Campanelli: Sentinel (26 page)

              As the Captain and his partner rounded the corner, they were met by a gathering of a few dozen officers outfit with helmets and automatic firearms and about as many other men in black or gray suits. These were the mayor’s personal security detachment. All of them appeared to mean business. None of them smiled and all were silent and watchful.

              Frank and Marcus emerged from the electrically lit underground cavern into that of a sunlit sky muted by the shadow provided by the surrounding buildings. Walking just far enough to peek onto the surface of the plaza, Frank could see little of the rally-goers through the legs of policemen in riot gear. The gathered mass thundered in conversation, punctuated by sporadic shouts, whistles and indiscernible cries of anger.

              “Well,” he nearly had to shout to Williams, “they’re surrounded, all right.”

              Marcus nodded.

              “Campanelli! Williams!” someone shouted from further on up the concrete ramp. It was Deputy Chief Alonso again, waving at them to join him. “The Chief wants you two by his side and he and the mayor will be along in a few moments,” he said once they were close enough.

              “That’s fine,” Frank nodded and placed his hands in his pants pockets.

              “Hey,” Lorenzo added as he leaned in, “for what it’s worth, I think you were right.”

              Frank studied the man’s face for a few heartbeats. Considering their past, Alonso was the last one that Frank had expected to offer support. “Thanks,” was all he could think to say.

              “Well,” the Deputy Chief added, “stay sharp. According to satellite tracking, DeSilva’s limo is almost here.”

              Campanelli and Williams nodded. Frank looked to Marcus. “Are you ready?”

              “Yes, sir,” he replied. His head was on a swivel and his hardened eyes were constantly on the move, scanning the crowd for trouble.

              Several minutes went by without conversation amongst the gathering on the ramp. The constant noise from the crowd, occasional siren of passing police vehicles and the noise of aircraft prohibited casual verbal communication. Campanelli kept watch over his link with the satellite vehicle tracking system and his ears on a nearby officer’s radio.

              “
This is being broadcast on live HV, Frank
,” Marcus sent in text.

              “
I assumed that it would be
,” he answered.

              Within minutes, the gathering of humanity near them became much louder. Cheers of joy pushed out the negative declarations and the gathering chanted at the approaching car, “Stop migration now!” repeatedly.

              “Here he is,” Frank called to his partner, though he was sure his voice had been drowned out. He stepped to the top of the ramp to see the preacher’s arrival, but all he could see was the mass of humanity beyond the crowd control officers. Like the bus and vans that had brought many of DeSilva’s followers to the plaza, the limousine had parked on Dearborn, the eastern side of the building. Campanelli deciphered DeSilva’s location by the attitude of the signs that bounced and swayed in the air above them. As the HV Preacher walked among them on his way to the podium, the signs turned to follow him, bracketing the man’s movement like the wake behind a speedboat.

              “
DeSilva’s here
,” Sebastian sent unnecessarily. “
The mayor and his detail are on the way to the surface. We will let the preacher speak for a moment. Mayor Jameson will make the call on when we move to interrupt
.”

              Campanelli grumbled to himself over the situation, but no one would have heard him if he had shouted it. Instead, he sighed as the head of Reverend Maximilian DeSilva rose above his followers as he took the stage. He was closely followed by Steve Enos.

***

              The old gray and rusted colored automobile came to a shuddering stop as it parked across the street from the restaurant on the corner of Eighteenth and Michigan. The driver checked his shirt pocket for the piece of paper that had his instructions written upon it.

              “Tam’s Place,” he confirmed with a nod and replaced the note. “This is it.”

              “Great,” the passenger complained, “they have customers inside.”

              “So?”

              “They could be trouble,” the younger of the two explained in an apprehensive tone.

              “Look,” growled the driver as he turned his torso fully upon his passenger, “if you don’t want to do this thing, get out. I’ll take care of it myself.”

              “I’ll help, I’ll help,” the other said while waving his hands. “I just want my money.”

              “I do, too,” the driver insisted as he opened the creaky passenger door. “Don’t do anything stupid and stay the hell out of my way!” he warned and left the car.

              Swearing under his breath, the passenger followed.

***

              “Friends!” the preacher called out gleefully and was immediately engulfed in howls, chants and whistles. DeSilva raised his hands to try to stem the reaction, but it was many long seconds before he could speak again. “Friends, welcome to the gathering this morning and God bless you!” he fit in quickly and loudly, earning another gale of appeasement for which he had to pause.

              “
Frank
,” Marcus texted, “
have a look at the news coverage
.”

              Campanelli nodded and accessed the local channels. All three were covering the event, but one had an interesting angle. From a camera drone that had been launched into the air and sent to hover over Washington Street, Frank could see that DeSilva’s limousine remained illegally parked on Dearborn, just on the other side of the concrete barriers which separated the road from the ramp on which he stood. When he enlarged the display over his field of vision, he could see himself and his partner in the crowd of officers. Campanelli activated the audio that accompanied the broadcast.

              “
You can see that police have the area well covered
,” explained the reporter over the live feed, “
The plaza is surrounded by officers in riot gear. They’re not prohibiting the movement in or out of the rally, but they are fencing the area in. I’m not sure what this group over on the east side is doing, perhaps serving as reinforcements in case some violence or something erupts.
”

              Frank keyed the audio track off and minimized the view to one corner of his sight. Campanelli searched the immediate area for Deputy Chief Alonso and patted Marcus on the arm. “Good catch, partner!” he shouted.

