Brad’s glasses swept on. Suddenly he jerked them back. He thought he’d seen something in the gap between the triangular ad panel and the screen. He double-checked... it was the barrel of a rifle, pointing towards the centre of the field from the gap where he had earlier seen Arnie peering through his binoculars. He touched the fine focus and stared at a face he’d seen earlier that day. He didn’t hesitate.
‘Cover and evacuate. Gun.’
Brad spoke with such urgency and authority that Braithwaite and two of his counter-snipers instantly swung their binoculars round to the JumboTron. Within moments they had focused on Connor lining up his second shot.
‘Relax,’ Connor was murmuring to himself. ‘Don’t rush. You’ve got plenty of time.’ Zerimski’s head again filled the scope. Connor lined up the mil dots and breathed out again. Three... two...
Braithwaite’s bullet hammered into his left shoulder, knocking him backwards. A second bullet whistled through the gap where his head had been an instant before.
The national anthem came to an end.
Twenty-eight years of training had prepared Connor for this moment. Everything in his body screamed out to him to make good his escape. He immediately began to carry out plan A, trying to ignore the excruciating pain in his shoulder. He struggled to the door, switched off the light and clambered out onto the walkway. He tried to run to the far door that led out onto the concourse, but found he needed every ounce of energy just to keep moving. Forty seconds later, just as the two Presidents were being escorted from the field, he reached the door. He heard a roar from the crowd as the Redskins prepared to kick off.
Connor unlocked the door, staggered to the service elevator and jabbed the button several times. He could hear the little engine whirr into action as it began its slow progress towards the seventh level. His eyes were darting right and left, searching for the slightest sign of danger. The pain in his shoulder was becoming more and more intense, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. The first places every law enforcement agency would check were the local hospitals. He stuck his head into the shaft, and watched the top of the elevator heading towards him. It was about fifteen seconds away. But then it came to a sudden halt. Someone must be loading or unloading at the executive level.
Connor’s instinctive reaction was to fall back on his contingency plan, something he had never had to do in the past. He knew he couldn’t hang around — if he waited for more than a few more seconds, someone would spot him.
He moved as quickly as he could back towards the door that led to the JumboTron. The service elevator resumed its journey. A tray of sandwiches, a slice of Black Forest cake and the Coke that Arnie had been looking forward to appeared a few seconds later.
Connor slipped back through the door marked ‘Private’, leaving it unlocked. He had to summon up every ounce of willpower in his body to cover the seventy yards along the walkway, but he knew that agents from the Protective Intelligence Division mobile team would be swarming through that door within moments.
Twenty-four seconds later, Connor reached the massive girder that supported the video screen. He gripped the rail with his right hand and eased himself over the edge of the walkway and onto the ledge just as the door to the corridor swung open. He slipped under the walkway and heard two sets of feet run towards him, pass above him and stop outside the door to the JumboTron itself. Through a gap in the walkway he could see an officer clasping a hand gun pushing the door open. Without stepping inside, he fumbled for the light switch.
Connor waited until the lights went on and the two officers had disappeared inside the JumboTron before he began to crawl along the forty-two-foot girder for the third time that day. But now he could only hold on with his right arm, which meant that his progress was even slower. At the same time he had to be sure that the blood dripping from his left shoulder fell the 170 feet to the ground and not onto the girder for all to see.
When the leading Secret Service agent entered the JumboTron, the first thing he saw was Arnie handcuffed to the steel beam. He moved slowly towards him, constantly checking in every direction until he was standing by his side. His partner covered him while he unlocked Arnie’s handcuffs and gently lowered him to the ground, then removed the handkerchief from his mouth and checked his pulse. He was alive.
Arnie raised his eyes to the ceiling, but didn’t speak. The first Secret Service man immediately began to mount the steps to the second level, while the other officer covered him. The first man edged cautiously along the ledge behind the vast screen. A deafening roar went up around the stadium as the Redskins scored a touchdown, but he ignored it. Once he had reached the far wall, he turned back and nodded. The second officer began to climb to the top level, where he carried out a similar reconnaissance.
Both officers were back on the lower level, double-checking every possible hiding place, when a message came over the first agent’s radio.
‘Hercules 7.’
‘Hercules 7, go ahead.’
‘Any sign of him?’ asked Braithwaite.
‘There’s nobody here except Arnie, who was cuffed to a beam in his underwear. Both doors were unlocked, and there’s a trickle of blood all the way to the concourse, so you definitely winged him. He has to be out there somewhere. He’s wearing Arnie’s uniform, so he shouldn’t be too hard to spot.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ said Braithwaite. ‘If it’s who I think it is, he could be right under your nose.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Three men sat in the Oval Office listening to the tape. Two were in evening dress, the third in uniform.
‘How did you find it?’ asked Lawrence.
‘It was among the pile of clothes Fitzgerald left in the JumboTron,’ said Special Agent in Charge Braithwaite. ‘In the back pocket of his jeans.’
‘How many people have heard it?’ asked Lloyd, trying not to sound anxious.
‘Just the three of us in this room, sir,’ said Braithwaite. ‘As soon as I’d listened to it, I contacted you immediately. I haven’t even briefed my boss.’
‘I’m grateful for that, Bill,’ said the President. ‘But what about those who witnessed the incident in the stadium?’
‘Apart from myself, only five other people were aware that anything happened, and you can be assured of their discretion,’ said Braithwaite. ‘Four of them have been on my personal staff for ten years or more, and between them they know enough secrets to sink the last four Presidents, not to mention half of Congress.’
‘Did anyone actually see Fitzgerald?’ asked Lloyd.
‘No, sir. The two agents who searched the JumboTron immediately after the incident found no sign of him except a pile of clothes, a lot of blood and one of my men handcuffed to a beam. After I’d played the tape, I gave an order that there was to be no written or verbal report concerning the incident.’
‘What about the man who was hanging from the beam?’ asked the President.
‘He just lost his footing and slipped off the ledge. I’ve put him on sick leave for a month.’
‘You mentioned a fifth person,’ said Lloyd.
‘Yes, sir, a young trainee who was up on the lighting tower with us.’
‘How can you be sure he won’t talk?’ asked Lloyd.
‘His application to join the Secret Service is on my desk as we speak,’ said Braithwaite. ‘I think he’s hoping to be assigned to my division as soon as he’s completed his training.’