Near Miss

“No one ever has all bases covered, but hopefully we will have done enough to dissuade the enemy.”

“I have every faith in you.”

“Thank you. One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Freeman wanted me to ask: Are you carrying?”

Stone patted the bulge under his jacket. “Yes, and I prefer it to stay where it is.”

Fred waited for them in the garage, along with a pair of Strategic Services bodyguards in a sedan.

Once everyone was in their respective vehicle, Fred raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “This is Fred Flicker. Ready when you are.”

Ray’s voice came over the speaker. “Proceed, Mr. Flicker.”

They drove out of the garage. Waiting on the street were five additional Strategic Services sedans. Three raced ahead to check the intersections. One of the remaining pair pulled in front of Fred to lead the way, and the other fell into place at the back of the motorcade.

“This is exciting,” Carly said.

Stone looked at her.

“What?” she asked.

Stone shook his head. “Nothing.”

The radio crackled to life. “Barrington’s car just left his garage. There are six vehicles traveling with it. Looks like half of those are advance scouts, checking the route.”

Sarge picked up his mic. “Can you confirm Barrington is inside?”

“Not yet, but they’ll be passing our position in thirty seconds. I should be able to tell then.”

Sarge looked out the window of the van. It was parked in an alley, three blocks from the hotel where the bar association dinner was to take place.

He had four watchers stationed along the presumed route Barrington would take, to track the lawyer’s progress. The rest were waiting at their assigned locations.

Even before Sarge received word through Asimov that the police would be watching the lawyer’s route to the event, he’d discarded the idea of going after Barrington on the streets. There were too many factors the Sarge couldn’t control to make it viable, if he were to honor Asimov’s request to see Barrington before he was killed. Chief among them was Barrington’s armored vehicle.

The voice of the spotter came over the radio again, “They just passed. Barrington’s in the back seat with the same woman we’ve seen going into and out of his place. His normal driver is behind the wheel.”

“Copy,” Sarge said. He switched the radio to the frequency setting used by the rest of the team. “This is the Sarge. The target is en route.”

Immediately after the Sarge’s announcement, one of the guys in the back seat of the Ford crew cab pickup parked behind the van said, “I guess this is really happening.”

The Corporal, who sat in the driver’s seat, shot him a look in the rearview mirror and said, “Can it.” He then nodded at the man in the front passenger seat, the guy called Dial.

Teddy Fay picked up the microphone and said, “Team two, copy.”

Chapter 68

The motorcade made it to the hotel without trouble. As Fred pulled the Bentley into the hotel garage, Ray’s voice came over the radio. “The elevators are just ahead. Stop when you reach them. But no one get out until I give you the okay.”

Fred stopped where he’d been told, and the sedans escorting them did the same. Several Strategic Services men piled out of each vehicle. Half took up positions around the Bentley, while the other half spread out through the area.

Finally, Ray knocked on the window beside Stone, signaling for Fred to disengage the locks, which he did.

When Stone and Carly exited the Bentley, four bodyguards fell in around them.

“This way,” Ray said and led the entourage to the elevators.

It was a tight fit, and Stone could feel Carly fidgeting beside him. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Not a fan of crowded elevators,” she said.

“Apologies,” Ray said. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Be thankful you’re not Holly Barker,” Stone said. “It’s like this for her all the time.”

“I can’t be president until I’m thirty-five, so I still have a few years to get used to it.”

“Let no one ever say you lack confidence.”

Soon, the door opened on the seventh floor and revealed four more bodyguards standing outside.

“This might be overkill,” Stone said to Ray.

“Mr. Freeman thought you might say that. He told me to tell you, ‘better overkill than being killed.’ ” Ray guided them through a service corridor to an unmarked door. “The dining room is through here. You are sitting at table number one. It’s center front, near the stage.”

“You’re not coming in with us?” Carly asked.

“No, ma’am,” Ray said. “We have several people inside already. When you want to leave, let one of them know, and I will meet you here with my team.” He opened the door. “Have a wonderful evening.”

A server made his way around the ballroom with a bottle of wine, topping off the glasses of the attendees who had arrived early, and filling those for the guests who had just found their seats.

“More sauvignon blanc?” he asked an elderly woman sitting at table eleven.

“Please,” she said.