Next to Die

Joe had not seen it but the bullet had struck eight inches below the knot of Speaker Hays’ $200 Armani tie. The speaker had dropped like a bag of bones and was surely dead before he was half way to the platform floor.

Joe moved like a machine, quickly setting the rifle aside, he tore off the cotton cover-up and painters headgear, all thrown into three inches of water in the bathtub. He removed the plastic face cover and sloshed it once in the soapy water leaving it there. He then placed the rifle on top of it all. He dumped the five-gallon bucket containing 3 gallons of Clorox into the water after which the cotton gloves he had been wearing were tossed in. He walked straight to the door opening it with the washcloth already hanging over the knob. He stepped out, taking the washcloth with him and kicked the door closed with his foot. It had all taken little more than fifteen seconds and there was no one on the landing. Walking, the key to the escape Sam had said, down the steps, he moved at a slow gate across the parking lot and down the street to his truck. Once on the ground, people at the Social Security Office some three hundred yards away, could not have see him, even if they had been looking. Parked cars in the area would have blocked their view.

Over at the gathering, no one quite knew what had happened. The speaker was falling before the sound of the rifle got there and with that most people ducked for cover. No one cared where the shot had come from. The police, not having the training of federal secret service people, had been looking at the Congressman and not at the crowd, the first rule of presidential protection.

As it had worked out, the few people staying at the motel were in the ground floor units with their doors facing the gulf and there were only three of those in at the time of the shooting. The three were standing out in front of the building asking each other if they had heard what sounded like a shot. Frankie, the manager happened to be at the Social Security Office waiting for a free lunch hotdog. Surprisingly, it would be over three hours before the location of the shooter would be nailed down.

Sam had told Joe that when he got to his truck he was home free if he just acted normal and drove smoothly out of town. The protective cover-ups Joe had worn to keep gun powder residue from getting on his body or clothes and the Clorox in the bath tub was to dissolve the garments along with any DNA from sweat or hair. “If they don’t see you there” he had said, “or find a way to prove you were there, then they can’t make a case. And that’s only if there is a reason to suspect you which of course there isn’t.” The precautions turned out to be unnecessary, except for the gloves to prevent prints, because Joe was well over the causeway bridge before he heard reports of the shooting on the radio. He would have time to check out a job or two before he went home, if he cared to do it. He was completely relaxed as he drove North on the freeway watching every manner of police car heading South towards Galveston. He was a millionaire now.

Frankie returned from lunch to find the three residents standing around drinking beer and asking what all the commotion was about. It seemed every cop in Galveston was in the area. After he told them, they all remarked about hearing what they thought was a gunshot. Frankie thinking there could be something for him in this, decided to hold off on telling the police until they came asking if anyone had heard or seen where the shooting had come from. This action would turn out to be helpful to the FBI, because if the Galveston police had been told, they would have surely screwed up and contaminated what little evidence was left at the crime scene.

Since everyone in the interview room had left, the interview ended and Sam had been dropped back at his home. On the drive to River Oaks, Albert told him they had done fine, but there would surely be more questions. Sam asked if he had to tell them where his accounts were, to which Albert replied, “You don’t have to say a word to them. Its likely better if we cooperate, but you don’t have to.”

Sam went straight to his safe and retrieved the plastic bag containing ten letters, eight addressed to newspapers and two to the FBI. He picked up his laptop computer and left telling Carla he’d be returning for dinner. Stopping at the River Oaks Shopping Center, he called his accountants, Baker & Baker leaving a message for Fernando. One of the rules the guys adhered to was to always keep in touch while out of the country. Sam would call Baker & Baker later this evening and be given a time and number where he could reach Fernando because Fernando called into the accounts every day. He then drove to the far North side of Houston where the letters were mailed and after putting the laptop in a pillow case, he ran over it several times with his car, finally throwing it off a bridge into ten feet of water.

Nine of the letters said about the same thing as the first Revolution letter had. There was some wording denouncing the actions of Malvo and Muhammad, the DC snipers who were recently caught after killing at least ten innocent people. The Revolution group was different; the letters said in that The Revolution Group were only killing bad politicians. The second letter to the FBI was intended to show the difference between Sam’s people and copycats, which Sam was sure there would be. He simply told them that, like the first letter Jan had been carrying, all true messages from the Revolution would have three pinholes in them. Sam had two more potential killers already lined up but, for several reasons, he was wondering if he would be able to use them. One being that after today, Congressmen were going to be harder to get to and two, he personally was likely to be under close surveillance. He was also beginning to wonder if this truly was the way to cause change in our government. He was having second thoughts.