“Do we get the dark glasses?” asked Joker.
“I don’t follow,” said Sanger, confused.
“The regulation shades. Do we get those, too?”
Sanger grinned as he realised that his leg was being pulled. “No, Mr Cramer, those you’ll just have to buy yourself. Is there anything else you guys need?”
“Binoculars would be handy,” said Joker.
Howard nodded. “We can get those from our field office,” he said. He looked at Sanger. “The President’s helicopter touches down at six, right?”
“Right,” agreed Sanger. “I’ll be at the ballpark an hour before Marine One lands. I’ll meet you there, if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine,” said Howard.
The intercom on Sanger’s desk buzzed and he depressed one of its buttons. A secretary told him that Don Clutesi was outside. Howard and Joker said their goodbyes and left Sanger working his way through the faxes.
Mary Hennessy drove back to the motel where she found Carlos and Schoelen cleaning their rifles on sheets of polythene spread out over a bed.
“How did it go?” Carlos asked.
“She didn’t know about the broadcast until she saw it on television,” said Mary. “There’s some sort of power game going on between her and her boss.”
“And because of that we were almost caught?” said Carlos. He picked up the barrel of Dina Rashid’s rifle and held it like a conductor about to conduct his orchestra. “If she’d known about the broadcast, we could have left earlier, and Cramer wouldn’t have killed Dina.”
“That’s true,” admitted Mary. “But there was nothing she could do. There’s something else — Cramer is still alive.”
Carlos stood up. “That’s impossible.” Behind him, Schoelen had finished cleaning his rifle.
Mary shrugged. “He’s in Shock-trauma, and the FBI are talking to him.”
Carlos paced up and down the room. “How much do they know?”
“They know who we are, but they don’t know when or where we plan to make the hit. Their computer simulation isn’t working — because they can’t anticipate where Lovell is going to be. It’s throwing out all their calculations.”
“So we go ahead?”
Mary nodded. “Security is going to be tighter, but if we’re careful we can do it. Kelly has given me a full briefing on the security arrangements at the ballpark, so we have an edge.” She opened her handbag and handed Carlos a stack of papers.
He flicked through them. “Okay,” he said. “If you’re sure.” He looked at her, his deep brown eyes boring deep into hers, leaving her in no doubt that the responsibility for failure would rest with her.
Mary returned his gaze. “I’m sure,” she said, quietly.
Carlos nodded slowly, then sat down and continued to clean the rifle. Lou Schoelen zipped up the sports bag which contained his Horstkamp sniping rifle and shouldered it. “I’ll be going,” he said. Schoelen went over to Carlos and shook his hand. “Good luck,” he said.
Carlos looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Lou, this has nothing to do with luck, you know that.” He had an opened box of Ritz crackers by his side and he slotted several into his mouth, chewing them with relish.
Schoelen smiled. “Yeah, I know, but I’d like luck on our side as well.” He waved goodbye to Mary and left.
Mary opened a drawer in the bedside cupboard and took out a packet of hair dye. She went into the bathroom, leaving Carlos sitting on the bed. Carlos finished cleaning the rifle and reassembled it. Mary came out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a white towel. There were red streaks on the towel, and the few strands of hair that Carlos could see were a dark red. She looked at him, saying nothing. Carlos wondered how she would react when she realised how she’d been used and that the IRA were being set up to take the blame for the assassination of the President. He smiled. She smiled back. “Bathroom’s free,” she said.
Carlos covered the rifle with the bedcover and went into the bathroom, carrying his wash bag. The sink had a red ring around it where it had been stained by the hair dye. He took out a can of menthol shaving cream and he spread some over his face, lathering it into his stubble and moustache. He used a disposable razor to remove the moustache, and then washed the remaining lather off his face. He looked very different without the facial hair, and by combing his hair in a slightly different fashion his appearance was totally altered. In the bedroom, Mary’s hairdryer kicked into life as Carlos stepped into the shower and soaped himself clean. By the time he showered and towelled himself dry, Mary was sitting in front of the dressing table putting the finishing touches to her hair. “Red suits you,” he said.
She smiled up at him. “Ilich, you said blonde suited me.”
“And it did, Mary. It did.”
He kept a towel wrapped around his broad waist as he picked up a dark pinstripe suit and a brand new white shirt, still in its polythene wrapper. He carried them into the bathroom and changed. “What do you think?” he asked Mary as he walked back into the bedroom.
She looked at him in the mirror. “Good. Every inch a businessman — all you need is a tie. And shoes, of course.”
Carlos selected a red and blue striped tie. “Are you all right, Mary?” he asked as he fastened the tie. “You seem a little apprehensive.”
“When I’m focused on what we’re doing it doesn’t worry me, but sometimes I relax and look at it from a distance, and it scares me,” she said as she combed her hair.
“Fear is good, it keeps you on your toes,” said Carlos. “It is those without fear who make mistakes and get caught.”
Mary turned and nodded. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “What about you, Ilich? Are you scared?”
Carlos shrugged. “A little,” he said. He grinned. “But if you ever tell anyone that I told you so, I’ll have to kill you.” He patted her on her shoulder to show that he was joking. “We must go soon.”
“I know,” she said. “You have the keys to the plane?”
Carlos laughed. “You sound like a doting wife, Mary. Is that how you treated your husband?”
“I suppose it was,” she said, standing up and checking her outfit in the mirror. She had changed into a yellow wrap-around skirt, a white shirt and white pumps.
Carlos sat down on the edge of his bed and broke the rifle down into its main component parts, then wrapped them in a motel towel and placed them in a black leather briefcase. “I’m really impressed with the way you handled Bailey,” he said. “He’s a changed man. Now he actually seems to be looking forward to it. And did you notice how he’s completely lost his stammer?”
Mary shuddered as she picked up her suitcase. “Yes, I noticed. Are you ready?”
Carlos slipped the box of crackers under his arm and picked up his briefcase and suitcase. “Oh yes,” he said. “More than ready.”
The FBI’s Baltimore field office was in a cream-coloured brick building on an industrial park next to Route 1-695. Cole Howard showed Joker into a small interview room, bare-walled with a couple of chairs and a teak veneer table. “Do you want a coffee or something?” asked Howard. He was carrying the bullet-proof vests in a nylon bag and he dropped them on the floor next to the table.
“Yeah, coffee would be good,” answered Joker, sitting down gingerly. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any Famous Grouse, have you?”
“Famous Grouse?” repeated Howard, his brow furrowed.
“It’s a brand of whisky,” said Joker. He moved his shoulder as if it pained him.
“I can get you some painkillers,” said Howard. “Aspirin or Tylenol or something.”
“That’ll have to do, I suppose,” said Joker. “How about a beer to wash them down?” He slouched back in the chair, his eyes closed. Howard stood and watched him for a few seconds, and then went out of the room to where the vending machines were. He realised he’d forgotten to ask how Joker took his coffee, but figured that he could probably do with the sugar, so he chose it sweet and white. When he got back to the room, Joker was still resting, his eyes firmly closed. Howard put the styrofoam cup on the table.
Don Clutesi came into the room carrying three Motorola two-way radios and three pairs of high-power binoculars. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork I had to go through to borrow these,” he complained. “You’d think I was planning to steal them.” He put them on the table next to the coffee.