Capitol Conspiracy (32 page)

Zimmer felt a boot in his gut, then he felt it again, then again. Consciousness was wavering.

“I wish I had more time to play with you,” the man said in what sounded like a Russian accent. His face was alarmingly happy. “I enjoyed playing with your former leader. That went on for hours. But I do not have the time now. I must simply kill you and move on.”

He flipped the rifle around and pressed the business end to Zimmer’s neck. “Farewell, American pig. I will laugh as—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. All at once, he lurched forward, face first. His rifle flew across the stairwell.

Through blurred eyes, Zimmer saw his boss, Carl Lehman, standing behind, fists clenched.
I must be hallucinating,
he thought.

“Don’t bother getting up,” Lehman said. He drew his handgun and pointed it. “The SWAT team is on its way. You can’t escape. Don’t make this—”

Like a flash of lightning, the assassin leaped forward and wrapped himself around Lehman’s legs, knocking him sideways. Lehman fired, but the bullet went wide of its mark. He fired again just as his considerable bulk hit the concrete. The fall knocked the weapon out of his hands.

“Stupid old man,” the killer snarled. “Are you so feeble you don’t realize this is what I wanted all along? To kill another director of Homeland Security!” He crawled over Lehman, then brought a fist down hard on his face, flattening his nose. Blood spurted everywhere, including into the killer’s face. He hit Lehman again. The blows rained down, fast and hard, pummeling Lehman’s face. Lehman tried to resist, but he didn’t have the strength. He was a punching bag, a tired old punching bag being terminated, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The assassin adjusted his aim to Lehman’s solar plexus. Lehman felt as if his lungs were exploding. He couldn’t catch a breath. He doubled over, trying to protect himself, but it was no use.

The next volley of blows went to the groin. Then the man rose and began kicking, shattering Lehman’s knee with a single blow. The pain was excruciating. And just when Lehman thought he couldn’t possibly bear any more, he felt the nose of his own handgun pressed against his neck.

“Your predecessor fought harder. He was much your superior. It took hours before he talked. In ten minutes, you would tell me everything you know. But I don’t have ten minutes.”

He pulled back the hammer. Lehman closed his eyes.

He heard the shattering report of a gun.

And then Lehman was shocked to find he could open his eyes. It took a moment for the thought to register:
I’m still alive!

The assassin was crumpled on the concrete. Behind him, wobbling on his knees, was Agent Zimmer—holding the dead man’s assault rifle.

“On your knees,” Zimmer barked. The killer was wounded, but far from dead. “Hands behind your head.”

The killer did not immediately respond. He seemed confused—perhaps dazed by the fall.

Down the stairwell, Zimmer detected the sound of many heavy footsteps.

“Hear that?” Zimmer barked. “That’s the SWAT team coming to have their way with you. My advice is that you tell us everything we want to know, and then there’s a chance, just a chance that one day, far in the future, you might possibly—” He broke off.
“No!”

The sniper’s hand had darted to his pants pocket, then a second later, to his mouth.

Zimmer rushed forward, but the killer rolled away before he could grab him. His body had become limp, as if someone had removed his spine. White foam spewed out of his mouth.

“Damn!” he shouted. “He’s taken poison. Medic!”

Zimmer was vaguely aware that the SWAT team emerged and filled the space behind Director Lehman. The crisis had passed.

What a fool he’d been. He was never meant to be a hero. And he’d screwed it up. But fortunately, Lehman gave him the chance he needed to recover himself and finish the job.

The danger was over. The bad guy had been caught. The president was safe. The Secret Service had redeemed itself. He had redeemed himself. And somehow, he’d managed to remain alive.

That was good enough. For today, anyway.

55

U.S. S
ENATE
C
HAMBER

“…t
hat so long as we are a free nation, we have the right to retain and defend our freedom by any means that the people choose. We have heard the people; they have spoken. They have asked for this amendment. We do not, therefore, take anything away from the American public, but only give them what they want to protect what they already have. And to ensure that the heartrending outbursts of violence this nation has witnessed in recent days can never be repeated.”

