Chapter 26 The cell phone alarm went off at 5:00 am, Louis immediately sat up having passed the night with short catnaps, and meditation to defocus his mind as the hours crawled past. After showering and shaving, he took a beta-blocker knowing this may be an adrenaline-pumping day. He placed his hand against the window to gauge the temperature outside; it was cold to the touch. Louis put the vest over his T-shirt, and then dressed in dark-colored slacks and shirt, his shoulder holster with his 40 caliber Glock, and his heavy leather bomber jacket. He hung his FBI credentials around his neck and collected everything he needed before locking his room. Louis stood in the hallway between his room and Nathans for a moment, as he donned the leather gloves he kept in a pocket of the jacket, and stared at Nathans door for several moments before knocking. When Nathan didnt open the door, he remembered that he planned to spend the night working in the lab. Louis got in the sedan and started the engine, allowing it to warm up a bit before turning on the heater. He dialed Nathan’s cell phone before pulling out of the parking lot. “Hey man.” “Have you been up there all night working?” “Yeah, I came back up here about one oclock, couldnt sleep anyway, and I got a lot done.” “Has the tracking device gone active?” “Let me check, hang on a second,” Nathan said as he opened the browser, “damn, it went active just after midnight for less than a minute, but it stayed in the same location.” “Where was it when it went active?” “It was in the parking lot at Towers Park, between the basketball and tennis courts. Just open the site on your cell phone, its easy to find.” “Im leaving Quantico now and should be there by 6:30 am, if traffic’s not too bad and I can fly low.” “Be safe man, call me later.” Once out on I-95 Louis flew north, maintaining close to 90 miles an hour, all the way to the I 395 connector where he took state road 27 around the south end of Arlington, exiting on Columbia Pike and turning right on Scott, that led to Towers Park. He parked the car alongside the road and walked the couple hundred feet to the park, in case Hauser or Hatalsky were there; knowing a government motor pool vehicle would catch their attention. There were several small cars in the parking lot that separated the tennis courts from the basketball court, but no sign of a vehicle capable of carrying the GMG. Louis walked through the park and checked all the adjacent parking lots on foot, finding nothing of the size necessary to conceal the large grenade launcher. He walked back to his car in the cold morning air, as the sun was rising to reveal the heavy, overcast sky that hung in place with no perceivable wind. ‘Perfect day for a funeral’, Louis thought as he climbed back in the car and made his way back to Columbia Pike, heading toward the maintenance entrance of the cemetery. He parked the sedan near the exit of the parking lot and walked to the security gate that was already manned by Secret Service and FBI personnel, as well as a police dog teams. Louis approached the gate displaying his credentials and was stopped and questioned by the Secret Service detail. “Whats your business here this morning, sir?” “Im a contract special investigator assigned to the FBI security detail, reporting to Special Agent Paul Biggins out of Quantico. Im responsible for the sniper threat assessment map in this mornings briefing.” “Wait here a moment sir, I need to make a call before allowing you through the gate,” the agent told Louis, stepping away to talk over his headset in private. Louis stood there patiently with his hands crossed in front of him, observing the security detail going through their motions with predictable repetition. “Sir, Agent Biggins indicated the briefing will be held over at the Pentagon, why do you need access to the cemetery this morning?” the agent asked challenging Louis. “Just being thorough, I want to make sure I havent missed anything, and that nothings changed since I produced the map; Ill only be here a few minutes before heading over to the briefing.” Again, the agent communicated through his headset, talking into his left sleeve and awaiting clearance from his decision authority, before allowing Louis to pass. “Okay sir, you’ve been cleared.” The agent leaned in close to Louis and said, “Wyoming is the password, in case you need to reenter the area after the briefing.” “I appreciate the heads up,” Louis told him, then walked through the security gate and around the metal detector that was positioned next to the concrete barriers, which were put in place overnight in the common S shaped pattern. Louis walked straight across Patton drive, into the section closest to the maintenance area, and made his way across the field among the 64 parallel rows of perfectly aligned headstones and trees. He arrived at the other side of the section and walked through the trees that lined both sides of Arnold drive,and separated the two cemetery sections, and into section 66, and continued toward plot 110 located just north of the path that cuts diagonally across the section. The only sound to be heard in the cemetery was coming from the backhoe that was making its way up Eisenhower drive, at a slow pace, on its way to remove the dirt that would create Richlands grave. Louis turned slowly, studying the horizon, noticing the newly constructed towers in the tree lines, which would serve as camera platforms for the network coverage of the funeral. While standing quietly among the acres of three-foot tall white headstones, he was thinking ‘Richland doesnt belong here; traitors shouldnt be buried among heroes, even if they were Senators.’ He read the inscriptions on the tombstones on either side of what was soon to be Richlands grave and wondered what they would think, if they knew who was about to be planted next to them in this hallowed ground. Louis looked down at his feet and studied the ground and the low-cut grass, so carefully manicured and orderly, when he noticed what appeared to be a small hole near one of the headstones adjacent to the plot. Must be were someone crammed a flower vase into the ground Louis thought as he stepped closer to take a look, ‘whats that in the hole?’ He bent over to take a closer look and noticed a shiny rounded metallic object, about 3 inches below the surface of the soft ground, when he realized what he was looking at was the projectile body of a 40 mm practice grenade, which buried itself upon impact. Louis stood next to the hole and took out his cell phone to call Nathan as the backhoe was approaching his location. “Hey man whats up?” “Do me a favor; calculate the range from where the tracking device went active to the center of section 66 at Arlington.” “Hold on a minute while I adjust the map, where’s section 66?” “You see the intersection of Washington Boulevard and Columbia Pike?” “Hang on, okay I got it” “Theres a small group of buildings on the north side of that intersection.” “I see them.” “Just north of there is a section of the graveyard with a dirt road that cuts diagonally across from southeast to northwest, the perimeter of the section is Arnold Dr., Bradley Dr., Eisenhower Dr. and MacArthur Dr.; give me the range to the center of that section 20 feet north of the diagonal dirt road.” “Okay, let me zoom out and measure it,” Nathan said, and then answered, “Best estimate is . . . about 4000 feet.” “Whats 1500 m? 4900 feet or so, that’s easily inside the effective range of the GMG,” Louis said. “Whats going on?” “I just found a practice grenade buried in the ground, less than 5 feet from where the grave’s being dug, they must have fired it when the transponder went hot.” “It shouldnt have gone hot if they selected a practice grenade; I wired it so it would go hot when High Explosive was selected on the console.” “That could be a problem then,” Louis replied “unless. . .” “Unless what?” “Unless the console switch was already on HE when they powered it up.” “That would make sense,” Nathan said. “The tracking device was on for only a few seconds before it shut down. If the selector switch was on HE, and then they selected a practice round before firing, that would account for the short transmitter burst and the practice round you found.” “Lets hope thats the case, whats the radio link range for the remote console on the GMG?” “Hang on, I saved the link to the Jane’s page, just a second, it looks like 2 miles line of sight but less than that in the environment around there.” “I think we can count on the console being at an elevated position, that should help, and I bet thats how they test fired it, damn, they mustve done all this last night. I need to head over to the Pentagon for the briefing; it starts in 30 minutes, thanks for the help man, later.” Louis bent over, extracted the practice round from the small hole, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and watched as the backhoe operator gracefully carved out the hole inside the template they laid out on the ground. He walked down the dirt path back to the paved road along the edge of the section and proceeded back to the maintenance building with a quick step. He exited through the same security gate where he entered, and acknowledged the Secret Service agent with a nod as he passed by on the way to the car. The short drive over to the Pentagon parking lot took 6 minutes in the morning traffic. He found a parking space before removing the holster and gun and locking them, and the practice round, in the glove box. Louis entered the Pentagon through the door between the Memorial and the construction area where he encountered Paul, who just entered the building as well. “Good morning.” “Morning Louis, youve been busy already I hear,” Paul said as they passed through the security queue. “Yeah, I couldnt sleep. I got an early start so I could look the area over, one more time.” “Anything new to add to the map?” “Nope, the grave is still in the same location and the place is locked down tight.” “We’re in this first conference room on the left; we have a few minutes yet. Ill join you in a minute, need to hit the head first.” Louis walked into the auditorium-sized room and took a seat near the back, scanning the small groups of uniformed men that were standing and talking at various locations around the room. All of them appeared to have a copy of his map and were now discussing it. Paul came through the door, walked down front, and took a seat. Shortly