              Finding Lorenzo Alonso, he called, “Chief! DeSilva’s car is waiting for him!” He pointed in the direction of the waiting car, sitting beyond the wall of officers and people.

              Alonso shook his head, “He’s scheduled to talk for half an hour!”

              “Sir,” Frank protested and gently took the man by the arm, “if he was planning that, the car wouldn’t risk the ticket. I think we need to have it moved along, away from the building!”

              Alonso thought for a second, craned his neck in a failed effort to see the big white limo and was about to speak when he was interrupted by the approach of the mayor’s detail behind them. “I’ll send someone to investigate, Frank! Thanks!” he shouted over DeSilva’s amplified voice and the incessant crowd.

              Exasperated, Frank shot a look at Williams and shrugged, leaving his hands to slap down upon his outer thighs.

              “
Amen! Amen, my friends!
” DeSilva shouted and hopped in place once he had finished the opening prayer. “
Now then! You all remember why we are here!
” he stated and received the intended response from the thousands of followers all around him. “
We are gathered here today to voice our concerns to our good mayor!
”

              Campanelli sidled next to his partner and placed his hands behind his back. Bringing the rectangular view of the newsfeed back to the center of his vision, he studied the limousine closely. Its windows tinted, there was no way to determine the presence of a driver, so Frank motioned for Marcus to follow. Passing through a gathering of crowd control officers, the pair of detectives approached the driver’s door of the great white vehicle and knocked on the blackened glass. After a second, it slid down, revealing the driver.

              “Yes, sir?” the young man asked in a raised voice.

              Campanelli looked him over closely. The man was well-dressed as one would expect from a chauffeur. He appeared to be in his early twenties and the inquisitive expression, mixed with the slightest touch of fear gave the Captain the impression of honesty.

              “Why are you parked here?” he asked sternly as he leaned forward to look over the car’s interior.

              The driver’s eyes bounced from Campanelli to the giant standing beside him. “Uh, well…the reverend said to wait here.”

              “There’s no parking here.”

              “Oh, uh, well…Reverend DeSilva said he would only be a few minutes,” the young man replied with pleading eyes.

              Frank straightened up and looked up to his partner in some doubt. “Only a few minutes? He’s been advertising this stunt for weeks and had fired up tens of thousands of people…just to address them for a few minutes?!” he said this last to the driver who shrugged.

              “
Campanelli, Williams…the mayor is ready. Get over to the rally point
,” the high priority text message from Sebastian interrupted.

              Frank made a decision. “Sergeant!” he shouted to the patrolman that was the closest.

              “Sir?” the middle-aged officer called as he approached. As he did, he eyed the waiting car.

              “This is DeSilva’s limo. It’s illegally parked, but the driver says that the Reverend will be done in a few minutes,” Campanelli explained.

              “Oh?” the sergeant, whose name tag read ‘Carson’ reacted with surprise. It was clear to Frank that the officer had expected this show to last longer.

              “Give it five minutes, then tell him to move on,” Campanelli instructed.

              “Yes, sir,” Carson agreed.

              Frank turned back to the limo driver. “Five minutes! If DeSilva isn’t in this car in five minutes, get this heap moving.”

              “Where can I go?” the driver protested.

              “I don’t give a crap where you go,” Frank shouted, “just don’t be here in five!”

              “Yes, sir.”

              Frank turned to Marcus and gave his sleeve a tug. They headed back through the crowd of officers to the rally point.

***

              Tam noticed the two non-regulars walk through the front door and, though she forced a smile upon her lips, something about them made her feel ill-at-ease.

              “Have a seat anywhere, guys!” she called as she poured more coffee for the customer at the counter, who was watching the news coverage on the old HV mounted high upon the wall opposite the entrance.

              The bigger and meaner looking of the two stepped forward and his old boots clomped dully onto the clean tile. His oversized leather jacket had chains that ran through the epaulets and encircled his big arms and jingled as he moved. His light brown and white hair was unkempt, unclean and jutted out in every direction. His face had not been shaved in weeks and was left to cover the unattractively laid out features. What struck fear in Tamara were the man’s eyes. The light gray orbs within his squinting lids sized her up as if he were comparing her to a slab of meat.

              In contrast, the one that trailed behind was smaller, younger and not fierce in appearance at all. His boyish features and general cleanliness, while not exceptional, made the older companion appear even more menacing. The young man’s eyes bounced from one customer to another, as if he were looking for someone or was counting them.

              “You the owner?” the big one grumbled. His voice, while not loud, was forceful and clear as it punched its way throughout the restaurant. The customer at the counter turned from the HV to the speaker.

              Tam blinked and set the coffee pot down. “Yes. What can I get you?” she asked somewhat shakily.

              “Nothin’,” the man smiled, revealing intent as maligned as his teeth. Before Tamara could move away, he flung his upper body over the counter and grabbed her by her uniform. She screamed.

              “Hey!” the male customer hollered and left his seat. Before he could even get his hands on the one assaulting Tam, the younger one intercepted him with lightning speed, shoving the slightly bigger man to the floor with two straightened arms. Pulling a large handgun from his tattered denim coat, he then descended on the Samaritan and knocked him to near unconsciousness with two hefty blows with the butt of the weapon. Blood spurted from the nose and forehead of the fallen man, who could do nothing further to defend himself.