“All good questions,” Tracie answered. “Undoubtedly the buildings have been swept in anticipation of the president’s visit, but the sweep will have been done yesterday and it will have been routine, matter-of-fact. As far as we know, there is no reason for the Secret Service to suspect anything might be wrong. And don’t forget, this is Washington, DC — presidential movements are routine here.
“Once the sweep has been completed,” she continued, “it will be a relatively easy thing for the shooter to access the roof of the building. This hit has been in the works for weeks, if not longer, so either someone will have been paid off — say, a maintenance man or janitor — or a master key will have been bought or made. The guy dresses like he belongs, nobody notices him. It will be pretty easy, really.”
Shane sipped his coffee and thought about it. Made sense. “But what about you? How are you going to get at him?”
“Exactly the same way,” she said. “I’m going to look like I belong. That’s where this new suit comes in.” She twirled. She was a natural at modeling and Shane wondered if there were things in her past she might have glossed over. He wolf-whistled and beckoned her closer and she smiled. “Sorry, big boy, we don’t have time for what you want. I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“I can guarantee it would be quick,” he said with a smirk. “But I understand.” Then, “So, you’re going to pretend to be an insurance exec or something? Won’t it be obvious to everyone who works there that you don’t belong? That nobody knows you?”
“You’re on the right track,” she said, “but I’m not going to be an insurance employee. I’m FBI. That way, it’s perfectly natural no one knows me. Meet Special Agent Maddee James,” she said with a demure curtsey.
Shane nodded. “Brilliant. But how are you going to get around the fact that you have no ID? Isn’t that the first thing the insurance big shots are going to ask for when you walk in there?”
“Who says I don’t have any ID? This isn’t my first rodeo, cowboy.” She reached into the backpack filled with the items she had liberated from the safe-deposit box outside New York City and rummaged around for a moment. “Ah,” she said, and lifted out a laminated plastic card.
“Let’s see,” he said.
She strutted over to the bed, all business now, the stern FBI persona in place.
He examined the card. “Federal Bureau of Investigation” was stamped across the top in gold lettering set against a blue background. A small head shot of Tracie appeared on the right side, unsmiling, staring directly into the camera. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she looked ready to step out of the picture and arrest someone. On the left side of the card was the FBI seal, with identifying information, including her “name,” Special Agent Madison James, inscribed in the space between the photo and the seal.
Shane examined it for a moment and then handed it back, shaking his head. “Planning a second career?” he asked doubtfully.
“This ID, along with some other stuff I retrieved, was my backup plan. All operatives have them — at least they do if they’re smart. It’s the first thing you learn: if things fall apart, you’d better be prepared to disappear.”
“Except you’re not using your ID to disappear.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s not my only one, and Maddee James is not my only identity.”
He stared at her, amazed, trying to determine whether he was more attracted to her or creeped out by her. It’s not even close, he thought. Attracted wins in a landslide. “You’re definitely the most unusual date I’ve ever had,” he finally said.
Tracie smiled and placed the ID card into a small plastic flip-holder with the identifying information facing out, then slid the holder into the breast pocket of her suit. She was now Special Agent Maddee James. “That’s what all the boys say,” she answered, and walked away, hips swaying. She turned her head and winked.
“I’m coming with you,” he told her retreating figure, and she stopped.
After a moment she turned to face him. “You can drive,” she said, surprising him with her lack of resistance. “But you’ll drop me off a block from the insurance building and then stay with the car. No matter what happens. You’ll wait for me and then drive us away when the job is done.”
Shane grinned and she said, “Do you understand me? You stay with the car no matter what happens.”
“You can count on me, babe,” he said.
“I want to hear you say it. Repeat after me: I give my word I will stay with the car, no matter what.”
Shane said, “I give my word I will stay with the car, no matter what,” having no intention whatsoever of doing so.
Tracie’s eyes narrowed and she looked at him critically. “Hurry up and get dressed, then. It’s time to go.”
He slid off the bed and began throwing on his clothes. His head pounded and throbbed and he tried not to wince.
44
The traffic was moving steadily, better than Shane would have expected for drive-time in the nation’s capital. He followed Tracie’s directions, turning rights and lefts, and glanced at his watch. Two minutes after the last time he had looked. “How far is it?” he asked.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Tracie said.
“How do you know where this place is?”
“I grew up in this area. The Minuteman building is pretty distinctive, even in a city overflowing with landmarks and historic buildings.”
Shane nodded. The pounding in his head had leveled off, the pain distracting but bearable, at least for the time being. “How are we going to do this?” he asked.
“‘We are not going to do anything,” she said. “You are going to do exactly as we agreed. Park the car a couple of blocks away from the building and wait.”
“Fine,” he said, annoyed. “How are you going to do this?”
“Reagan’s speech is scheduled for ten,” she said. She was speaking confidently, without hesitation, and it was obvious she had given the situation plenty of thought. Shane wondered whether she had gotten any sleep at all last night. “The building doesn’t open until nine, so—”
“How do you know that?” he interrupted.
“I went out last night after you fell asleep, remember? I did a quick drive-by of the Minuteman building after buying my outfit. Business hours are posted on the entrance. Anyway, my plan is to arrive the minute the building opens. I’ll let the manager know Special Agent James is on the case, so he doesn’t see me prowling around and call the cops. Then I’m going to catch an assassin.”
“Just like that,” Shane said skeptically.
“Just like that.”
“How do you know where he’ll be?”
“I don’t, but he had to have gotten into the building last night. He would have needed the time to set up. Once his preparations were complete, he probably napped in an empty office or something. But he’ll have to be in position on the roof before the office workers begin to arrive, if only to avoid the risk of detection. I should be able to surprise the guy and catch him flat-footed before President Reagan even leaves the White House.”
Traffic was beginning to bog down, and Shane checked his watch again. “Unless there are two of them,” he said. “You can’t catch two guys by surprise.”
“You can if you do it right,” Tracie said grimly, and he wondered whether she really believed that.
Ahead, a traffic light turned yellow. Shane slowed, thought about stopping and decided they could make it. He accelerated into the intersection, right behind an old Buick with badly rusting bumper.