thereafter, a gray-haired man in gray fatigues walked to the microphone, “If everyone would please take seats we can get started.” He handed the microphone to another man in a dark blue suit to begin the briefing. “Good morning everyone, I hope you all are wearing your thermal underwear, its going to get cold out there at your various positions. I see you all have the additional handout provided by Agent Biggins this morning. This map is a good reference for us, and integrates the various nest locations with a lot of useful information, pertinent to todays mission. We’re implementing a new procedure this morning, which for the first time, will allow us to track your specific locations throughout the day. The goal of this procedure is not to track you per se, but to help us identify exactly who is where, so the observers can easily identify any potential shooters attempting to blend in. Each team will be given one of these tracking devices that will remain powered up and with you all day. These devices show up on a web-based tracking application provided by Special Agent Biggins’ team of specialized consultants out of Quantico; his team produced the map as well. Handout number one details your assigned nest locations and call signs for todays mission, which of course is “over watch.” I know I dont have to remind you, but Im going to anyway, you all know the procedure, dont watch the funeral through your scopes, continually scan your assigned fields of fire and watch the funeral on the news when youre not on the clock this evening. Its going to be a busy day with hundreds of limousines coming and going; hundreds of potential targets on the field at Arlington. POTUS will arrive just before commencement by limousine, not in the procession from the capitol with the hearse; the decoy limousine will be in the procession. Maximum exposure is expected to be during his brief eulogy at the podium.” The briefing continued for another 15 minutes. Louis accessed the app on his smart phone where he could clearly make out all of the assigned tracking devices that were handed out. The red indicators were Secret Service, the blue ones were FBI and the white ones were Police Sharpshooters. Louis thought the text floating next to the indicators looks rather crowded on the screen, with all of them in one tight location; once zoomed-out to cover the entire area where the teams will be located, it’ll be easier to read. The briefing wrapped up just before 9:00 am, and Louis headed out the door to grab a bite of breakfast, knowing the Pentagon cafeteria would be packed, and that the food served there just wouldnt cut it. He remembered the last time he ate there, and the horror stories continued to emerge to this day, though the food-service contractor has changed a few times. Louis climbed back in the sedan after slipping back into his shoulder holster with the bomber jacket over it and left the Pentagon parking lot. He drove directly south, passing under I 395, and turned left on Army Navy Drive for the short hop to the Penta City Café, and a hot breakfast during which he took the opportunity to read the Posts morning edition. The big news of the day, besides the economy and Wall Streets efforts to kill it, was the photo exposé of Richlands coffin in the Capitol rotunda. The hundreds of visitors that streamed past which included Richlands wife along with her sons and their families, Senators and Congressmen, the President and Mrs. Obama, the Vice President and Mrs. Biden, lower government officials and dignitaries of every stripe, and representatives from the various embassies located in Washington. The long-winded op-ed piece detailed Richlands life and his enormous contributions to the American people, his long years of service and dedication to this country. But they left out the millions he accumulated while laundering drug money out of Southeast Asia and Central America, and the private team of assassins that he and Thomaston were funding to pull off their own coup détat. Of course, the balance of the information was not yet known to the press, but would be by the end of the day. Louis paid the check, took the paper with him, returned to the car and drove to the small park where the tracking device was previously activated. He backed into a parking space next to the basketball court and again took a walk through the park to check out the adjacent parking lots, on the lookout for a vehicle that could conceal and support the GMG. The tracking application on his smart phone indicated the sniper teams were already in their nests, and all 12 of the issued tracking devices were active and updating, marking six locations within the cemetery itself, with three positions on the Pentagon wall facing the cemetery and three nests on top the Air Force buildings on Foxcroft Heights. While walking back to the car, and still 200 yards away, he spotted an ice cream truck that made a U-turn in the parking lot where his car was parked and headed back out toward Columbia Pike at a quick clip. ‘That looked like the same ice cream truck’, he thought, ‘the one that passed me while tracking down the address.’ Louis ran at full speed from the adjacent parking lot and across the park to his car, arriving there some 40 seconds later, jumped in the car and flew toward Columbia Pike in an effort to catch up to the truck which was nowhere in sight. He turned right on Columbia Pike and slowed at each intersection, looking both ways for the truck, before proceeding to the next. At S. Walter Reed Drive, he stopped momentarily, looking both directions for the truck, and ensured he could safely run the red light. He nailed the accelerator from his left turn lane position, proceeded across Walter Reed Drive and continued searching all the way to S. Glebe Rd. where he made a U-turn and headed back east on Columbia Pike toward the Pentagon. He searched through the neighborhoods on the south side of Columbia Pike west of Interstate 395 and even searched the parking lots of the Army Navy Country Club directly to the south of the neighborhoods. Ice cream trucks just dont disappear like that he thought, and nobody would be buying ice cream in this weather, that has to be them, the extended top of that thing could easily be modified with a large cut out the GMG can fire through. Louis called Nathan to pass along the info. “Hey man, are you watching the screen, looks like the snipers are deployed already,” Nathan said conveying his excitement. “Yeah, I saw that, I also saw the vehicle I believe.” “Oh yeah what kind of vehicle was it?” “Its a white ice cream truck with multicolored balloons painted on it. I believe I saw the same truck when I was searching for the address over in Seven Corners, it pulled out of a garage and drove past me while I was on the phone the other day.” “Do you remember which house it came out of?” “Yes, and I recall thinking how curious it was to have an ice cream truck parked in a residential garage. He came out of the third house down from the corner on the north side of the street, thats got to be Hauser or Hatalsky home or safe house.” “Ill track it down online and let you know what I find.” “Thanks, Im going to continue searching for the truck before checking out the sniper nest a little closer. Keep an eye on the tracking screen and call me the moment you get a blip from the tracking device of the console. Later man.” “Ill do it, later.” Louis returned to Washington Boulevard and drove northwest past the buildings and lots that form the western edge of the cemetery, scouring each parking lot before moving to the next. ‘They have to stay within 1500 m of the burial site’, he was thinking, ‘that limits their options somewhat.’ Finding nothing on the west side of the cemetery he headed back south on Washington Blvd., continued around the southern end of the cemetery to search the dozens of parking areas located around the Pentagon and the Marina at Lady Bird Johnson Park. It was 11:00 am when he passed by the maintenance entrance to the cemetery. He noticed the line of florist delivery vans and network news trucks, already in queue, awaiting access to the grounds in order to set up, ahead of the funeral scheduled for 2 pm. Im glad Im not working that security detail he thought, what a pain the ass that would be. Louis’ phone rang; it was Nathan, “Whats up man?” “I located the address of the house you described, third house on the north side the street from the corner. Its owned by Hatalsky ex-wife, she got it in the divorce two years before she mysteriously disappeared. The property is still in probate.” “I understand how ex-wives can mysteriously disappear; its kind of a fantasy of mine.” “Police records indicate the report of a stolen ice cream van two months ago that has yet to be found, by the police anyway.” “Thats got to be it, I’ve been searching the neighborhoods around the cemetery and I’m driving through the Pentagons northern parking lots right now; but theres no sign of it yet.” “What are you going to do if you find it?” “Ive been thinking about that, I may just ram it broadside and try to flip it over on its side.” “Im sure that would be satisfying, but can your back take another high-speed car crash?” “Youre probably right. I didnt really consider that, guess Ill just call in the location and you can report it directly into the cop’s database; will that alert the cops on patrol?” “It will if I enter it as a BOLO with armed and dangerous along with an eyewitness sighting indicating the location.” “That would get the GMG and one of them, but the other would still be in play,” Louis said. “Thats true, but if our original plan works, it negates the need to locate the GMG anyway.” “Good point, I just hate leaving a weapon like that in the open. Im going to check one more location before heading back to visit the sniper nests, keep your eyes on the screen for me, later.” “Later Bro.” Louis exited the northern parking lots of the Pentagon and continued north on Washington Blvd. exiting at Lady Bird Johnson Memorial Park on Columbia Island where he methodically checked every parking area around the marina and the park south of the Arlington Memorial Bridge. At 12:15, Louis headed back to the cemetery. His credentials and the fact he was driving an FBI motor pool vehicle gained him access to the parking area for the maintenance buildings. He retrieved his binoculars from the trunk of the car before walking past the long line of vehicles still in queue