“About an hour and a half ago,” Plato detailed, “there was an assassination attempt on Governor Melnick and myself at the airport. Governor Melnick’s wife, Sharon, was slain.”
Stunned expressions filled the lobby.
“Enroute to Anaheim we were attacked again,” Plato continued.
“Accordingly, I’m requesting an emergency session of the Freedom Federation Council to convene immediately. It is imperative we develop contingency plans and formulate a strategem to neutralize this threat to the summit.”
Kilrane took several steps forward. “They have a conference room we can use.”
“Then let’s repair to the conference room and conduct our meeting,” Plato suggested.
“I’ll show you where it is,” Kilrane offered.
Plato nodded and went to follow the Cavalry leader, but Blade grabbed his wrist.
“Hold it,” Blade said. He released Plato and beckoned for the Federation members to gather around him.
Star came up to Plato and gave him a hug. “I wouldn’t care if the world was coming to an end,” she stated affectionately. “You still get a hug and a kiss from me.” So saying, she pecked him on the right cheek.
“I’m overjoyed to see you again,” Plato told her. During her twelfth year Star had resided at the Home, living with Plato and his wife, Nadine.
“Listen up,” Blade addressed the clustered delegates. “I expect the Free State Army will post guards on the conference room doors, but we are not going to rely on them for our security. We must protect our leaders ourselves. We’ll post our own guards to supplement the soldiers.”
“That’s a good idea,” Kilrane remarked.
“Then we should pick one of us to serve as security chief for the Council,” Blade recommended.
“That’s easy enough,” Kilrane stated. “You’re more qualified than anyone else.” He looked at the others. “Any objections to Blade being our security chief?”
No one objected.
“Okay, then,” Blade said. “While Plato, Kilrane, Zahner, Star, and Wolfe conduct their meeting, I want to get together with the rest of you right outside the conference room.” He glanced at Hickok. “All except for you.”
“Me?” the gunman commented.
Blade looked at Boone. “And you. I understand you’ve taken a tour of the hotel grounds.”
Boone grinned. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“I want Hickok and you to patrol outside the hotel,” Blade directed.
“Keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious.”
“Will do, pard,” Hickok said.
“Where is this conference room?” Blade asked Kilrane.
The Cavalry leader pointed to the right. “Over there.”
Blade looked up, scanning the right-hand side of the lobby, his gaze alighting on a solitary soldier standing at the very rear near an open door, a soldier with an M-16 pressed against his shoulder and aimed at the Federation delegates!
The sniper was leering as he sighted his M-16.
“Look out!” Blade shouted, diving, tackling Plato and bearing him to the carpet.
The lobby was rent by the metallic chatter of an automatic rifle.
Screams and yells punctuated the gunfire.
Blade looked up in time to see one of Wolfe’s flunkies take a shot in the head and topple over. The hapless man had been standing in a direct line between Plato and the assassin. Everyone else was flattening or ducking for cover behind furniture. With two notable exceptions.
Hickok and Boone had drawn and spun as the firing began, but lacking Blade’s height, they were unable to catch a clear glimpse of the sniper until the firing had stopped. They saw the assassin dart through the open door at the rear of the lobby and took off in pursuit, Hickok glancing back to insure Blade and Plato were unhurt.
Blade leaped to his feet. The sniper had simply sprayed his rounds in the general direction of the Federation delegates, and he had mowed down ten Free State citizens in the bargain. Crimson puddles dotted the blue carpet while groans of anguish wafted to the ceiling. Blade was relieved to discover Wolfe’s assistant was the only Federation casualty. “Let’s get to the conference room! Now!” he ordered.
Plato slowly stood, scowling as he surveyed the littered bodies.
Assistance was being rendered to the injured, while Wolfe was staring at his fallen flunkie with casual disinterest. “Most illogical,” Plato remarked.
“What is?” Blade asked.
“This attack,” Plato said. “We were the sniper’s target, yet he indiscriminately slaughtered innocent bystanders on the slim chance of slaying us. Why didn’t he bide his time until a more favorable opportunity arose?”
“Who knows?” Blade responded, shrugging. “They’d already tried twice and failed. Maybe they’re getting desperate. Or maybe this sniper was impatient or an amateur. Or maybe they just wanted to scare the other Federation delegates into calling off the summit.” He scrutinized the lobby. “So much for Free State Army security! They should have warned the delegates about the airport attack.”
“I’m positive Governor Melnick is too preoccupied at the moment over the untimely demise of his wife to have given any consideration to contacting the delegates. Then again, he may have surmised security here was adequate to counter any threat, and felt there was scant justification for alarming the Federation members.” Plato looked at the dead Mole.
“Hindsight is invariably perfect.”
Blade saw Kilrane waiting for them ten yards away. “Let’s get to the conference room,” he advised.
“What about Nathan and Boone?” Plato inquired.
“They can take care of themselves,” Blade replied.
From afar, from the rear of the hotel, sounded the booming of a revolver.
Chapter Five
Hickok and Boone reached the doorway through which the sniper had disappeared and paused, Hickok to the right of the door, Boone to the left, while they peered past the jamb. They found a corridor leading to the rear of the hotel, an empty corridor, and they cautiously jogged toward another door at the end of the passage, alert for any movement. They reached a closed door in the center of the corridor on the left side and halted.
Hickok, careful to keep his body to one side of the doorway, gripped the knob and tried to twist it, but the doorknob refused to budge. “Locked,” he whispered.
“Do you think the son of a bitch is hiding in there?” Boone asked.
“I doubt it,” Hickok responded. “If the varmint had any brains, he’s skedaddlin’ for the hills right about now. Come on.” He raced to the far door, Boone on his left side.
The door was slightly ajar.
Hickok hesitated, his intuition blaring. There was a small window in the upper half of the door, and through the glass could be seen lush green vegetation. The gardens Captain Di Nofrio had mentioned. Hickok doubted the security people would leave an exit unlocked while the summit was in progress. Which meant the assassin must have picked the lock to gain entry, and had probably fled through the same door.
“What is it?” Boone queried.
“Stay back,” Hickok warned. There was one way to tell if his supposition was correct. He backed up several paces, then charged the door, slamming his left shoulder against the wood, flinging the door wide and plunging to the right, landing on a swath of grass and rolling, coming up on his knees with his Pythons leveled even as the window in the door exploded in a tinkling shower of glass shards.
Why hadn’t he heard a shot?
Hickok rose and raced to a large tree ten feet off, crouching with his back to the trunk. There should have been a shot! But what if the sniper had discarded the M-16 and was using one of those mystery weapons, the same kind as the joker at the airport? Those lethal beauties didn’t make a sound. He peeked around the trunk, probing the profuse plant growth for the assassin.