Cold Page 21

  “By the governor,” I said. “I’ll keep overwatch, and if I see anything, I’ll radio to you and you sprint-drag his ass out of here.” I adopted the most diplomatic tone I had, and turned to Holloway. “Where do you want to be?” I had no problem being in charge without actually being in charge; unless he offered up something absolutely dumb as a suggestion, I’d go with whatever Holloway said.

  “How about I make it easy and go with Burkitt?” Holloway said, and I just nodded.

  That decided, Boudreaux gave me a friendly smile and said, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you up on that rooftop.”

  “Got a trooper uniform that would fit me?” I asked, falling in behind him. I stripped off my jacket as we went and brushed my hand down my back, taking note of the sweat spots all along there. They were myriad.

  He looked me over once. “I doubt it, but we could try. Might be better to just put on one of our jackets.”

  “Great,” I muttered, trying to keep it low enough he couldn’t hear me. I’d seen those windbreakers, and they were not going to help with the sweat problem. “Let’s do it.”

  39.

  Brianna

  Brianna had driven to the scene last night, just to make sure it was viable. The police presence then had been minimal, and she’d parked a few blocks away and commandeered a shopping cart, filling it with garbage on her approach. Once in the zone, she’d muttered to herself and just generally tried to sound like a crazy homeless lady.

  The cops had, unsurprisingly, left her alone. The makeup and outfit had done their job, which had been fortunate.

  She’d chosen a spot three blocks away, a building with a tilted, A-frame-like roof that had a clear sight line to the library steps. There was at least one flat-roofed building behind her that would surely be laden with Louisiana State Police, though, and some of them had to be dealt with before she could set up.

  So that was what she was doing—taking care of business.

  There were five troopers walking the perimeter building next to the A-framed one. It had a flat roof, and likely a few snipers atop it in addition to the guards patrolling around it. Three of the plainclothes officers were stationed in the narrow alleys on the sides and rear of the building. Two were posted out front.

  She came into the alley on a long-hooking approach from behind the building next door, ditching her rifle bag behind a dumpster half a block out. She had a pistol if she needed it, but she doubted she would. She needed to keep this quiet.

  Deadly quiet.

  Her hands were slick with sweat, drawing the humidity out of the air and using it to rise, building a slide that her feet adhered to as the ice pushed her along to the rooftop, above the sentries below. As she climbed, she dissolved the slide behind her so as not to leave a sign. Some of the excess dripped down to the alley floor below, but most of it was absorbed back into the air.

  She came up onto the roof in the shadow of the protruding stairwell entry to the rooftop, a six-foot-tall structure that rose up above everything and blocked her from the snipers, one of whom was at the corner to her right, the other ahead and to the left, stationed at opposite corners.

  She slipped in behind the trooper to her left, tiptoeing quietly up behind him and delivering the coup de grace to the back of his head. He slumped over, unconscious, and she bound his hands and feet in ice, then froze his mouth closed so he couldn’t shout if he woke up. She repeated the process at the opposite corner of the building, knocking the next sentry out and then moving to the edge of the rooftop.

  The next one was clear, and she’d just eliminated the only watchers that would be behind her. The A-frame, rising roof on the next building would shield her from view of the library until it was time.

  She leapt over the alley at a run, and her fingers found purchase on the edge of the roof. Brianna pulled herself up, gasping, trying to keep it quiet. Once she’d made it up, she looked back down into the alley below.

  No troopers watching. She was in the clear.

  She slid the case off her back and put the rifle together. She could have done it blindfolded, but she did it blazingly quickly instead, finishing by attaching the weapon’s sling and loading the magazine. Once she was done, she started a careful climb up the steep grade of the roof to the point. It was a perfect barrier between her and the library and she peeked over the top carefully, and just for a second so as not to expose herself for long.

  There they were: the library steps. She was a few hundred yards out with a clear shot. There was nothing happening—yet. The crowds were still being held back by the Louisiana State Police past a cordon line about 150 yards from her position. They’d let them loose soon, though, and not long after that the governor would show up.

  Brianna took a breath and squatted on the slope, checking her watch. In five minutes, she’d check again. No point in exposing herself any earlier than she had to. Not for this. At the right time, she’d bring out the rifle. From drawing a bearing on him to shooting, she wouldn’t have to have her head up and exposed for more than ten seconds.

  And then it would be done.

  40.

  Sienna

  “How likely do we think the assassin is to change their MO?” I asked, peering through a pair of binoculars. My rifle leaned beside me against the side of the rooftop. I’d been assured it was sighted out to two hundred yards, though I would have preferred to check for myself. I was speaking through the headset radio the troopers had set me up with, on the alternate channel they’d designated for my little FBI group. “Because I’m looking at the setup here and thinking a pro would take one look at this and pass. There are easier ways to kill Warrington.”

  “Such as?” Holloway’s rough voice trembled a little, like he got hit with the full effect of his hangover when he spoke, and it made him cringe.