Ben rushed into the Senate chamber just as Senator Grayson finished his oratory. As he had arranged via text messages from the vice-president’s assistant and the parliamentarian, Ben would be the next speaker, and the final speaker before the vote. The previous three speakers had all been in favor of the amendment, creating an oratorical roller-coaster ride that they planned to culminate with the words of the president’s chosen advocate—Senator Ben Kincaid of Oklahoma.

“Thank you, Senator Grayson.” The vice-president scanned his notes, as if there were any doubt in his mind about what was to happen next. “For our final speaker, the chair recognizes the senior senator from the state of Oklahoma.”

Ben rose from the desk he had only recently arrived at and slowly walked toward the center of the chamber. “Thank you, Mr. President. I thank you for your evenhanded orchestration of this pivotal debate, and for the rare privilege of being the last to address this august assemblage of the finest elected officials this country has to offer.”

And that concluded the sucking-up portion of his address. Not necessary, he knew, but it couldn’t hurt. It remained to be seen whether, when Ben finished, he would still have any friends in this august assemblage.

“I have listened with great interest to all the opinions that have been expressed regarding this amendment. Even during my absence, I stayed in contact with television and summary reports from my chief of staff. There seem to be common themes emerging. Whether pro or con, virtually every speaker has referenced the tragedy of April nineteenth, or the murder of Senators Hammond and DeMouy. This is not surprising. One of my good friends, Mike Morelli—who was almost killed on April nineteenth—recently reminded me that in the wake of 9/11, the powers-that-be repeatedly referred to that tragedy in the ensuing days to obtain passage of legislation or to secure reelection. In the wake of 9/11, we passed the Patriot Act, a measure that always stood on shaky constitutional ground and probably would not have survived had it come before the Supreme Court. But that wasn’t enough. Illegal activities became rampant, including a multiyear program of domestic eavesdropping conducted by the NSA on orders from the White House, and a clearly unconstitutional policy of opening private mail without a warrant. Prisoners were detained indefinitely without being charged or given access to a lawyer. Torture techniques were condoned. All illegal, yet in those panicked years following 9/11, it happened. It seems that even now, there is no tragedy so great that someone will not exploit it for political advantage.

“There was much confusion about who was behind 9/11. We went to war against a nation we were told was involved—but in fact may have had little or no connection to the tragedy. Similarly, there has been much confusion about who was behind April nineteenth. No one was sure exactly who did it or why it was done, but we were all certain it was an act of terrorism and consequently, dire measures needed to be taken to prevent such terrorism in the future. Except—”

Ben let the mid-sentence pause linger, giving everyone a chance to wonder what exactly he was going to say next.

“Except,” he repeated, “the massacre of April nineteenth did not originate with a foreign power. We now know it was orchestrated by the late Senator DeMouy, using cash-hungry sex traffickers as accomplices, in a cynical if not demented attempt to set himself up for a run at the presidency, using the tragedy as a platform to gain national exposure. What’s more, we now know that Senator DeMouy’s subsequent death had nothing to do with terrorists. To the contrary, in perhaps the ultimate moment of irony, this callous killer was himself murdered by his wife and his chief of staff—lovers trying to eliminate an unwanted spouse. What once seemed so large turns out to be very small indeed. The motivation that the president and others have given us for this sweeping change in the American way of life turns out to be misplaced. The real threat was within our borders all along.”

Ben detected a stirring from the Republican side of the aisle. Even though he had not yet stated his position, those who were paying attention had begun to sense that this speech was not going where they expected.

“What can we learn from this? Does this prove that America will never face danger from terrorists? Obviously not. Can we say that America will never have any use for increased abilities to gather intelligence and prevent crime? No. But regardless of whether this legislation is desirable, we almost rushed into it to deter a threat that did not actually exist. You can discern the pattern as easily as I can—decisions made in haste, decisions made in the aftermath of tragedy, decisions based upon fear, are rarely sound ones. If we are to say farewell to fundamental American liberties this nation has enjoyed since its founding, perhaps that is a decision that should be made pursuant to cold, logical deliberation—based upon reason, not fear.”

There were many perplexed expressions on both sides of the aisle. The secret was out now. He might as well declare himself.

