“No way, Spicer. Ford is gonna win because he’s the better man.”
“You still think that?”
“No, but 100 million voters do.” She was coming around to his point of view. The evidence was becoming overwhelming. “They’ve been bombarded with campaign ads for months. He’s hired the best people. Hell, the guy who directs the ads is a multi-Oscar winner from Hollywood. They doubled their TV time in the last few weeks.”
“They know how to sell their shit,” Weller added.
Spicer pushed off from the car and walked away, lost in thought. The gears were turning, everything was falling into place.
“Son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“That’s it! That’s how they did it. Houseman financed the bastard’s campaign. He took government money and leaked it to Ford. The money’s already laundered since Sigma isn’t supposed to exist. All Houseman has to do is sign the checks.”
That was the best argument Esther had heard. She couldn’t keep from believing the theory now. She had faith in her party but it wouldn’t mean anything if the election was fraudulent.
“Excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”
Spicer gave her his burner phone and she walked away as she dialed.
“That fucker’s not gonna be my Commander in Chief, that’s for goddamn sure.”
As a loud roar broke the silence, they all looked up. It was the undeniable sound of a Cessna Citation III maneuvering into final approach. They couldn’t see him but they knew was Ned in the cockpit since he had called Spicer to let him know of his plan before he started flying below the radar.
Now they were four.
Spicer was behind the wheel next to Esther while Weller and Ned were in the back. They were parked across the street from the Westin Diplomat in Hollywood. It was about 20 miles north of Miami but the resort was becoming a major attraction for conventions and corporate events.
Rubbing the gun under his shirt, Spicer said, “Your phone call go okay, Esther?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll have people looking for our bodies?”
This time she only nodded in silence.
Ned was still confused. “Why do we have to go in there anyway? I just flew a thousand miles to get away from those assholes.”
“We’re going to change history.”
They left the car and crossed the busy A1A to get to the hotel. Technically, the Common Sense Alliance had only rented a few rooms and the Grand Ballroom but in reality the entire place was involved in the election party. In the lobby there was a funnel effect as waves of supporters wanted to go in but they had to go through the Secret Service checkpoint.
Spicer grew more nervous as they approached the federal agents. They had metal detector wands and they were also checking bags and IDs.
“Come on,” a bored Secret Service agent said with a booming voice. “Move along please!”
Once it was their turn, Esther produced her party identification card. “I’m in charge of the domestic affairs committee. These guys are with me.”
“Fine, but you still all have to be checked out.”
Esther, Ned, and David went through. And then it was Spicer’s turn.
The USSS agent swept the detector along his legs and arms. Spicer struggled to keep his breathing uneventful. His fingers became restless, trembling. If the agent noticed it he would surely be taken to an adjoining room to be questioned. The detector went down his back, then along his chest.
It didn’t beep.
“Okay, you’re fine. Good evening.”
Spicer nodded a curt thanks but he didn’t join the others several feet away. Instead he headed to the reception desk for an instrumental part of the plan.
He was so focused that he didn’t notice who was standing at the mouth of the lobby bar. Dr. Michaels was right there, scanning the crowd. A devilish smirk tipped his mouth when he spotted the former hitman.
He snapped his fingers to catch the attention of two nearby Secret Service agents, calling them over.
Spicer offered his most sincere smile to the lady behind the reception desk. Social engineering wasn’t his forte but he needed to pry information out of her for the most sensitive part of the operation.
“I’m delivering some papers for Mr. Ford and…”
Before he could finish, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Two humorless men in suits were coming his way — obviously federal agents. More troubling was Michaels who was standing beyond them, observing the scene.
“Sir?” the reception woman asked.
Spicer promptly forgot about her. The plan had changed. He took off running and went into a cluster of half-drunk political activists. Creating confusion was his best hope to stay alive.
Chapter 29
Spicer was in the staircase, climbing steps two at the time. He wasn’t yet out of breath and credited adrenaline for keeping him going so strong at his age. He had once considered himself a world-class assassin but the perfect murder had always entailed more planning than acrobatics. He hadn’t had to escape from people in 20 years.
Over the echoing clang of his feet on the metal stairs, he heard another sound and looked up. A flight higher, Clara was standing there calmly, aiming a gun straight at him.
“Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.”
“So this is it,” Spicer said, finally realizing how tired he was. “This is where the hunting accident happens?”
“Car-jacking is much more believable these days.”
As inconspicuously as possible, Spicer patted his stomach, gently undoing a button of his shirt.
“What is that, a 40 caliber USP? Isn’t that a noisy bastard? I’m sure you have cover stories rehearsed up the fucking wazoo but a dead guy at the hotel of the new President never sounds good. The polls aren’t closed in California yet.”
She grinned and unhurriedly climbed down, all the while keeping her weapon trained on him.
“You’re a national security threat,” she said as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.
“That used to be my favorite motivation too.”
When she was three feet away, he leaped forward and succeeded in pushing her gun away from him. Caught off guard, she dropped the gun and it tumbled noisily down a flight.
Before Spicer could move for his own weapon, she kicked him in the chest. The impact was weak and he replied with a series of direct punches which she blocked with slick kung fu moves he hadn’t seen anyone use in years.
As she attempted another kick, he pulled her leg and it made her fall hard against the steps. She used the momentum to kick him with her other leg, knocking his breath away. She rolled up on herself to where he lied and pressed her knee into his groin.
“Ah!”
She pinned one of his arms down while she strived to choke him with the other. Spicer felt like he was drowning. She had attacked him on multiple fronts and he was struggling to stay afloat. He couldn’t do it.
Smiling at her success, she dragged his head a few inches to the side so that it got positioned under the railing.
He knew he would be dead if he didn’t fight back right this moment. She would snap his neck and get away with it. Why couldn’t he have trained more in hand-to-hand combat instead of relying on weapons?
He cycled through his options when he heard fast footsteps climbing up the stairs. He had a good idea who these people were and the renewed hope made him focus.
With his free hand, he tried going for his gun, which she hadn’t yet discovered, but her elbow was in the way. He used his last strength to reach up and yank her earring off.
“Ooohh fuck!”
Instinctively, she let go of his throat to check the damage. There was blood but not too much.