ALL IN: Race for the White House (37 page)

“You guys are really going to do this?”
 

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I’m not going to stick around for it.”

“We already thought of that. I’m sending you to Texas so you won’t have to worry.”
 

The festival was to run during the Republican National Convention with our convention the following week. The press would say we were trying to steal their thunder. We’d all leave to join Bud right after Tip had completed his task, giving us the perfect excuse to be out of town.
 

“Oh, I’ll worry; I just won’t be around to panic.”
 

“Bud, you’ve got a bad ticker, we don’t want anything to happen to you,” Sandy said, “Bud, this isn’t your area.”

“You think? Jack, what about the convention, as we’re about to get under way the nation will be in shock… have you thought about that? The whole thing will be a bust!”

Sandy explained, “Bud, if all goes as planned, we’re going to postpone the convention a month.”

Bill adds, “The Republicans will cancel and we’ll follow out of respect. The music festival will go as planned and Jack will have the perfect platform to speak. It will be like two events, a month apart. Once Barker is gone the Republicans will have to scramble to get the VP ready.”
 

“When were you planning to tell me all this?” Bud was pissed. “I’m the only one that was left out of the loop.”
 

“We waited for your own good, Bud.”

“I don’t like it, Jack. I don’t like any of this. What if something goes wrong, what would we do?”
 

Tip had every detail of the operation planned. He was a master of disguise and diversion. He started off by telling Tommy that he needed to meet to discuss covert work. There were things the government couldn’t do, things that required his expertise. Things the new president would need him for.

Tip told him to come alone, playing into Tommy’s massive ego and vanity, and he fell for it. The trip to the Hay Adams house would take about twenty minutes in traffic. The prime minister was scheduled to arrive at 5:30 in the afternoon—that
 
would give Tip several hours to set up.
 

We agreed to keep me in the loop via an open cell line on
the condition that my end is silent. The rationale—on the outside chance the Feds did pick up the line, they wouldn’t have my voice on it. I knew Tip was right; he told me that if anything went wrong, he planned to take the fall himself. He said, “I’ll keep you posted, but no matter what, do not take the phone off mute.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Congress was on the last day of its August recess. The morning started as stale as the politics had been in this town. The sun was hot and there was no movement in the air. I tried to stay busy but spent the early afternoon in a semi-daze waiting. I hadn’t eaten any lunch and my nerves had gotten the best of me.
 

Earlier I’d snapped at Sandy.
 

“You’re doing this because you loved Lisa,” she tried to comfort.

I told her that it was a matter of respect, that there would be a lot of dead bodies around if that’s what it took. I wished that I could take that back, it was uncalled for. I went into my bathroom; dry heaved and then shut myself in the office.
The open phone line would at least allow me to hear the event. There’s no way I could sit and wait for it to happen on television. I lay back on the couch with my feet up on the coffee table.
 

I had the TV on C-SPAN to capture a visual, not paying much attention as the commentator lauded Gil Barker for keeping close ties with the British.
 

I’d gotten in trouble earlier this summer when an open mike caught me deriding the queen. I hated the idea of royalty, thinking they wasted resources that could feed and clothe thousands.
 

‘The queen is an inbred whore’ is not something you want on tape. We had meetings with our PR people and spent days trying to figure out the best way to spin it.
 

Sandy came up with the idea.

“Jack why don’t you say that you’re for the poor and that the idea of royalty is contrary to the ideal of equality, you meant whore in the sense of waste, with no sexual intent. While you admire the queen for her statesmanship you are against subservience and class strata.” Anyway, the story lasted several news cycles, we ended up using Sandy’s strategy adding my profuse apology and moving on.
 

To her credit, the queen accepted my apology. Then in a gracious gesture to the cheers of her subjects, she told the world that she too felt angst for the poor. I learned a new respect. She turned the whole affair to suit her and handled herself with dignity. All the while probably wishing I’d drop dead. In private, I’m sure she made comments that I was American trash and that she’d have to endure meeting me at some point.
 

My mind was wondering, thinking about the next few days, broken by waves of anxiety and dread. What
would
happen if we were caught? Our freedom was at stake. Bud was right, I’d be visiting with my kids from behind a glass wall in a maximum-security prison somewhere.
 

