David Healey - Winter Sniper

He was so close now. In his mind, Hess imagined that the Earth had stopped spinning. His world shrank to the circle of shadows and light he could see through the telescopic sight. A doorman wandered through that narrow field of vision and Hess could have killed him instantly. But Hess had just one target in mind and his patience had been honed in the unforgiving cold of Russia. Then, through the scope, he watched the car doors open. Several officers spilled out onto the sidewalk, all looking the same in their olive drab overcoats, and Hess had a bad moment, thinking that once again he was out of luck. Then one more figure emerged, wearing a camel’s hair coat. Eisenhower . His crosshairs brushed over the general’s heart. Then the line of fire was immediately blocked by a staff member who approached Eisenhower. It was the same problem he had experienced yesterday, when the crowd on the sidewalk had shielded his target. The two men stood talking for a moment, the general almost obscured by the other officer. Still, Hess noticed that the general’s figure was somewhat stooped, as if drained from a long day and a busy schedule.

Hess could see Eisenhower’s face turned toward him, but even that was partially obscured. The crosshairs settled on a point slightly above and to the right of the general’s head. His finger tightened on the trigger, but he did not send the shot home. Shooting was more instinct than science, and something did not feel right to Hess. The shot had not yet formed itself in his mind. The other man’s shoulder still crowded the crosshairs too closely. If the man would just step away and leave Eisenhower free for a moment…

Hess forced himself to stop thinking so much. You have waited this long, he told himself. You can wait a moment longer .

The driver looked in the mirror again and Ty could see white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. “Who is this maniac?”

Now they could hear a motorcycle engine rushing toward them, its roar echoing in the night air. It had been against regulations to bring a weapon into the White House, but Ty had kept a .45 automatic in his coat pocket.

The driver of Ty’s car had been assigned when they got to Washington, but Ike had insisted on bringing the capable Sergeant Crandall from England. Crandall must have seen the motorcyclist as well, because now the lead car carrying Eisenhower sped up.

“Sir, what do you want me to do?” their own driver asked, sounding nervous.

“If he tries to pass us, see if you can swerve and knock him down.”

“It could just be some kid out for a joyride,” Henderson said.

“We’ll find out soon enough.” Ty reached into his coat pocket and thumbed back the hammer of the .45 as the motorcycle pulled even with the car behind them. Curiously, the motorcycle slowed down and Ty had a glimpse of the driver waving and shouting something. The car flashed its lights as the motorcycle accelerated and pulled alongside Ty’s car. He rolled down the window and took out the gun, keeping it just out of sight.

“Captain Walker!” the rider shouted, struggling to make himself heard. “I’ve got a message for Captain Walker!”

“If this idiot had waited five minutes, he could have just telephoned you at the hotel,” Henderson said. “What did you do, Ty, leave your hat at the White House?”

“Pull over,” Ty said to his own driver. The motorcycle skidded to a halt beside them.

He could see now that the man on the motorcycle was ill-equipped to be riding on a winter’s night. He wore an army overcoat, but did not have on so much as a hat or goggles, or even gloves. The man must be frozen. The rider fumbled at a pocket and tugged out an envelope.

“I came directly from OSS, sir,” the rider said. “It’s urgent.”

“Urgent, huh?” Henderson grumped from the back seat. “Never would have guessed.”

Ty tore open the envelope. It was too dark to read. “Goddamn it —”

Henderson reached over the back seat and clicked a lighter. “How’s that?”

In the flickering light, Ty’s eyes flew over the scrawled message.

Sniper positioned across from hotel. Protect general at all costs.

Ty could scarcely believe what he had just read. Looking over his shoulder, Henderson strained to see the note. “What does it say?”

“Someone’s planning to shoot Ike.” He turned to his driver. “Step on it! We’ve got to catch up to the general’s car.”

They fell back in their seats as the driver floored it from a dead stop. The big Chevy was no sports car, but the driver worked through the gears, racing the two blocks to the hotel. General Eisenhower’s car had already pulled to the curb; Ty could see the brake lights ahead.

“Move it, goddamnit!”

The Chevy flew up the street, and for a moment Ty feared that they were going to slam into the back of Ike’s car. But the driver swerved as he hit the brakes, and in a display of wheelsmanship worthy of a Monte Carlo racer managed to skid to a stop almost parallel to the general’s car. Ty had the door open before they stopped moving.

Ike was already on the sidewalk, having a smoke with the officers who had ridden over from the White House. He stopped to watch as the other car roared up.

Ty ran toward the general, shouting, “Get down!”

Two MPs stood guard at the door. Both had their side arms aimed at Ty, not knowing what was going on. Ringed by his staff officers, Ike seemed frozen to the spot, then took a step toward the hotel door.

Major Henderson was out of the car now, yelling at the MPs not to shoot.

Hess sensed the breeze increase and he let the single-post sight drift to the general’s chest. He might be able to make a headshot at this distance, but that would only be a matter of vanity. He had not crossed the Atlantic to miss. There was a much better chance that he would hit the general’s heart.

Let it come…

Too many officers still milled around the general. They were busy with cigarettes, lighting them up. Despite the fatigue that seemed to weigh on the general’s shoulders, the group radiated the kind of high spirits that signaled they had just come from a party or a convivial dinner. Hess let his finger take up another fraction of pressure on the trigger. Not yet. Someone held a match for the general and the brief glow illuminated his face.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hess heard a racing engine and a squeal of brakes. He ignored the noises. All that mattered was what he could see in the circle of the telescopic sight.

Then Eisenhower stepped clear. He sucked greedily on the cigarette, making the tip flare red.

Hess fired.

Ty tackled the general. He hit Eisenhower harder than he intended and their momentum carried them right to the ground. In the instant that they collided, he felt more than heard something hiss past his ear. The sensation made his spine tingle. Then he and the general tumbled together onto the sidewalk in a tangle of arms, legs and overcoats. Only then did Ty hear the distant but unmistakable crack of a rifle in the winter air.

The other staff members, stunned by the sight of Ty plowing into the general, leapt into action. Hands reached for Ty’s shoulders, tugging him roughly away from the general.

“For crissake!” Ike shouted, sounding highly pissed off. “What the hell got into you?”

“Was that a backfire?” somebody wondered.

It occurred to Ty that in the confusion, not everyone had understood that they were being shot at. Ty tried to make himself heard, but the two large MPs had hold of Ty now and wrestled him away from Ike.

To Ty’s relief, Henderson’s voice cut through loud as a bullhorn. “Get the general inside! There’s a sniper!”