Book 2 - Part 4: Binding Evil - Chapter Ten
Monday Morning – September 10th
Twenty-Second Precinct – 9:30 a.m.
Baker sat at her desk going over all her notes and suggestions handed her from her team, ideas for the president’s arrival. Each one held promise, and she knew she might be able to implement practically every idea within her layout.
Thus, the next two hours would be spent at her desk, typing up her plan into the computer then printing it off. In doing so, she took sections of the area around the Arena, and broke them down into a five-point star. A radius of two to six blocks out. It was obvious to everyone, the inner circle, or the primary block would be crawling with Fibbies, as well as the SS (that sounded ever so wrong in her head).
Intertwining the separate images with each part of the plan, and by 10:45 she had the outlined finished and ready to take to the meeting. Twenty-seven pages.
As she was on her way out the door, her cell phone rang, and saw where the call came from.
“Stevie?”
“Nope. Try again.”
“Hi, Ed. I take it you took today off.”
“Not really. I did stop by for a quick lunch, but I wanted to let you know Stevie has practice tonight. I’ll pick him up afterward. All I know is that he has schedules and plays to learn.”
She laughed.
“Let him know I’ll be there tonight. I’m on my way to the meeting now.”
“Can do. Will do.”
With paperwork under her arm in a folder, she was in the car park and behind the steering wheel of her car, when another officer called out her name, and as she turned her head in the direction of the voice, the driver’s side window shattered.
Both her and the officer took cover, with Baker managing to roll under her car and her service revolver in hand. Each one scanned the area with their eyes and saw nothing or no one moving.
The officer, Al Martin, radioed it in, and within seconds, another dozen blue uniforms were entrenched in the lot. Faster still, another unit of twelve men, that raced to different
buildings in two-man teams with exits fully covered. This had been part of a new plan put in place in the event of snipers since what happened several months ago. The “Ready Plan” could be set up and in place within two minutes depending on location, eight minutes’ maximum, making it virtually impossible for any shooter to escape.
There should have been no way a shooter could have gotten away that quickly.
Getting out from under her car, Baker scanned the area once again and then looked at the damage done to it. She did a low whistle.
At least they did have one piece of evidence that left a gaping hole through the front seat and imbedded in the back seat. One slug, measuring 1.25 inches and weighing roughly three ounces.
It would later be identified as a .451 Magnum-Plus.
Al Martin came up to Baker and handed her a message.
The first thing she did was thank him for distracting her. He saved her life. Then she read the note. It was from Carl.
Prelim on Sollie. He didn’t die because of his injuries. Neck was snapped. He was murdered. No fingerprints either.
And I almost was, she thought.
As it stood, she called and asked to have the meeting rescheduled for Wednesday. No problem.
She had her car towed to a repair shop for new seats and windshield and had one of the officer’s take her home for the day. She decided it would allow her extra time to go over the plan and tweak it if necessary. On the way, she called Ed, explained what happened, and asked if he could pick her up at the house so that she could see the game with Stevie being one of the coaches.
10:49 a.m.
Dammit, she muttered. I had her. I know I had her! What caused her to turn at the last second?
She looked angrily at Ronald.
“That wasn’t my fault. She moved at the last possible second. Otherwise, she was dead!”
“The thing is, Alexandria,” he said in a toneless way, “when you are sighting in to hit a target, you only get one chance from this distance to connect.
“Had you been in one of those buildings nearby, you would be in jail by now. That is the beauty of the Spencer. When the shot is fired, they will look where you aren’t.
“And it is just as well you missed. I don’t know who that was, nor do I care, but I have decided one thing. Your shooting range is best at 1,500 to 2,000 yards. It’s from that range, I will find a location for you to fire from when the time comes.”
Baker’s Townhouse - 9:58 p.m.
“Ed, in all my years, I have never seen a slug like that before that could do the damage it did. Puts me in mind of bullets used for hunting elephants. If that damn thing had connected with my head, it wouldn’t be here to tell you all this.”
“I hate to agree, but after I saw the extent of the damage as well that it did to the interior, it could have probably taken out three heads.
“You don’t suppose it was Freddy, do you?”
“No. This isn’t his style. Besides, he’s still in Europe some damn where fine-tuning his craft. I spend a few minutes online during the week to check his progress based on the name the media over there gave him. So far, he’s left a nice trail of dead bodies behind him. Some kills were professional people, others just ordinary people trying to make a living, or so it would seem. No, this isn’t him.
“But whoever fired that bullet did it from more than a couple hundred feet away. How else could he get away so ….”
“Or she,” Ed threw in.
“… or she, escape so quickly. Unreal. Want to know something else, Ed?
“What’s that.”
“I might have been target practice for something much bigger and better.”
“The president, maybe?”
“Ditto.”
“At least the night ended well. I got to see my boy in action. He called what, about fourteen plays, huh?”
“That he did. The game coming up to start the home season Friday night will tell the tale, but at least they won their first one.”
“Like you said, at least they won, and I’d like to think Stevie had a little something to do with it. I guess I will have to start going to more games to get a handle on this now that Stevie’s involved.”
They snuggled together on the couch, with Ed holding her tightly as they both fell asleep.
Baker’s Townhouse – 10:17 a.m.
Tuesday – September 11th
Taking Ed’s suggestion, Baker took a paid sick day and stayed home. It allowed her some quiet time to fine tune the plan she would submit tomorrow. Satchell had called to let her know the repair bill on her car would be taken care of by the city. It was one of the few good perks that come with being a cop. It also meant Baker would have her car back as good as new by the end of the day. Another perk. Priority.
With Ed taking on her duties for the day, and with Stevie in school, and later at his therapy class, she was enjoying the quiet. It allowed her to put the package she labeled ‘President’s protection,’ into a more concise and simplistic order.
While she was touching up page nine, and enjoying a cup of hot green tea, her cell phone rang. Looking at it, she saw the number: 42. Carl.
“Hey, Carl. What have you got for me.”
“Hey, JB. I have to tell you; this is the damndest thing. First off, the slug is a .451 Magnum-Plus. Specially made for the Spencer Rifle that was remade from the early days of the Old West.
“It looks and feels like the original, except it’s been modified to take a full magazine clip of twenty rounds, and the bore has a spiral inside, which when fired, actually causes the bullet to turn at a high rate of speed and practically demolish anything in its path within a maximum range of 4,500 yards, with the best range being 1,500.”
“Wait. 4,500 yards? With a Spencer carbine. That’s impossible.”
“Like I said, JB, it looks like the original Spencer, but the mechanics are far different after that. First off, it has a firing range like I explained. The damage from that distance is guess work. But if I were a sniper; ideal range, 1,500 to 2,000 yards. Shoot a man, unseen from anywhere and be gone before you know it. It also has a zoom sight, so it can narrow in on its target a hundred times better than a normal sight.”
“Thanks, Carl. Anything else?”
“Actually, yes. We have a partial print on the slug we retrieved from your car. Whoever fired that shot wasn’t too worried about how they loaded their weapon. Once I can locate an Ident, I’ll let you know first thing.”
“Okay, that’s good news at least. Thanks again, Carl.”
“Just be careful, JB. Last thing we need is you in the hospital on your wedding day.”
After she hung up, she thought to herself: or in the city morgue either.