“As you may have already surmised, I no longer favor passage of this bill. I announce this with considerable heaviness of heart. I know the president and others have counted on my support, but that is support that I can no longer give in good conscience. Even though I tried to deny it at the time, the fact is, I was swayed—misled, perhaps—by the horrible injuries suffered by my friend. He sacrificed himself for me, for his president, and I was desperate to ensure that a tragedy of that enormity could not happen again. I was willing to give up even more than our civil liberties—I almost traded my support of two measures that this country sorely needs to be strong, not militarily or defensively, but to ensure that this remains a land of opportunity for one and all.”

As soon as Ben paused, Senator Keyes shot to his feet, obviously angry. “Will the senator from Oklahoma yield the floor?”

“I will not,” Ben said firmly. “But I will promise that I won’t talk much longer.”

Keyes fumed. “Surely this turncoat doesn’t think he has the right to monopolize the floor.”

Ben smiled. “This turncoat believes he has the right to speak, and further believes that his entire talk will take considerably less than the hour and ten minutes that Senator Keyes spoke yesterday, so I don’t really see that he has any grounds to complain.”

Keyes persisted. “Will the senator yield for a question?”

“No, but I will pose this question to you, Senator Keyes. What are you so afraid of?”

Ben took a breath, paused, turned, then continued, before Keyes was tempted to answer his rhetorical question.

“What I think you and others are afraid of, Senator, is not foreign mercenaries or political demagogues, but the American people. Because people are inherently unpredictable—especially when they are free. They cannot be readily controlled. And that’s what this bill is, ultimately. An attempt to gain more control over the rank-and-file citizen. That’s understandable. If this episode has taught us anything, it’s that we must always remain vigilant. Not just against terrorists—but against ourselves. We ourselves pose the only real threat to American democracy.

“I have changed my mind, or perhaps more accurately, returned to what I always deep down knew was right, honored the voice in my head that was trying to tell me I was making a mistake. I just wouldn’t listen. I was working against instinct, against my heart, because I hoped to honor my dear friend. Today I plan to honor Mike by voting against this amendment that he, a prominent law enforcement officer, despises. And I hope that each and every one of you finds someone you can honor by ensuring that no matter what the future holds for them, they will never be stripped of their fundamental rights.

“I hope each of you will examine your own reasons for supporting this bill. If you are convinced this is the direction the nation should take—so be it. But if you are voting based upon fear, or panic, or to retain popularity or party favor—please don’t. These are perilous times, unique in our national history. The greatest danger we face is not terrorists, but the thudding impact of unexamined certainty. Doubt is healthy. Doubt is evidence of thought. We no longer can afford knee-jerk reactions or politicians toeing the party line to comply with some parodistic idea of party dogma. Do we seriously believe that only Democrats care about the environment, poverty, and education? Or that only Republicans want America to have thriving businesses, a strong economy, and low taxes? Of course not. If there is one great truth that has emerged from this sordid incident, it’s this: We are in this together. We stand or fall as one. We exist as a nation—or not at all.”

Ben slowly returned to his desk, laid his hands flat upon it, then turned to deliver his final words.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “This is the United States of America, ladies and gentlemen. The United States of America.” He paused, letting the full impact of his words sink in. “We stand for something. And God willing, we always shall.”

It started slowly at first, just two hands pressed together on the far Democratic side of the floor. Then that clap found a partner somewhere on the opposite side. And before Ben knew it, the entire floor seemed to be applauding. He heard cheering from the press pit. Senators rose to their feet, one after the other. The gallery swayed with the impact of stomped feet, hooting and hollering. Even those Ben knew would still vote for the amendment were awarding him their respect.

He turned and, in the far rear of the chamber, saw Christina beaming at him. Which meant more to him than all the other accolades combined.

Five full minutes passed before the vice-president managed to restore order in the Senate chamber.

“Senators, we will now vote on the pending matter of Senate Bill 1451. The yeas and nays have been ordered. The clerk will call the name of each senator in alphabetical order. Respond with ‘yes’ if you favor passage of the bill, ‘no’ if you do not favor passage. The bill must obtain two-thirds of the votes cast in order to pass.”

The clerk began, a solemn tone to his voice. “Mr. Abernathy…”

Abernathy, a third-term Democrat from Maine, rose to his feet. “Yes,” he said firmly.

“Mr. Anderson?”

“Never.”

“Mrs. Atkins?”

“I vote yes.”

“Mr. Baum…”