  “One of the ice-slinging types I know of is Captain Frost,” I said. “Up in New York, you know? Also, a huge tool, by the by, but he can create an ice slide that carries him through the air.”

  “Oh,” Burkitt cut in. “Like Frozone.”

  I blinked a couple times. “Yes. Like Frozone from The Incredibles. Exactly. Or almost exactly. So, with that ability, this snow queen—if she does indeed have powers—could come sliding in to attack from overhead if she were of a mind to. Or she could slip into Warrington’s mansion from overhead, freeze her way through the roof, drop down and kill him while he’s sleeping, or on the can—anytime but now, when he’s surrounded by security in a public setting.”

  “That’s a good point,” Holloway said with a grunt. “And for me, this goes to motive. If she’s a cold-hearted assassin looking at it like a job, she’s likely to peel off from this particular occasion and look for an easier time to execute. Assuming she’s not on any particular deadline. If she decides to give it a go anyway…”

  “Then it’s a personal motive,” I said, nodding along as I surveyed the nearby rooftops in a slow sweep of the binoculars. “You’re right. I think that does tell us something if she makes a move today.”

  “Unless it really is a timer thing,” Burkitt said. “You guys ever read John Grisham’s The Pelican Brief?”

  “I must have missed that one,” Holloway said drily.

  “I think I read it back in the aughts,” I said, frowning. “That’s the one where someone pays a hitman to assassinate two Supreme Court justices so they can have them replaced to issue a favorable ruling on a court case, right? On drilling in a wildlife habit in Louisiana or something?”

  “Bookworms,” Holloway snorted.

  “You should try reading,” I shot back. “Studies show it helps decrease your troglodyte characteristics by 15% or so, and if anyone needs that, it’s you, Scotch-boy.”

  “Anyway, point was,” Burkitt said, the soul of patience, “that was done for time-sensitive reasons. What if there’s some piece of legislation Warrington is shepherding or about to sign that’s going to go through—or not go through—if he’s in office?”

  “H
olloway, did you forward that legislative summary from Corcoran to Shaw?” I asked.

  “What am I, your secretary?” Holloway asked. “No, I didn’t. I thought you had Corcoran email it directly back to the office.”

  I felt a sudden compulsion to check in with Shaw back at home office. “I have this hunch that even if we manage to pull Warrington’s fat out of the fire in any sort of incident today—” I scanned the many, many rooftops and hoped someone was watching the streets well “—he’s going to do this again tomorrow and the day after.”

  “You think he’s got a death wish?” Holloway asked.

  “No, I think he’s a flaming narcissist with a messiah complex,” I said, running the binoculars over a building with an A-like arch at its top. It stuck out against the more common, older French colonial style of architecture. It was a few blocks out from my position, but still well within range with a solid rifle. “He doesn’t want to do this speech—he needs to.”

  “Well, if anyone in this crew knew something about messianic narcissism, it’d be you,” Holloway said, “Slay Queen.”

  I rolled my eyes, which made looking through the binocs impossible. “I didn’t pick the nickname, Grabby Hands.” I pondered the options available, and stared off at the New Orleans skyline to the north. “Distance is this lady’s safety. Getting up close increases her risk of capture and exposure.” I was just talking out loud. “So…whether she changes her MO and comes up at him hinges on how bad she wants him, I think.”

  “That makes a lot of sense,” Burkitt said. “I think—”

  An explosive round of applause put the brakes on whatever Burkitt thought, and I looked over the edge of the building to see that the police had released the crowds and they were now congealed in a light mass in front of the library. Up front at the police line it was reasonably dense, but getting back about twenty, thirty feet it tapered off so there were five, ten feet between each spectator. I gauged the crowd to be two hundred or so people, two-fifty max.

  “One of you guys want to scan the crowd for long blond hair?” I asked. Our assassin might use a wig again, but maybe not.

  “No sign of her yet,” Holloway said tensely as the crowd launched into another round of spontaneous applause. “Did we ever come up with a codename for Warrington?”

  “No,” I said. “Go with Dirtbag.”

  There was a long pause, and I could almost picture Burkitt’s wide eyes, Holloway’s face pinched in horror as they stood down there under the colonnade. “Dirtbag is moving,” Holloway said at last, as if he just didn’t want to fight me on this one. Which was good, because I was pretty set on this.

  “Let’s get this party started,” I said, and started peering through my binoculars again, scanning, as I waited for the assassin to make her move.

  41.

  Brianna

  The crowd noise was the giveaway. Brianna squatted behind the A-frame of the roof clutching her rifle, listening to the dull roar of the city in the background, that steady hum and occasional horn honk that filled the New Orleans air. It wasn’t a subtle change, the crowd thrum going to a low roar in an instant.

  Warrington had arrived.

  She knew he was popular, but wondered how much of that was a genuine product of the people of Louisiana loving their governor and how much of it was the local media being enraptured with a man who harmonized with their ideals about the direction change should take. Either way, the crowd was clearly supportive of Warrington. She supposed perhaps there might be a small quartile dedicated to protesting him, but it surely numbered in the single digits.

