The guard nods in agreement

‘Keep your nose out of my affairs. You’re here to do your job, not speculate on the finances. You do it correctly; you will get paid, out of my money, no one else’s. I am not here for a hand out, I’m here for change. Now drag that body down to the caller. We may be here for a while; I don’t want the place stinking up. Make sure you douse the body in petrol just like the rest. We’re having a cremation ceremony before we leave this shithole.’

Sixty Nine

He walks up the stairs holding a suitcase. The stairwell is well lit considering the geographical location he is in. he reads a plaque on the wall.

“Willard Intercontinental Washington Hotel Fire Exit”

He smiles as he manoeuvres up the last couple of steps, lugging the heavy yet important metal briefcase. He sighs in relief as he reaches that much fought for top floor. In no means is he an unfit man. It’s more of the fact that he is carrying such a heavy load. The lift was out of the question. He did not think that using it would help him in this matter. He thought about how he would have to use it coming down because time is of the essence. He stops pondering and walks a few steps towards the heavy fire exit door. It’s glistening in the artificial light that’s coming from the warm industrial light tubes on the walls, one every few feet. Unnecessarily illuminated for a staircase he thinks to himself. He is dressed in a business like suite. Not uncommon in such a distinguished building. He needs to look the part for what he is about to do. If he came in the building looking common then he would be considered the common enemy. In a sea of suits it would take them ages to find the person responsible. A guy casually dressed in such an establishment would be found in a matter of minutes.

He opens the big metal door. It forces its self-inwards. The strong winds brace against his suit. Ripples of cloth explode all over his body. The swift breeze makes its way up his sleeves and ankles. He walks through the door and onto the rooftop. He looks around and sees a view of Washington that surprises him. The picturesque skyline is surprisingly comforting to the man. He closes the door behind him and walks in a straight line, casually looking around at his surroundings. Metal grates and bellowing AC units occupy the roof along with the occasional antique styling to keep in tone with the building. He laughs to himself as he contemplates whether he is going to see a gargoyle. He finds the designated spot and crouches down to his knees. He fishes into his pockets and produces a small pair of binoculars. He scans the horizon in front of him. The Pennsylvania Avenue Street below him is littered with press. The police are cordoning off an allocated parking spot just in front of the hotel.

He leans against the ledge of the roof top. He looks down and sees the ground. It appears minute in the distance. He leans back in from the granite ledge and shimmy’s further away from it. He turns around still sitting on his rear; his actions seem rehearsed and covert. He flicks the code needed to unlock the briefcase. It hatches open as he looms over it. His face tingles with excitement as he unpacks the contents of the case onto the ground. He carefully places a black silk cloth on the ground. He unfolds it to reveal its true size. It stretches the ground in front of him. He reaches into the case again and pulls out a large metal piece. It’s shaped like a silencer. He starts pulling out bits of metal and wood. He clicks the pieces together in a timely fashion. The pieces quickly start to form the shape of a rifle. He attaches a barrel and then calmly screws on the suppressor. He fishes around the brief case once more and pulls out a soft silk pouch. He opens it and produces an 18 x Zoom scope. He attaches it to the now fully formed rifle. He places the constructed rifle on the black cloth laid out in front of him. He then pulls out his last piece of equipment. He stands up and walks over to the ledge. He takes another look through his binoculars. He then sits back down overlooking the edge of the roof. He unclips a tripod and fixes it to the ground. He shakes it to see if it’s sturdy. It is, he turns around and crawls towards the black cloth. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a balaclava. He puts it on. He takes off his suit jacket and puts on an army shirt. He places the jacket on the silk cloth and picks up the heavy rifle. He slowly manoeuvres over to the tripod and clicks the rifle into place.

He kneels down on his front and lines the scope up. He looks through it and scans the ground below him. He marks a couple of people into his sights. He reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out a PDA. He clicks the touch screen buttons and hits an application. The loading bar hits one hundred. He places the PDA down on the ground millimetres away from the rifle. He reaches into his pockets again and pulls out a small ear piece. He places it in his ear and clicks “SYNC” on the device. He breaths in deeply and takes aim once more. He scans the horizon and sees nothing. The earpiece clicks.

‘ETA on the President thirty minutes’

Seventy

Sandra Austin is stood at the vending machine for what seems like the hundredth time in one day. Her camera man Mike walks up to her gingerly.

‘Have you spoken to Bob yet?’

She takes another hot coffee from the vending machine. She takes a long sip from the cup, the warm liquid refreshing her tedious spirits.

‘You know what Mike, since the last time you asked me I still haven’t spoken to him. I wonder why.’ She states sarcastically

Mike shakes his head in frustration.

‘Well to be honest Sandra I don’t like sitting on my ass all day at a Goddamn train station waiting for something to supposedly happen when one of the biggest news worthy events that I have ever witnessed in my thirty five years of being alive is happening right now, and I’m not there to film it!’

Sandra throws Mike a stern look.

‘What did you expect Mike; they let you into M.I.T to film Connor Chase and his men up close?’

‘No not exactly. But I do want to be in the vicinity when they send the SWAT in.’

‘Do you think they would let you film that Mike? Don’t you think that maybe that would give Chase a warning about the infiltration?’ Mike shrugs at Sandra’s comments. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a cigar. He lights it and blows smoke into Sandra’s Face. She shoos the smoke away with her hands and pulls a sickened face at Mike. She steps backwards and throws the bird at Mike. He laughs and walks away leaving her by herself sipping on lukewarm powdered coffee.

‘Asshole’ she mutters to herself while casually people watching.

Seventy One

Eddie smith walks into the interrogation room. Three security officers are standing at the door. He signals them to go relieving them off their duties. They comply and earnestly walk out of the room. Eddie shuts the door firmly behind them. He turns around and looks at Frank who is sitting down palms faced down on the table glancing at Eddie. He walks over to the table and takes a seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he does so. He rests his hands on the table and looks back up at Frank. They make eye contact. Frank smiles openly and relaxes back into his seat.

‘What?’ Asks Frank

Eddie shakes his head in disappointment as he lights a cigarette.

‘I think it’s obvious don’t you?’

‘Not exactly Eddie. Enlighten me.’

‘I’ll give you one clue’

‘Go on’

Eddie gets up from his seat and looks Frank up and down. Frank is shackled with handcuffs around his wrists. Eddie slowly makes his way around the interrogation table. He grabs Frank by the head and slams it hard into the metal table. Frank’s scull bounces in one tremendous jolting action. Frank grunts in pain. Eddie walks back to his seat and sits down, calmly observing Frank. The three security guards rush in guns drawn.