I was freaking out in the office with all the shades pulled. The TV was on low when I heard from Tip, “Van is parked, heading up to the room.”

We’d been over the plan. Tip had parked the white panel van on the north side of the hotel the furthest away from Lafayette Park. Bill was to park down the block and drive by to pick Tip up afterwards.
 

Tip wore a Bluetooth around his ear and spoke short sentences. It was amazing the features these cheap phones had and purchased for cash they were untraceable. I listened as Tip spoke, pushing the wheelchair to the elevator.
 

Tip had checked in earlier disguised as an old man, he had the bags dropped off in the room and gave the bellhop a good tip but nothing worthy of attention. The room directly beneath had been rented under the guise of wanting it for relatives who would be arriving late. Tip told the attendant that his sister wanted nothing more than an equivalent view of the White House. The desk attendant gladly gave him the key card and Tip was on his way, changing out of the old man disguise before picking up Tommy. Tip liked using the old man disguise - he said old people are invisible. He loved the wheelchair; he thought people will even try to avert their eyes being careful not to stare. Tip told me if Daphne walked in the clerk would remember something her long dark hair, her slightly turned nose her big eyes. If asked about an older person seventy plus people usually respond that they were old. Tip had used the wheelchair and old disguise to enter many places, including airports in foreign countries for the agency.
 

“You drive a van?” I heard Tommy asking Tip when he picked him up.

Tip answered, “It’s rented” and he’d be driving it down to Texas for the festival we were having.
 

“You should come down,” he told Tommy.
 

“Maybe I will,” Tommy said, as Tip stuck him with a dose of drugs large enough to tranquilize a bear.
 

Tip mentioned that Tommy struggled for a moment, but with the drugs in him, and the size difference, Tip held him in a chokehold until Tommy went to sleep. Tip narrated as I listened, he put the front of a dress over Tommy and a short gray wig, and then he placed a black veil over his face.
 

“I’m getting into costume,” he said, careful not to say my name. Tip made the whole thing sound almost fun like he was having a decent time. Meanwhile, my stomach was in knots and I was sitting motionless sweating profusely from anxiety. The minutes were passing like hours, and the slightest hint of sound on the other end of the line made my heart pound.
 

I thought I’ll be so glad when we’re all on a plane to Texas for the festival. We were scheduled to leave at 7:30 tonight, that way I wouldn’t have to go home and face Sarah right away. By the time she joins us in a couple of days, I’d have a chance to calm down.
 

There was a knock at the door. It startled me.
Sandy stuck her head in, “Can I please come in and watch with you, Jack? I’m feeling so tense. I’m jumping out of my skin. I don’t want the staff to see me like this.”
 

“Sure, why not,” I said. “Just know that I’m a basket case and nothing like Tip. I guess it’s better you know the truth.”
 

“Jack, I don’t think any less of you for being nervous about this! Are you kidding, if you were nonchalant about it, then I’d be worried. My bladder has let loose three times already, and every time the phone rings or the elevator opens, I feel like the cops are coming for me. I’m a nervous wreck.”

“Well, that makes two of us. This is like skydiving without a parachute; it’s unreal.”
 

Sandy settled in on the couch, I turned the phone on speaker, laid the receiver on the desk, and we heard as Tip continued the narration for my benefit.
 

We could hear Tip dragging something across the floor.
 

“I’m moving the desk over near the window so I can set up my tripod on something stable.”
Tip had purchased a high-powered sniper rifle, a replica of the one he’d used to take out Gene Hobbs.

The prime minister wasn’t scheduled to arrive at the White House for another hour. Tip was training his rifle site on the North Portico where the president would be standing. Tip put Tommy’s wig, dress, and veil into a plastic bag and placed it in a holder under the seat of the wheelchair.
 

Sandy and I strained to hear as he told us he was setting Tommy up in a chair in the corner. Placed a small tube down Tommy’s throat and pushed a funnel into it. He poured a fifth of Kentucky Bourbon down the tube into his throat, adding, “I thought you’d like the fact that this liquor came from your state, Jack.”