outside the security barrier, and approached a different Secret Service agent now manning the checkpoint. Louis walked up to the agent displaying his credentials and the agent asked him “How can I help you sir?” “Im a contract special investigator assigned to the FBI security detail, reporting to Special Agent Paul Biggins out of Quantico, with Wyoming,” Louis told him. “Thank you sir, you may proceed through the security gate,” the agent said as he entered Louis’ name on his clipboard. Louis walked around the metal detector and through the security gate and passed the area set aside for the trucks were delivering the floral arrangements. Security personnel were going over every arrangement with metal detectors and explosives sniffers while dog handlers walked back and forth among the arrangements and inside the delivery vehicles. Network news vans were being guided into position and set up along Arnold Drive between Marshall and MacArthur. Technicians were using small carts to transport the heavy camera equipment, mounts, cables and wireless transmitters to their assigned camera positions in the towers around section 66. Louis walked toward the first sniper nest on the third level of the first tower, located inside the corner of Arnold and Eisenhower drives. He stopped about 100 yards to the east of the position and uncapped the binoculars to look at the nest located some 30 feet in the air and approximately 10 feet above the camera position below. As he scanned upward on the tower stopping at the nest, he found himself looking down the barrel of the sniper, watching him through the scope. Louis released his right hand from the binoculars and presented a short salute to the sniper who returned the acknowledgment with his right hand from the brim of his cap. Louis lowered the binoculars, walked toward the tower, and stopped at the base, identifying himself to the police officer charged with guarding the tower. A few moments later Louis started up the ladder on the side of the tower and arrived at the top where he took a seated position next to the spotter between him and the shooter. “Hows it going guys, I saw you in the briefing this morning at the Pentagon.” “Were doing okay I guess, be doing better if the sun was out,” the spotter said before turning to the scope and continuing his scan. “How can we help you sir?” “Im the Joker that made the map that was handed out in the briefing, just checking the positions; can I get you guys anything?” “You made the map? Good work, its helpful I guess, probably more so for the outer ring of shooters.” “Must be nice knowing youre in the field of fire of the nests behind you.” “It just makes our day,” the spotter said without looking up from his scope, clearly conveying his dislike of the situation. “Okay guys, Im outta here; youll see me all over the place before the day is over. Go easy.” Louis said as he started down the ladder thinking ‘theres another job I wouldn’t want to be doing today.’ Once he reached the bottom of the tower, he walked directly west to the tree line of the hill located west of section 66. Again, he stopped and glanced at the nest with the binoculars, and again found himself being watched through the rifle scope of the shooter, as well as the spotting scope. This nest was on a platform just 6 feet off the ground, but has a clear field of fire to the area below. “The guys in the tower 200 yards east of you asked me to remind you not to shoot them in the ass if you can avoid it,” he said to the team that responded with a laugh. “Weve got them marked on the map and the handy-dandy online site allows us all to see one another; we couldve used this years ago.” “Glad you find it useful, thats why we made it available, along with the printed map.” “Youre the guy who did this? I mean the map and the website?” “Yes, my partner and I put those together, glad to see youre using them.” “Hey man, this is good stuff, thanks!” “Thanks, I appreciate that, got to go, more nests to visit. Go easy guys.” Louis spent the next 30 minutes visiting all the nests inside the cemetery before heading back to the Pentagon and the three sites along the west wall with the longest shots to the grave site. Only two of the nests saw clear fields of fire to the grave, the third team was assigned to scan the road leading into the cemetery and the maintenance area. Louis made it through the security checkpoint at Foxcroft Towers, and up to the roof at 1:30 pm, spending a minute or two at each sniper team position, before surveying the entire area through his binoculars. The roads leading from the main gate at Arlington all the way back to section 66 were lined with limousines, and the area around the plot was now densely populated with those attending the funeral service who were awaiting the arrival of the motorcade with the hearse and family. The honor guard was in place for the military honors funeral, and the network coverage was already underway. The area adjacent to the grave and behind the small speaker’s podium was covered in flowers and wreaths with the white headstones mixed in among them. Louis scanned the area with the binoculars as well as the western Pentagon wall and the tops of the small buildings dotted here and there, looking for signs of a shooter. He looked to the southeast at the small tower above the Bed Bath & Beyond, seeing nothing out of place or any different than hed seen during his site visit. He turned his attention to the tall Y shaped RiverHouse building across the Highway and across Joyce Street from the small tower, where he spotted a white hard hat just visible above the top edge of the enclosure surrounding the air-conditioning systems on the northernmost leg of the building. ‘There shouldnt be anyone up there at this time,’ he thought, ‘that roof should be locked down by Secret Service.’ Louis made his way back to the stairs that accessed the roof of the building on Foxcroft Heights and ran down the five flights of stairs exiting the building through the entrance nearest the security checkpoint, and back to his car. He sped out of the parking lot, turning south on Columbia Pike and nailed the accelerator all the way to S. Joyce Street. He locked the brakes and again nailed the accelerator, performing a power slide through the right hand turn and quickly accelerating toward the RiverHouse parking lot entrance ,where he came sliding to a stop just outside the main entrance to the building. Louis ran through the front door and turned left down the long hallway, heading toward the center section of the building where the freight elevator is located, and where at least one Secret Service Agent should be posted to prevent access to the elevator that led to the roof of the building. He turned the corner to the left, to find the door of the elevator unguarded and the Secret Service seal on the door broken. He pressed the button to call the elevator and placed his ear against the door to listen for sounds indicating the elevator was moving. Louis glanced at his watch, noticed it was 1:55 pm, and realized that the funeral procession was already within the cemetery grounds, and so would be the Top-Two any moment. He waited nervously as the 20 seconds that it took for the elevator doors to open marched painfully by. He jumped through the crack in the door as soon as he could fit, reached for, pressed and held the button for roof access. The doors to the elevator closed in slow motion it seemed, as Louis noticed the large gray trash bin on wheels in the far corner of the large freight elevator. Still holding the button, he leaned over to look inside the bin and spotted the tip of a black leather dress shoe, protruding above the cardboard in the bin. He released the button, stepped over to the bin, and moved the cardboard away to find a Secret Service Agent, shot twice in the chest, with no pulse at his carotid artery. He quickly searched the agent for his radio and weapon, but they were gone. Louis removed the Glock from his shoulder holster and chambered a round before digging his cell phone from his pocket and attempting to call Paul Billings, but there was no phone service in the elevator. The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened on the roof. Louis quickly glanced outside the elevator door, looking for the shooter he knew would be on the roof. He exited the elevator and rapidly turned and aimed his pistol toward the roof above the elevator in case the shooter had the high ground. Louis backed away from the elevator and toward the north end of the building where hed seen the white hard hat, watching for a shooter, now convinced he wasnt above him. He proceeded down the center-line of the building, toward the air conditioner enclosure, holding his pistol in front of him in his right hand, braced with his left hand, still clutching his cell phone. Louis crossed the 100 or so feet to the enclosure rapidly, and moved to the opening on the right side of the enclosure, where he spotted a man wearing the hard hat. He was sitting on top the air-conditioning unit and peering over the top edge of the enclosure with binoculars, with his right hand resting on the remote fire control system console. Louis was stepping to the right on the gravel-covered roof and preparing to shoot when his cell phone rang. The man in the hard hat quickly turned toward the sound of the phone as Louis squeezed off a shot that struck the man above his right cheekbone behind his eye, slamming him against the enclosure wall. Louis placed the cell phone to his ear as he approached the firing console where the man was sitting, but was now collapsed below the enclosure wall covered with his brains; It was Hauser. “Kind of busy,” Louis said as he looked at the fire control console screen that was displaying a large flashing red “8”. “The transmitter went live 30 seconds ago, where are you?” Louis turned 180°, ran at full speed back toward the elevator, when he felt the high velocity impact against his chest. It stopped his forward motion 60 feet from the elevator, flipping him rapidly onto his back as he noticed the rifle in the hands of the shooter on top of the elevator enclosure. Louis instinctively sat up raising his pistol toward the shooter when a high explosive grenade detonated just above the fire control system console, 40 feet behind him. In the fleeting second it took him to reacquire his target and fire, he watched his round strike the shooter’s abdomen while the shooter was stumbling