It was determined, after heated debate, that the White House press office would take care of developing and distributing passes for the event. The list of people with access to the presidential yacht was reserved to a few choice aides whose pictures, backgrounds, and finger-print cards were sent by diplomatic pouch from Paris and Rome to the head of the advance team. She examined the pictures and made sure that her people saw them. Then they went back to their preparations.
He would not be satisfied without first test-firing the device. It was already laid out across the cement. Standing in the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun, he quietly examined the work that had cost him the better part of the morning.
From the battery, the bare copper wire separated into two distinct paths, then came back together at the exposed terminals of the toggle switch. Conduit would be used to insulate the wire from the sheet metal of the van, but it would not be necessary here, as the cement served the same purpose. The wire split from the switch and reunited after 10 feet at the exposed circuit board of the cell phone.
From there, it began to resemble a ladder. There was nothing unusual about the rails, but each of the four rungs was covered by a five-pound sandbag. Each sandbag, in turn, concealed a number 6
blasting cap. He had wanted the number 8 caps: the seismic detonators were both more powerful at eight grains of PETN per cap, as opposed to six, and safer, with a lower chance of hydrostatic discharge.
All the same, he was relatively satisfied with what he had. It would do the same thing in the end.
He hadn’t taken any chances, though. He had used the digital ammeter for the first time that morning to check the resistance over each blasting cap. It came out to roughly 1.9 ohms per cap, and a little more than 2 ohms over the switch itself.
The calculations had appeared in his mind like a sudden gust of wind on a calm summer day. The reciprocal of the sum gave him the total resistance in the circuit, 0.384 ohms, which in a parallel circuit is always less than the resistance over each component. From there, 12
volts divided by the reciprocal provided him with the total current moving through the circuit: 31.26 amperes. This translated to a little over 6.31 amps moving through the legwires of each electric cap.
Using the ammeter to check his calculations, he had allowed himself a small smile at the numbers that appeared on the LCD display.
Everything was working out perfectly.
Vanderveen understood how dangerous a test fire could be. Even now, with nothing more dangerous than four blasting caps at his immediate disposal, he took all necessary precautions.
After all, he didn’t need to see the detonation. He only needed to see the effects.
He stood behind the bulk of the Econoline van and pulled the second cell phone from his pocket. The number to the first was on his speed dial. His breath came faster than usual, despite the fact that nothing important was about to happen. His finger hovered over the button. All around him, still air and dust particles floated in the dim light of the barn.
There was no sound from the woman. Why not? He peeked around the corner of the van to examine her still form. He realized, with a start, that he had not heard her move for at least twenty minutes. She must have died when he first started to run the wire out over the cement.
He was a little surprised that she had gone so quietly, but it didn’t really matter. He returned to his position, completely focused on what was about to occur. His back was against the cool metal of the van, the number was on his screen. He breathed deeply, felt the dry air of the barn enter his lungs.
He pushed the button.
Joshua McCabe, the assistant director of the Secret Service’s Office of Protective Research, arrived at midday to confer with the head of the advance team. Jodie Rivers was a petite, pixie-faced woman with inquisitive hazel eyes and shoulder-length auburn hair.
At thirty-two years of age, she was young for her position, but a sharp intelligence, combined with the ability to spot problem situations long before they developed into full-blown situations, had earned her rapid escalation through the ranks, along with the grudging respect of her superiors.
After instructing his driver to wait with the Lincoln Town Car, McCabe followed her along the gangplank as she pointed out the various implementations that had been made. The assistant director knew her reputation within the Service as a go-getter with unparalleled energy, but he thought Rivers now looked tired and overwhelmed by the magnitude of her task.
“As you can see,” she was saying, “the security fencing closes off the end of Water Street underneath the bridge. It’s a dead end anyway, but we’re waiting on concrete barriers that will go up on the other side of the fencing. We’ll have at least three, and probably five checkpoints for pedestrian traffic moving through the area—I haven’t finalized those arrangements yet, but we’re taking a hard look at the spots where 6th, 7th, and 9th streets run into Maine. Those areas worry me because they’re so open. We’ve designated 4th Street as the eastern edge of our perimeter, and we want to use Arena Stage as the command post. I have to talk today with the artistic director to see if that’ll work . . . The main thing is keeping vehicles out of the area. Explosives are the big concern, so that’s where we’ll focus our efforts.”
“What about the background checks?”
An agent was calling for her attention. She gestured for the man to give her a minute, and then focused on the assistant director’s question. “It’s going well so far—nobody’s come up on our radar yet.
We still have a long list to run through, though. We started with the business owners, because they’re the ones who are going to give us the most grief over the vehicle restrictions. From there, we’ll concentrate on the people who have boats docked at the marina. We’ve already gotten a lot of cooperation from the GPSA . . . That’s the Gangplank Slipholders Association.”
McCabe nodded. “That was a good call, getting them involved.
You’ve closed off the marina parking lot, right?”
“Of course.” She hesitated. “Sir, pulling all civilian craft out of the marina is not a realistic option. In fact, that would crowd up the channel and work against us. We need to clear out all the slips within about a thousand feet of the Sequoia, though. Even a thousand isn’t good enough to serve as a standoff, but we won’t get much more than that. Keeping vehicles out is the easy part—it’s these boats and the channel itself that have me worried.”
“If you weren’t worried, Rivers,” McCabe said, “then I’d say you weren’t doing your job.” He gave her a little smile to show her he was joking. “Besides, that’s the navy’s baliwick. They’ll bring in their mine-sweeping equipment tomorrow. One other thing I want you to do is coordinate with the Coast Guard. I want to see cutters positioned at the entrance to the channel and at least two other points on the Sequoia’s route, in addition to our own personal escort. Also, make sure we have a designated UHF channel on marine radio. Apart from that, everything looks good to me. What about the motorcade?”
With McCabe’s words, she felt a little bit of the tension start to drain away. Jodie Rivers had always tried to place herself above the politics of her job, but praise from her superiors felt as good to her as it did to anyone else. “We’re going to stay with the route we’ve got. If we take Maine through the tunnel to 12th and follow it north to Pennsylvania, we can limit the number of sharp turns and push the speed up. Furthermore, 12th will be a whole lot easier to close than 7th, and we don’t have too many options; most of 14th and 12th north of Pennsylvania are shut down for construction, so we have to detour on 13th Street—”