Choppy Water - Stuart Woods Page 0,59

New York, apparently for another attempt. This time, we hope we will have enough intelligence to bag them all. We are helped by the fact that Bess has managed to plant trackers on both the vehicles they are traveling in: a Ford Explorer and a van.” He turned his laptop around so that they could see the screen. “As you can see, they’re in New Jersey now.

“Sykes and Bess are staying at the Lowell Hotel on East Sixty-third at Madison. We hope to penetrate their quarters. We’re seeking a search warrant now. That’s about it.”

“All that is encouraging,” Bill said, “but we still don’t have enough evidence to arrest them for anything.”

“I know, and that’s discouraging,” Tom replied.

Stone spoke up. “A question that hasn’t been asked or answered is whether this is a small band of people working on their own, or are they part of a larger group?”

“I’m afraid none of us has anything on that,” Bill said.

Holly spoke up. “Gentlemen—and Claire—do any of you have an opinion of the group’s chances of succeeding?”

There was dead silence for a count of about ten while each of the participants hoped someone else would say it, then Stone spoke up. “A president, I think Harry Truman, said that anyone could kill a president, as long as he was willing to die himself.”

“I think that’s close to being the truth,” Bill said. “But certain precautions can make a difference. For example, ma’am, at every rally you’ve attended while under our protection, from the beginning of your campaign until the present, all the people in the first three rows of the crowd have been prescreened. Most of them were campaign workers or volunteers known to the local organizers. We’ve collected the names, dates of birth, and Social Security numbers of all the others and run them through a computer program designed to reveal if any of them have been treated for a serious mental condition, or is known to have committed a violent crime, including domestic violence, or has threatened the life of a president. By thus cleansing the first three rows of such people, attempts on the principal’s life has been sharply reduced, as long—and this is essential—as the principal does not penetrate the crowds.

“A training film exists of a campaign appearance by former Alabama governor George Wallace, in which he ignores that stricture and spontaneously plunges into the crowd, shaking their outstretched hands. Just beyond the third row he encounters one Arthur Bremer, who shoots him five times before our people can reach him, thereby instantly turning Mr. Wallace into a paraplegic, wheelchair bound for the remainder of his life.”

“I’ve seen that film,” Holly said, “and it put the fear of God into me—or, at least, the fear of crowds.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, ma’am, because that fear may save your life.”

“I think the real moral of that story,” Stone said, “is listen to and obey the Secret Service.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” Holly replied. “Up to a point.”

“Ah,” Bill Wright said. “That point where you are, however briefly, on your own.”

46

Tom Blake was shown to his room and, before showering and changing, made a call. “What is your progress?” he asked.

“The manager at the hotel declined to cooperate until shown a search warrant,” the agent said. “It arrived ten minutes ago, and we are now in the suite.”

“How much time do you need?”

“Fifty minutes,” he said.

“Call the superintendent of the New Jersey state police, describe the two vehicles, and ask him to have his people stop and inspect half a dozen vehicles, among them the suspects’. Tell him this is at the request of the director and the attorney general.”

“Is that a fact, sir?”

“It will be by the time they are stopped. Goodbye.”

Tom called the director, made his case, got his approval, then asked him to call and alert the attorney general. He phoned his agent again. “You are now officially authorized. What is your progress?”

“We need another forty minutes,” the man replied. “Our equipment shows the vehicles twelve minutes out from the Lincoln Tunnel.”

“You’ll make it. You know, of course, that if Sykes twigs to your installation, you’ll be taken out and shot.”

“Of course, sir. If I fail, I’ll look forward to that.”

* * *

—

The group gathered downstairs for dinner in the dining room, prepared by Stone’s cook, Helene, and served by her husband, Fred.

“What news, Tom?” Bill Wright asked.

Tom looked at his watch. “Our suspect vehicles were delayed at the New Jersey end of the Lincoln