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"I think so. Yes. I'd bet a lot on it. He has some strongly held beliefs, and
one of them is that he and his family deserve to live well. So, yes, I think
money is a part of this. I think he's probably acquainted with some people
with a lot of money and power, but not as much power as they would like to
have."
The Bronco took off and we followed it at a comfortable distance. Jack was a
careful driver of his valuable cargo. He must have been impressive to his
kids, maybe even to the dogs, undoubtedly to his neighbors.
Jack the Jackal. I wondered if that was another of Sara Rosen's word games.
I wondered what Jill's very last thought was when her lover betrayed her in
New York. Had she expected it? Had she known he would betray her? Was that why
she left the cassette in her apartment?
Jay wanted to talk, maybe he needed to keep his mind busy right now. "He's
taking them to the day school down yonder. His life is back to normal now.
Nothing happened to change that. He just planned the murder and helped execute
a president. That's all. No biggie. Life goes on."
"From what I can gather in his military records, he was a first-class soldier.
He left the Army as a full colonel. Honorable discharge. Participated in
Desert Storm," I said to Jay.
"Jack a war hero. I'm impressed as hell. I'm so goddamn impressed with this
guy that I can't begin to tell you. Maybe I'll tell him."
Jack was a war hero, officially.
Jack was a patriot, unofficially.
As we rode along, I remembered the inscription on the Tomb of the Unknown at
Arlington National Cemetery. Here rests in honored glory an American soldier
known but to God. Somehow, I thought that was how Jack probably thought about
himself.
A soldier-hero known only to God.
He probably believed he'd gotten away with several murders -- in a just war.
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Well, he hadn't. He was about to go down.
He dropped the two children off at the Bayard-Wellington School. It was a
beautiful place: fieldstone walls and rolling, frost-slicked lawns; the sort
of school I would have loved to send Damon andJannie to; the kind of school
where Christine Johnson ought to teach.
You could move out of D.C., you know, I told myself as I watched Jack kiss
each of his children good-bye.
So why don't you? Why don't you take Damon and Jannie away from Fifth Street?
Why don't you do what this rotten piece of shit son of a bitch does for his
kids?
Jay Grayer spoke into the hand mike again. "He's leaving the Bayard-Wellington
School now. He's turning back onto the main road. God, it's pretty out here in
Jackville, isn't it? We'll take him down at the stoplight up ahead! Just one
imperative: we take him alive! We'll have four cars at the light with him.
Four of us to get Jack. We take him alive."
"You have the right to remain silent," I said.
"What the hell are you saying?" Jay Grayer turned to me and asked.
"Just getting it out of the way He doesn't have any rights. He's going down."
Grayer offered up a crooked smile. We both understood why The good part was
coming now. The only good part in this whole affair. "Famous stuff, huh? Here
we go. Let's get this son of a bitch."
"Absolutely I want to have a nice long talk with Jack, too."
I want to kick his ass from this stoplight, all the way back to Washington.
I want to meet the real Jack.
NOBODY had figured out the assassination plot until now. Not one of us had
even been close. No one had been able to solve the mystery of Jack and Jill
until it was too late. Maybe we could unravel the whole mess now. A
retrospective on Jack and Jill.
We were less than a hundred yards away from capturing Jack.
He was heading down a steep, rolling hill toward a stoplight.
It was a very picturesque scene. Long lens, like in expensively made movies.
The light turned red and Jack stopped like a law-abiding citizen. Unconcerned
about anything.
A free man.
Jay Grayer and I eased up right behind his trendy, off-road vehicle.
I could read the sticker on the rear bumper of the Bronco: D.A.R.E. to keep
kids off drugs.
Beartrap was the code for our operation. We had four mainline vehicles.
Another half-dozen cars and two helicopters for backup. I didn't see how Jack
could escape. I was thinking ahead to the massive ramifications of the
assassin's capture, and the even more shocking surprise still to come.
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This was going to get worse, much worse.
"We take him down on three," Jay Grayer said into his hand mike. He was
extremely cool now, the consummate professional, as he had been from the
beginning. I liked working with him enormously. He wasn't an egomaniac; he was
just good at his job.
"We take him real easy," I said.
The beartrap was sprung.
I was one of the six who jumped out of the intercept cars stopped at the
innocent-looking country-road light. It was an honor.
There were two civilian cars waiting at the light as well. A gray Honda and a
Saab.
It must have looked like utter madness to them. That's because it was, and
much worse than it looked. The man in the Bronco had killed the President.
This was like arresting Lee Harvey Oswald, Sirhan Sirhan,John Wilkes Booth. An
ordinary stoplight in northern Maryland.
I was there] I was glad I was there. I would have paid a huge admission price
to be there for this.
I got to the passenger door of his vehicle as a Secret Service agent yanked
open the driver's door. The two of us happened to be the quickest on our feet.
Or maybe we were the ones who wanted Jack the most.
Jack turned toward me -- and he got to look right into the wide-eyed barrel of
my Glock.
He got a real good look at death in an instant.
Execution-style!
Very professional!
"Don't move. Don't even breathe too hard. Don't move a millimeter," I said to
him. "I don't want to have an excuse. So don't give me one."
He hadn't been expecting us. I could tell that by the shock spread across his
face. He thought he'd gotten away clean with the murders. Thought he was home
free.
Well, he had it all wrong for once.
Jack had finally made his first mistake.
"Secret Service. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, and
that's a real good idea!" one of the agents barked at Jack. The agent's face
was bright red with anger, with outrage at this man who had murdered President
Thomas Byrnes.
Jack looked at the Secret Service agent, and then back at me.
He recognized me. He knew who I was. What else did he know?
At first he'd been startled, but now he became calm. It was astonishing to see
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