I whispered to Sandy carefully, even though the phone was on mute and Tip couldn’t hear us, “Can you imagine he can joke during this?”
 

Sandy shook her head, “I’ve never known anyone who could do this, my heart starts racing if I see blue lights in my rearview mirror, and it takes a half hour for me to calm down from that. You know I’d probably die of shock walking into that hotel room right now.”

“Sandy, can you imagine that scene? Tip is setting up to shoot the most powerful person in the world, ready to frame a known gangster who’s out cold only a few feet away.”
 

“I’m writing a suicide note for Tommy,” Tip said.
 

There was silence on the other end of the line, and we waited for Tip to talk. The window was open in the hotel room and we could hear a siren go by; it sounded like an ambulance. There was a knock at the door. Our hearts dropped into our stomachs.
 

Tip answered in an old man’s voice, “What is it I’m trying to rest?”

We heard a muffled voice call back, “Oh, sorry to disturb you, sir. I wanted to see if you needed anything.”
 

“No, go away. I’m sleeping.”
 

Tip lowered his voice, “If I’m caught, I’ve got enough C-4 strapped to me that they’ll never identify my body. No matter what happens, this will end here. There’s too much you need to do. I want you to know it’s been my privilege to serve. There was silence in the office. Sandy and I sat completely still, looking at each other.
 

The words struck me cold, “Sandy, can you believe that?”

“Jack, will you hold me. I don’t think I can stand even sitting by myself.”

After ten minutes, which felt more like an hour, Tip read the note quietly, attempting a broken New Jersey Accent, “First off, nobody kills my friend and business partner and gets away with it. Second, the President of the United States ain’t no angel like you think. Thirdly, and most importantly, he told me that he killed Gene Hobbs and that he was gonna get me and my family if I didn’t do like he said. The End. Oh yeah, so everybody knows, I ain’t got nobody in on this with me. I’m gonna get him and then do myself cause this guy ain’t goin’ to no pen. Signed, T. Santoro.”
 

“That note is chilling. Can you imagine the Feds will be analyzing it for years? I hope he gets away with it,” Sandy said, looking like she was ready to faint.
 

“If he doesn’t we’re all screwed.” I said.

“I’m rubbing Tommy’s finger over the trigger and putting his prints on the barrel and stock of the gun Jack,” Tip continued.
He had no idea that Sandy was listening, and he wouldn’t have liked it if he knew. He’d agreed with me only on the basis that I told him I’d go crazy if I didn’t know what was going on.
 

“I’m setting him upright in a chair in the corner of the room.” He told us he took a metal ice bucket from the bar area and jammed over the top of Tommy’s head saying, “The bucket will contain the mess.”
 

We heard the one, barely audible shot fired.

“I used Tommy’s finger on the trigger.” Dead silence followed, and I thought I’d lost him. I looked at the phone, realizing I had accidentally pressed the speaker button turning it off; I hit the button in time to hear, “I’m going to get in position now; I don’t want to miss the arrival.”

My heart was pounding so hard I thought Sandy could hear it.

While Tip waited in the Hay-Adams, we were watching on television. The TV was down low and I heard the commentator say that the Prime Minister’s car was about a mile from away from the White House.
 

The president stepped out onto the North Portico and Sandy gasped, “Oh my God, Jack. This is it.”
 

My arm started an involuntary twitch and I laid my head back, staring motionless at the screen.
 

We heard as Tip cocked the rifle, loading a bullet like the one he used to shoot Hobbs into the chamber. Tip narrated, he sighted the gun to the spot where he thought the president would stand and made some final minute adjustments. There was no wind; the distance would mean the bullet would travel in a slight arc. Now was the time. He would only get one shot. Tip gently closed the gap between the trigger and his palm. The projectile was off with a light blast that echoed into the phone. The sound would definitely attract attention. Tip tapped the ball off his foot on a switch setting off a police yelp siren - four short blasts to mask the sound of the shot at street level. In the two and a half seconds the bullet would travel to reach its target, Tip tapped the footswitch a second time setting of timed blasts at the Washington Monument Park.