‘Sure,’ said Lock. ‘This is an education.’
Coburn sighed. ‘Ever since we got our first black President, gun ownership has gone through the roof. So have sales of ammunition. The Secret Service and other federal agencies have identified over three hundred domestic groups who would love to take a shot at him. Plots have been uncovered and thwarted to kill not only him but the First Lady and their daughters. There have also been threats to kidnap the kids and execute them. The Secret Service deal with this shit every day. What makes tomorrow so different?’
‘You gonna allow me the right of reply?’
‘Sure. But as soon as I hear the word “hunch” or “feeling” or any other guesswork bullshit, this conversation is done.’
Lock took a breath. ‘There are threats and then there are credible threats from individuals and groups who can action them. You with me so far?’
‘You going to keep stating the obvious?’ Coburn asked.
‘Maybe someone should. Now, Reaper and the people who sprang him-’
‘At least one of whom is dead,’ Coburn interrupted.
Lock gave him a ‘yeah, I kinda know that’ look before continuing. ‘This group is not only highly motivated and determined, as proved by not one but two attempts to free their de facto leader, they are also highly trained. Not to mention ingenious. They appear to have the resources required. And here’s the kicker: their leader is still at large and active.’
‘Agreed,’ said Coburn, not exactly softening but finally seeming to listen to what Lock was trying to say.
‘We know Reaper is in town. And it’s a fair guess that he-’
‘Guess? You’re getting close to saying you have a hunch here, Lock.’
Lock changed tack, a trick he’d picked up from Jalicia. He wished she was here with them now. ‘Why would Reaper and his buddies go to the trouble of killing Junius Holmes?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Not to me.’
‘Then go back and read the files. He went up against them. This was payback.’
‘Not good enough, Coburn. If I’m guessing here, then so are you.’
‘OK. So let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re right, that Reaper is here in San Francisco lying in wait to kill the President. How’s he going to do it?’
Lock scuffed a shoe against the sidewalk. ‘That I don’t know. But I think you should have some people there as well.’
‘Oh, you mean in addition to the two hundred or so Secret Service men and half of the San Francisco Police Department?’
‘What about the route? Where’s he coming in from?’
‘Listen, Lock, I’m going to be nice about this, because although you’re a major pain in the ass, you’re either crazier than a crackhead or you’ve just got way bigger balls than anyone I’ve ever met. Take your money and go take that long vacation. We’ll catch up with Reaper, and the President will be just fine. We don’t need you.’
‘At least pass on my concerns to the Secret Service,’ Lock said, walking away.
Coburn cupped his hands in a cone to his mouth. ‘Take that vacation, Lock. You hear me?’
Still feeling uneasy, Lock walked back to his car, pulled out on to Golden Gate Avenue and headed east towards Grace Cathedral. Traffic was already being diverted ahead of the funeral, so he had to park five blocks away.
Heading back towards the cathedral, he tried to approach it as Reaper would. The first thing he noticed was that all the mail boxes and trash cans had been removed. Manhole covers had been sealed. All standard practice for a presidential visit. As was the case protecting any other VIP, there were certain points where they were more vulnerable than others. Lock looked around him. The cathedral would have undergone a detailed search. Once this was completed, those who could gain access would be strictly controlled. The same went for the guest list.
The route from the airport or the helipad that was being used might normally be a worry, but Lock reckoned that the presidential limousine removed much of that risk. Nicknamed ‘The Beast’ by the Secret Service, it was an up-armored Cadillac with run-flat tires and, if rumors were to be believed, its own air supply. A new one was usually rolled out for every inauguration, and the latest incarnation was said to weigh in at close to eight tonnes.
All this meant that the main threat would lie between The Beast and entry to the cathedral. Given that the authorities would have taken every sniper position for themselves, that left a rush from the crowd. Or, if Reaper and his accomplices stayed true to form, a full-on armed assault.
Lock looked around again, then crossed the street, trying to get a sense of the place from Reaper’s perspective. Where would he make his move from? What would be his best entry point?
Standing there, he noticed a freshly laid patch of asphalt. A truck with crash barriers loaded on to the back rolled over it. Once it had passed, Lock recrossed the street to take a better look.
Absence of the normal. Presence of the abnormal.
In and of itself there was nothing abnormal about a patch of road having been repaired. Lock didn’t know much about road repair either. But a couple of things did stand out to him. The first was that the road surface around the newly laid area was immaculate. No cracks. No damage. Lock guessed that it could have been a pothole, but why would the city go to all the trouble of resurfacing the whole area?
He looked back at the cathedral. The repaired area was directly parallel to the entrance. Exactly where the disembarkation point would be for the President.
Lock kicked away at where the new surface met the kerb with his boot. He kept kicking until he had chipped away the top layer of asphalt. Underneath that layer the filler looked fresh as well. He knelt down, pulled out his Gerber knife and dug into it, as far as the blade of the knife would go.
Nothing. He bit down on his lip. Ty, Coburn — hell, even Carrie — would tell him he was being paranoid. Of course the disembarkation point would have been freshly repaired. Just like the steps would be freshly swept. It was said that the Queen of England must think the world smells of fresh paint because everywhere she goes there’s some poor bastard twelve feet in front of her with a pot of paint. The same probably went for the President.
Lock re sheathed his knife and stood up, feeling the warmth of the sun on his back. Across the street, people strolled through Huntington Park, enjoying the weather.
He’d get Carrie to swing them an invite. Just in case.
63
Tuesday morning, eleven a.m. Snipers dotted the rooftops. A San Francisco Police Department helicopter buzzed low over Grace Cathedral. On the ground there were plenty of uniforms. The streets immediately surrounding the cathedral were closed to all but official traffic.
At a perimeter barrier formed by half a dozen sawhorses, Lock showed his invitation along with identification, and was checked off a list. He stepped through and waited for Ty to go through the same rigmarole. Carrie had come through, as Lock knew she would, securing them seats inside the cathedral.
‘Where do you think we’ll be sitting, huh?’ Ty asked, excited at the prospect of seeing the first African-American President in the flesh.
Lock shrugged, his mind on Reaper and the threat he posed. ‘How should I know?’
Ty stopped walking, forcing Lock to look back. ‘Will you just chill the hell out? Look around. No one’s going to be making any moves against the President with all this security. And even if they do, they got America’s Top Bodyguard in attendance.’ Ty smirked. ‘So where do you think we’re sitting?’
‘I’m sure you’ll be front and centre, right in between the President and the First Lady.’
‘Sweet. So, when’s this thing supposed to start?’
‘You make it sound like a concert.’
Ty craned his neck to check out the queue of guests in front of them. Here and there, Lock recognized a senator or some other major political figure. There were even a couple of high-profile actors and media types, presumably drawn in by the presence of the President. As people chatted excitedly, Lock wondered how many of them had ever even met Junius Holmes. The vibe was definitely not that of a funeral. Instead, the whole thing came off like the funeral was the hottest ticket in town. Lock reflected that it made for one huge upside: a rampaging gang of white supremacists making for the President was definitely going to stand out.