  Brianna slipped the bolt of her rifle partway down, checking the chamber. One round was in there, waiting, though she only saw the cartridge case, then slapped it closed again so as not to allow the spring to eject it.

  She was about to need it, after all.

  Brianna counted out the seconds, the minutes. She wanted to let enough time elapse that Warrington was sure to be in place. She’d sighted the podium, knew where he’d be when he actually spoke. In this case, hearing his voice would be the key. As soon as he started to speak, it’d mean he was at the podium.

  And that would mean it was time for him to die.

  42.

  Sienna

  “Guys,” I said, a slow horror dawning on me, “I just figured out a major flaw in our plan.” The steady heat of the swampy air was oppressive, and I was sweating like crazy, salty beads running down my face.

  “What?” Burkitt’s voice held hints of alarm, like he was ready to push the panic button.

  “If the assassin doesn’t strike,” I said, as deadpan as I could, “we have to sit here and listen to Warrington’s speech.” I paused to let that sink in. “The whole damned thing.”

  43.

  Brianna

  Yes, this was it. The crowd’s hum was dying away. Warrington had to be close to the podium, close to opening his mouth so that the lies, the endless spew of lies, could start spraying forth. She gripped the rifle and held it tight, waiting for him to start speaking.

  She’d wait a few seconds beyond to make sure he was in place. It wouldn’t do to rush. Not for this.

  This time…she needed to get it right.

  44.

  Sienna

  “I hate my new life,” I said, Warrington droning on, firing off meaningless platitudes about the greatness of New Orleans and the people of the State of Louisiana. I was willing to accept that all of those things he was saying were completely true, and in fact, I believed them, being a fan of the city thus far. But the fact they were belching forth from his lips meant I trusted them about as far as I could throw the building I was presently squatting on. “Things were easier when I was on the run. I found bad guys, I crushed them, we moved on.”

  “You could always go back to being on the run, Nealon,” Holloway piped up. I could see him standing next to one of the columns below, didn’t even need my binoculars for it. “I think we’d all be happier going back to that status quo, personally.”

  “The tent in your trousers last night suggested you’d miss me,” I said, putting the binoculars back to my eyes and scanning the rooftops again. “Maybe make that argument to your crotch. If it’s recovered from the argument I made to it with my knee.”

  A few blocks out the roofline was interrupted by that building with the A-frame, eaves blowing the line of sight to the governor wonderfully. That meant I only had to look as far as that rooftop and no farther, because anyone farther out wouldn’t have a clear shot.

  Burkitt chuckled softly over the line. “You see anything? Either of you?”

  “I see a whole mess of the chattering classes down those steps,” Holloway said, his voice a little more muted. I guessed he was covering his mouth in fear that someone might read his sneering, arrogant lips. “And not a lot else.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Try taking a look in a mirror; you could add ‘dickhead elitist’ to your findings.” I glanced down at the rifle leaned against the roof edge next to me. “Should we change our comms channel to the one the troopers are using? Might be good to hear what they’re seeing. Also, maybe Holloway will suppress his inner dickishness with a local audience.”

  “They’re on channel eight,” Burkitt said. “You want to switch over?”

  “Let’s do it,” I said, and lifted my radio to do just that. It took a few seconds, then I plastered my binoculars back to my eyes, trying to assess the clearest angles for a sniper to get a shot at Warrington, who was still blathering on across the street below me.

  45.

  Brianna

  He’d been talking for a while now. She could have heard every word if she’d really wanted to, but she didn’t want to. They were all lies, spilling from vile lips, dripping from a poison tongue. If Brianna’d had her druthers, she would have gotten him alone somehow, and ripped that damnable appendage from his mouth, freezing the wound closed behind when she was done. The look on his face—it’d have been priceless.

  But that woul
d have required her to get close to him, and that was not something she was willing to do.

  She’d waited long enough. Grasping the rifle, she checked the round in the chamber one last time and applied her finger to the bullet. It had started to melt in the Louisiana heat, and her powers worked quickly, smoothing the running drips and moving them right back into place, solidifying it.

  It was perfect, frozen solid. Ready to whistle through the air soundlessly ahead of the rifle’s crack, the sound that would herald Ivan Warrington’s doom following milliseconds behind the frozen instrument of wrath that would kill him.

  It was time. Brianna took one last breath and exhaled. The moisture steamed in the hot air, wafting out frozen. She liked the cool feeling that came over her just before she shot. Her breath steamed again, and she turned, slowly, to stand and acquire her target.

  46.

  Sienna

  There were really only two clear lines of sight to the governor. One ran down the street to my left, and was very limited. Anyone who wanted to shoot from that direction was going to have to do so within three blocks, lest they lose sight of Warrington under the colonnade. It was good positioning by the Louisiana State Troopers, the best you could manage with so public a place. I was scanning that avenue every thirty seconds or so, but it was a brief look, because there were only two rooftops from which you could make a shot, and about a dozen windows, none of which I could see. Watching them was someone else’s job. Several someone elses’, actually.