As the chopper seemed to inch forward, the opening in the truck’s roof became clearer. It was hinged inward and he could see the bolts that held it in place. Only a few feet away now, he gripped one of the grenades in his right hand. It would be a bit tricky with the way he swayed in the turbulence. His aim wouldn't be as sharp as in the days when he had played baseball as a boy back in Missouri.
Would it be good enough?
In contrast to the old pineapple-shaped grenades he had seen during his FBI career, this one was round like a baseball. It had a familiar feel. There was no doubt this would be the biggest pitch of his life.
It meant life or death for two world leaders.
The clatter of the rotor overhead drowned out all other sound. He focused his mind on the task. Once he turned the grenade loose, it would explode in four seconds. Could the men in the truck grab it and toss the grenade back through the roof?
Now he was a few feet to the left. No more than four or five feet above the truck. Swinging forward. In seconds he would be in perfect position.
The street below looked strangely peaceful. Deserted. On the periphery of his vision he saw the flashing lights of a police car at the next intersection.
Concentrating on the dark circle that lay like a bullseye atop the truck, he pulled the pin. He had the feeling of being in a slow motion dream. Then he was on target, just above the hatch.
He lobbed the grenade at the gaping hole.
Naji Abdalla had seen two men hurrying onto the reviewing stand. They appeared to be consulting with the two leaders. The bodyguards on and around the platform become more active, their heads bobbing about constantly.
"Gary… Hans," he said in a staccato voice. "Something's wrong. I don't like the looks of it. You'd better get ready and fire immediately."
"I agree," said Overmyer, pushing up from the chair. "I haven't noticed a car or a person on this street for the last ten minutes."
As he turned to see that the mortar round was ready, he felt a sudden tremble.
Richter looked at him, alarmed. "What the hell was that? An earthquake?"
Overmyer checked the monitors. He saw nothing in the street. He gazed up through the roof hatch. Nothing there but blue sky. Still he felt the truck vibrate. This was no earthquake. He jerked off the earphones and listened. There was another roar that sounded above the noise of the airconditioner, which blew full blast. Then he recognized it as a familiar sound from long ago in Vietnam.
"Chopper!" he yelled, and grabbed for the shell.
At that instant a shadow passed over the opening above the mortar, and something fell past it. Both men saw it hit the floor and bounce to the side.
"Grenade!" Overmyer screamed, diving for it. He hit the floor with a jolt but got his hand around the grenade. He looked up and felt a downwash of air that would be from the rotor. He twisted around to get in a position to throw the grenade back through the opening in the roof.
As soon as he released the grenade, Burke waved his arm, then clutched the line with both hands. He heard the engine wind up and the rotor begin popping faster overhead. There was a sharp tug as he began to sway backward and upward. At that moment, a muffled roar sounded below. It was followed immediately by a chain reaction of explosions as the plastic ignited. He was about halfway to the aircraft when he smelled the smoke and heard pieces of debris whistling about. He felt something sharp gouge into his right arm just above the elbow, accompanied by a searing pain, and immediately saw fragments pelting against the underside of the chopper. It continued its rapid climb.
Burke quickly glanced down at the blood spreading across his arm, which hung limply after he had lost his grip on the cable. He got a glimpse of a large cloud of black smoke and, beyond it, a gaping crater in Victoria Street. A brick wall had crumpled at the front of the adjacent building. Then two pairs of hands suddenly gripped him tightly beneath his arms, hauling him into the cabin. He grimaced as the pain shot through the injured limb. He was aware of Lori shouting at MacLeod to bring a first aid kit. Then he lay back on the floor, eyes closed tightly as Lori began to clean and bandage the wound.
After a moment, he opened his eyes. "Did we make it in time?"
The chopper circled toward Nathan Phillips Square, its passengers gazing down at the reviewing stand, hoping against hope they would find it still intact.
It was.
Around the corner from the square, the first bands were turning into Queen Street West. The crowds, oblivious to the nearby drama, cheered and waved. It was a great day for a parade.
Sydney Pinkleton turned and leaned toward Burke, grinning. "Everything looks great, old bloke. Mission accomplished."
Chapter 50
The carefully clipped lawn was a lake of green bordered by hedges of osmanthus and boxwood. Bright hues of roses and anemones splashed the planting beds with color beneath the leaves of the crab apple trees. Beyond the French doors that opened beneath a white-pillared colonnade sat the Oval Office.
The tall figure of President Thornton Giles towered over Burke and Lori. He squinted in the sunlight of a glorious Monday morning as he smiled at Burke. "I heard you were an outdoorsman, so I thought the Rose Garden would be the best place for this. How is the arm?"
"Rather sore," Burke said. "Otherwise, okay. I had a time getting it into this jacket, though." He spoke with a sheepish smile. He felt proud and humbled by all of it, but he would prefer to have traded the moment for a small, private audience. It had required a hasty trip to a clothing store first thing this morning to acquire the suit. The President had insisted, and Judge Marshall concurred, that nothing short of a public ceremony before the news media and the nation would do to salve the Agency's wounds. Out of deference to Lori and Cam, he couldn’t refuse.
The President stepped to the microphone, raising both arms to silence the applause from the crowd of newsmen and dignitaries, including the ambassadors of Canada, Russia, and the United Kingdom.
"I'm sure all of you know this event was not on the summit schedule that my staff and that of President Petrovsky worked so diligently to prepare," the President said. "But after what happened in Toronto last Saturday morning, we felt that it couldn't wait any longer. You see, if it hadn't been for these two people standing here, there wouldn't have been anybody left to hold a summit meeting." He gestured with one hand toward Burke and Lori.
"The stories about the assassination plot credited its break-up to joint action by the combined security forces of Canada, Russia, and the United States, with cooperation of the British government. This was true, up to a point. As has been reported, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police played a key role in foiling the perpetrators. The Russian KGB and our own Central Intelligence Agency, in cooperation with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, have successfully rounded up the remaining conspirators. But the true heroes of the day were never revealed. This was done in part to protect them while the plotters were still at large. It was also due to the fact that our agencies were still investigating, having not fully unraveled the bizarre circumstances that led up to Saturday morning's planned attack.
"We are here this morning to express the deep appreciation of the nation, and especially that of the Giles family, to Burke Hill and Lorelei Quinn. They started out to prove the death of Miss Quinn's father was not an accident, but a premeditated murder. In gathering the evidence they needed, they realized something much larger was at stake. In the end, it was information they provided, aboard an RCMP Specialty Team helicopter, that led to destruction of the plotters' weapon as it was ready to be fired."