Choppy Water - Stuart Woods Page 0,43

quickly as possible, something he had rehearsed many times in his room. He set up the folding tripod, attached the rifle, and sighted across the avenue to the White House, where a single window of the family quarters was lit. To his astonishment, the woman was sitting at a desk, going through a document and making notes.

“Good God, an insomniac,” he said.

He checked his equipment again, then it occurred to him: Why wait? His chances of pulling this off and getting away were better now than in the morning. He got out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.

“Yes?”

“Conditions are favorable at this hour,” he said.

“Now?” came the astonished reply.

“I repeat: conditions are favorable now. Plans change. Position the vehicle.”

“As you wish.”

“How long do you need?”

“Three minutes.”

“Ring once when you’re in position.”

“Understood.”

Both men hung up.

Eugene made his final preparations, then sighted through the rifle again. She was still at work. He positioned himself behind the rifle, took aim, and waited.

The cell phone in his breast pocket vibrated once. Eugene squeezed off the first shot. He saw the window star; it would be much weakened now. He squeezed off the second shot, saw the window explode and the woman’s hair move. Then he saw a red flashing light under the eaves near the window and heard a bell start to ring rhythmically. The shattering of the window had tripped an alarm system. He wasn’t going to bother with changing into pajamas; he had to get out now.

Quickly and smoothly, he closed the window, disassembled the rifle, packing each piece into its place, closed the case, unlocked the door and walked quickly to the open window in the dorm. He looked out the window, chose a thicket of bushes, and dropped the case. He saw it disappear into the shrubs.

He straddled the windowsill, checked that the half-hook was holding, then climbed out the window and slid down the rope, controlling his descent with the knots. Once on the ground, he flicked the rope twice; the half-hook popped off the windowsill and fell to the ground. He retrieved his case from the bushes, tucked the rope inside it, and ran for the gate, removing the duct tape as he left. The car was waiting.

Eugene tossed his case into the rear compartment of the SUV. “No more than thirty miles an hour,” he said. The driver pulled away and drove, unobserved, through the empty streets.

* * *

—

At three AM, Bill Wright was dressed and having toast and coffee in his kitchen. He and Blake were meeting at the rectory at four AM. His phone rang. “Wright,” he said.

“Code 101 at location zero,” a voice said.

Wright was stunned. “What damage?”

“To be determined.”

Wright put away his phone and ran for his car. The second call came as he was backing out of his garage.

“It’s Tom. Did you hear?”

“I’m on my way. I’ll meet you there.” He hung up and switched on his flashing lights.

* * *

—

The White House gate guard waved him through quickly. He drove to the portico, got out, and ran for the elevator.

Tom Blake was already in the room, along with two uniformed Secret Service guards. Holly Barker and the president and the first gentleman were also in the room, all of them dressed in nightclothes and robes.

Bill said good evening to them, then walked to the window and inspected it. There was a hole the size of a softball in the two layers of glass. “Upgrade needed here,” he said to nobody in particular.

He bent over and inspected the dummy. “Two shots to the head.”

“Then I must be deceased,” Holly said.

34

Colonel Sykes was sound asleep when he was awakened by the telephone. The bedside clock read 3:33 AM, and the shoot was to take place after seven AM. Something had gone wrong. “Hello?”

“Confirm project has been successfully completed,” Eugene’s voice said.

“You must be confused,” Sykes said. “Too early.”

“Subject is an insomniac. Favorable conditions prevailed earlier than planned.” He hung up.

Sykes sat on his bed, his heart pounding. He had made it happen, just as he had planned, only sooner. He looked up the number of Eugene’s burner phone and dialed it.

“Yes?”

“Confirm successful completion.”

“Confirmed. It was perfect.”

“Listen to me: don’t arrive carrying the package. Leave it where you can find it again. Also, any relevant clothing. Do not make your final turn if there is any vehicle in sight.”

“Understood,” Eugene said, then hung up.

Sykes breathed a sigh of relief and began to calm down. They would get rid of the rifle and tools