backward from the grenade’s blast. The shockwave disoriented Louis, as everything went silent from the enormous concussive explosion that instantly robbed him of his hearing. A second high explosive grenade detonated above the fire control console spraying hot shrapnel over the roof. The explosion threw Louis over on his stomach as he was attempting to stand. The third grenade detonated, sending it’s fragmented shrapnel ripping through everything in range of the blast, including Louis. Louis laid there on the gravel roof, face down and unconscious for half a minute, as the remaining five H.E. grenades arrived and detonated before he regained consciousness and gasped air back into his lungs that the concussive explosions expelled. He struggled to his feet, falling twice while trying to regain his balance to make it to the elevator enclosure, before the shooter could get off another round. Louis leaned against the enclosure wall, and slid his way toward the backside, his pistol leading the way, leaving a thick blood trail on the wall, still unable to hear and relying only on his instincts, and blurred and rapidly dimming vision. He quick-peeked around the corner of the enclosure where he saw the shooter, it was Hatalsky, sitting flat on his butt with his legs extended wide, attempting to extract a pistol from its holster. Louis stepped away from the edge of the enclosure with the Hatalsky in his sights. Hatalsky managed to draw his pistol and looked up to see Louis aiming at him. In the milliseconds it took him to think it over, he moved the pistol toward Louis. Louis released two quick shots, striking Hatalsky on the right side of his chest below the collarbone and his abdomen. Hatalsky lunged over toward his left side, releasing the pistol that slid across the gravel roof away from him. Louis stood there for a few seconds, prepared to shoot again, before approaching the lifeless body to ensure he was dead. Returning his pistol to the holster, he dropped his right arm to his side and attempted to stand up straight, to find that he couldnt do it. He looked down at his left arm hanging at his side and realized he couldnt move it, or even feel it. Staggering back toward the elevator enclosure, he leaned against the wall and tried to take a deep breath. Thats when the sharp crushing pain in his chest became apparent. Louis looked down, finding the bullet hole on the left side of his chest that penetrated the bomber jacket an inch left of the zipper of the open jacket. He pulled the left side of the jacket open and found the bullet-hole in his shirt that he pried open, letting the buttons fly. The vest below the shirt took all the energy it could absorb, before the bullet tore through, penetrating Louis’ chest. Louis could feel his breathing becoming shallower with each strained gasp for air, and felt the warm blood seeping beneath the vest and across his abdomen to his groin. He slid along the wall, then back to where he was shot, looking for his cell phone to call for help. Louis found the phone and staggered backwards, falling against the wall of the enclosure, trying to focus his eyes on the damaged screen. The call from Nathan was still connected, and Louis tried to talk to him but realized he couldnt hear Nathans voice. “Im shot, I cant hear you. Im on the roof of the building next to the elevator. I need help Bro, I need help.” Louis slid down the wall and sat with his legs extended in front of him, with the pain from the shrapnel in his back and legs becoming excruciatingly apparent, trying to speak to the cell phone, becoming weaker with every hard-fought breath, defeated by the sucking chest wound. “I cant hear you Bro, Im shot,” he said, coughing out blood, and then pulling the phone from his ear to look at the screen to find the call was disconnected. Dialing 911 with his thumb, he watched the screen until the call connected. “I need help, I’ve been shot, I cant hear, I need help . . . ,” was all he could say before losing consciousness. Louis came to looking up at the blurry gray clouds overhead. He then found himself on his right side before returning to his back. He realized the apparitions blocking the sky were medics, strapping him to a backboard, shining flashlights in his eyes and placing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Louis tried to speak, coughing blood into the oxygen mask, before scraping it off his face with his right hand. “Is he all right?” he struggled to speak. The medic was trying to reposition the oxygen mask over his mouth when Louis grabbed his wrist and pushed it aside, “Is the President all right?” He barked with blood flying from his mouth and nose. The upside down face of the medic above him nodded his head repeatedly, attempting to communicate with Louis, knowing he couldnt hear him; seeing the blood flowing from both of his ruptured ears. Louis’ last vision was the removal of the oxygen mask and the hand of the medic approaching his face, with a large intubation tool. Dave Dragon (2011-04-22T04:00:00+00:00). A Crooked Piece of Time (Kindle Location 4506). Dave Dragon. Kindle Edition.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Jan 2014 12:49:08 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015