrome bars. The man’s orange peaked cap was pushed back on his head and his forehead was bathed in sweat. The stadium was packed with fans, most of them dressed in colourful T-shirts and shorts, and the black and orange Oriole insignia was everywhere. The crowds were buzzing, and as Mary walked she heard good-natured arguments about the merits of the players, the teams, and whether or not the Prime Minister would manage to reach the catcher with his pitch.

She walked by food stalls where men in short sleeves were selling giant pretzels and hot dogs and the air was thick with the smell of french fries and onions. The lavatories were on her right. Kelly Armstrong was standing at the entrance wearing a pale blue jacket over a white dress. She gave no sign that she recognised Mary, but followed her into the lavatory. Most of the stalls were empty and Mary selected the one in the corner, furthest from the entrance. She put her bag on top of the toilet and undressed, hanging her clothes on the peg on the back of the door. From the bag she took out her orange and black usher’s uniform and the orange cap with its shiny black peak. She slipped on the black pants and fastened her orange suspenders, then put on the shirt and waistcoat, and adjusted the cap. She fastened her transceiver and holster around her waist, then took out a compact and checked her appearance in the small mirror. She tore off a piece of toilet paper and rubbed away her lipstick. She had a pair of bifocals in the bag and she put them on. The combination of bifocals and no make-up made her look much older. She nodded at her reflection, then rolled up her original clothes and stuffed them into the bag.