“Counting on it,” Reeder said.
Akers nodded and headed back up the aisle.
Reeder said to Rogers, “Are you okay with this? They’re playing off who we are.”
“We’re here,” she said with a shrug. “If we don’t like what we hear and see, there’s not going to be a muzzle on us. We can speak our mind.”
“Okay.”
They climbed the five steps and were met by Elmore.
“Joe,” he said, shaking Reeder’s hand, with a smile that looked like it hurt, “Mr. Benjamin is very pleased you’re here with us tonight. We all are.”
“Thank you, Frank. This is Patti Rogers, the FBI agent I worked with last year on the Supreme Court case.”
He gave her a crisp nod but did not offer a hand. “Pleasure, Ms. Rogers. If you’ll come this way...”
Elmore led them to the nearest two chairs, in the front row of those set up on the stage.
“I don’t know about this,” Reeder said.
Elmore shrugged, gave up another forced smile. “Mr. Benjamin said to make sure you had good seats. These are assigned to you, and we start in less than ten minutes, so making a change isn’t really possible.”
Reeder flashed Rogers a get-me-the-hell-out-of-here look, but she only shook her head gently and took him by the arm. She deposited him in the seat nearer the podium and took the chair on the end for herself.
Elmore said, “Some last minute things to do — if you’ll excuse me.”
The majordomo didn’t wait for a reply, leaving so quickly Reeder half expected a vapor trail.
Reeder said to Rogers, “At least we’re on the end. Maybe we won’t be taken for major supporters.”
“Right,” she said, amused. “Really low profile.”
A crowd this size — he’d estimate well over three thousand, near capacity — turned individual chatting among attendees into a roar, an ocean-worthy tide threatening to wash over the stage. His old Secret Service juices were flowing as he tried to look out into the hall, particularly the seating toward the front, but the TV lights were so bright that the audience was mostly a blur.
Even finding spaces between bursts of brightness, he was not positioned to see much of anything, not there on stage, risers climbing behind him. Up on the top row, he’d have had a much better view of floor seating, which lacked the slope of a more modern theater — from here, a short person seated behind a tall person became invisible.
From a security standpoint, especially from the stage, Constitution Hall had always been a nightmare venue. No wonder Akers seemed troubled — Reeder would be, too, if he were among those in charge of Benjamin’s safety.
Around them now were wealthy donors, few of whom Reeder recognized; they tended to be former backers of conservative candidates. In more prominent evidence were some A-list TV and movie stars known previously as supporters of liberal candidates.
The house lights went down and the applause came up, and within seconds, the hall was on its feet, including those around them, which forced Rogers and Reeder to their feet as well. Rogers didn’t seem to mind, but Reeder felt manipulated.
But he applauded anyway. Despite the bright lights, Reeder could make out waving signs with such slogans as COMMON SENSE FOR AMERICA and BENJAMIN FOR PRESIDENT. As the seconds dragged into minutes, the audience only intensified its applause.
Finally, just as the thunder seemed about to diminish, Adam Benjamin, in a blue off-the-rack suit with white shirt and red tie, strode out from the wings, beaming to the crowd and waving, walking right by Rogers and Reeder. Now the applause rose to its former apex and beyond.
Akers emerged from the wings, close on Benjamin’s heels, and took position at the top of the stairs just to the right of Rogers.
A spotlight followed Benjamin and stopped with him as he paused to stand and wave, poised between Akers and Rogers, the speaker nodding to the crowd in humble acceptance of their adoration.
Just as the applause began to diminish, Benjamin turned, nodded to Reeder, then strode to the podium. He patted the air to silence the crowd, which of course only inflamed them further.
Benjamin stepped away from the podium, smiled at the crowd, shaking his head, finally putting a big show of putting his finger to his lips. They laughed, and applauded even more, the crowd well aware of its costarring role in the spectacle.
Finally Benjamin moved to the podium and the crowd took their seats.
“Usually,” he said, in his casual way, “a speech like this begins: ‘My fellow Americans.’ But the politicians who address you that way don’t view you as their ‘fellow’ anything. They view you as, well, I guess... a kind of obstacle. Those hypocrites calling you ‘Americans’ is almost an insult, because these politicians... not all, but many... don’t really believe in America. At least not the Common Sense version that the founding fathers had in mind.”
He paused to let them applaud again and seemed flattered when the crowd again got to its feet. When those on the stage did the same, Reeder reluctantly joined them. Just because he liked what this guy had to say didn’t make him any happier about being played like this.
With a palm, Benjamin quieted the crowd and the applause gradually thinned and seats were again taken.
But one man was still on his feet.
One man was in fact coming down the left outside aisle, quickly, applauding as he came, as if his enthusiasm couldn’t be contained. The spotlight on Benjamin meant some of the other bright lights were off now, and Reeder could see the guy pretty clearly.
Akers apparently hadn’t seen the man, his eyes on the front row where two audience members were on their feet and coming toward the stage, applauding, maybe just wanting a closer look. One of Benjamin’s security staff cut in front of them and the pair backed up to their seats.
At the podium, Benjamin was saying, “Our two once-great political parties have been driven to the far left and far right, leaving the rank and file among us alone in the middle, without representation.”
The two at right taken care of, Reeder swung his attention back to the guy in that outside aisle, who was now almost to the stairs onto the stage at far left. Surely security near the stage would grab him — but where were they? The audience member approaching, applauding, looked respectable enough — navy blue suit, white shirt, shades of red-striped tie, echoing the speaker’s own wardrobe. A thirty-something professional, sandy hair cut short.
“Everybody tells me,” Benjamin was saying, “that it’s impossible for a third-party candidate to win. But what if that third-party candidate represents the vast majority of Americans in the common-sense middle?”
Could this be Reeder’s attacker at Bryson Security?
Was it the blond from the SIM card?
At this distance, and with the bright lights, Reeder couldn’t be sure. Half out of his chair, he was about to yell to Akers, to alert him, but the security man was turning toward the left side of the stage, having apparently spotted the guy, so yelling might only distract Akers, who had this.
Then the approaching figure’s hand slipped under the suit coat and came back with something.
“Gun!” Reeder yelled.
A collective gasp came up from the crowd, sucking the air from the room and silencing the speaker as Akers reached for his own piece on his hip under his unbuttoned suit coat...
... but too late.
The sandy-haired figure pointed a sound-suppressed automatic at Akers, who fell to his knees as if pleading to the man not to shoot.
Only Akers had already been hit, the silenced shot inaudible over the noise of the crowd, who were now reacting in screaming horror and yelling amazement.