was mostly members and observers from the Democratic National Committee meeting, interspersed with a few pedestrians. He walked past a group of women sobbing on the sidewalk, mourning the loss of their dear Congressman.
Pathetic.
The news crews had already begun to gather, questioning bystanders and police in the crowd. Sean worked to maneuver through the horde, away from the media. He kept his hand on his bloodied side, a small pang shooting up with each step. Thankfully, it was growing weaker.
“Sean, are you okay there?” an older black man standing a few feet ahead in the crowd asked, placing a hand on Sean’s shoulder. Agent James Crosby, Sean’s superior, a kind but stern man with a little grey stubble on his chin and a clean bald head.
“I’m fine, sir. It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Are you sure? You still need to get checked out at least,” Crosby insisted.
“Alright, alright.”
Between the mobs of people, Sean spied his handiwork lying prone on the ground, surrounded by yellow police tape. A white sheet draped over the Congressman’s body, edges soaked in red. It would be only a matter of minutes before the nation was inundated with news of Thomas Burr’s assassination. The media would pin the blame on the Georgia Militia, throwing around terms like domestic terrorist and anti-American.
Even though Shaw had escaped, Sean was pleased that at least one thing went right. The Congressman was dead and the pundits and officials would soon take the bait. Now Sean had to tie up the loose end known as Agent Ethan Shaw.
“We checked with the CNN Center to get the security feeds on the fourth floor. It seems the damn cameras haven't been installed yet,” Crosby explained, annoyed by the hitch. “Please tell me you got a good look at the shooter, Sean.”
Sean sat on the back bumper of a black SUV up on the sidewalk and sighed. “I only caught a glance. Shaw and his partner, Phelps, went in first and before I could enter the room Shaw had already shot Phelps. I didn’t have time to get a look at the sniper. I was shocked. It was the last thing I expected to happen,” Sean explained, working out his story, taking care to keep all the details straight.
“We know who Shaw is. Once we locate him, he should be able to lead us to the shooter,” Sean rationalized.
“He came all the way down here just to stall us,” Sean stated bitterly, hoping to convey a sense of disgust at Ethan’s alleged betrayal. “Have we notified police in the neighboring cities and counties that he may be in their jurisdictions yet?”
“Not yet, but I’ll get on that,” Crosby agreed. “You need to take it easy for a while.”
Sean nodded, “Just give me a couple minutes and I’ll be back in the game. He got away on my watch. It’s my responsibility to bring him in.”
Sean could not risk that anyone might listen to Ethan – raising inconvenient questions or prying for answers. Ethan had to die. It was that simple.
CHAPTER 17
January 29 at 11:25 a.m. EST
Norfolk, Virginia – FBI Norfolk Field Office
“Have you seen the news?” Dante asked, careening around the corner.
Gray sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on his computer monitor. He did not move.
“They’re saying Ethan is a terrorist or something. That he took part in the assassination of Congressman Burr,” Dante explained in disbelief.
Gray said nothing, his gaze remained fixed in place.
“Gray? Grayson, you okay?” Dante asked, shaking him gently by the shoulder.
Gray turned slowly in his chair, his lips curved down at the edges. His honey eyes looked confused, glossy almost like he might cry. Without looking at Dante, Gray managed two words, “Jason’s dead.”
“What? Jason? How?” Dante tried to restrain his emotions, the shock and grief avalanched on top of him all at once. He felt his eyes gathering that same gloss he saw in Gray’s eyes. Stepping back, he dropped into a chair a few feet behind him. No. No.
Gray looked down at
Pathetic.
The news crews had already begun to gather, questioning bystanders and police in the crowd. Sean worked to maneuver through the horde, away from the media. He kept his hand on his bloodied side, a small pang shooting up with each step. Thankfully, it was growing weaker.
“Sean, are you okay there?” an older black man standing a few feet ahead in the crowd asked, placing a hand on Sean’s shoulder. Agent James Crosby, Sean’s superior, a kind but stern man with a little grey stubble on his chin and a clean bald head.
“I’m fine, sir. It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Are you sure? You still need to get checked out at least,” Crosby insisted.
“Alright, alright.”
Between the mobs of people, Sean spied his handiwork lying prone on the ground, surrounded by yellow police tape. A white sheet draped over the Congressman’s body, edges soaked in red. It would be only a matter of minutes before the nation was inundated with news of Thomas Burr’s assassination. The media would pin the blame on the Georgia Militia, throwing around terms like domestic terrorist and anti-American.
Even though Shaw had escaped, Sean was pleased that at least one thing went right. The Congressman was dead and the pundits and officials would soon take the bait. Now Sean had to tie up the loose end known as Agent Ethan Shaw.
“We checked with the CNN Center to get the security feeds on the fourth floor. It seems the damn cameras haven't been installed yet,” Crosby explained, annoyed by the hitch. “Please tell me you got a good look at the shooter, Sean.”
Sean sat on the back bumper of a black SUV up on the sidewalk and sighed. “I only caught a glance. Shaw and his partner, Phelps, went in first and before I could enter the room Shaw had already shot Phelps. I didn’t have time to get a look at the sniper. I was shocked. It was the last thing I expected to happen,” Sean explained, working out his story, taking care to keep all the details straight.
“We know who Shaw is. Once we locate him, he should be able to lead us to the shooter,” Sean rationalized.
“He came all the way down here just to stall us,” Sean stated bitterly, hoping to convey a sense of disgust at Ethan’s alleged betrayal. “Have we notified police in the neighboring cities and counties that he may be in their jurisdictions yet?”
“Not yet, but I’ll get on that,” Crosby agreed. “You need to take it easy for a while.”
Sean nodded, “Just give me a couple minutes and I’ll be back in the game. He got away on my watch. It’s my responsibility to bring him in.”
Sean could not risk that anyone might listen to Ethan – raising inconvenient questions or prying for answers. Ethan had to die. It was that simple.
CHAPTER 17
January 29 at 11:25 a.m. EST
Norfolk, Virginia – FBI Norfolk Field Office
“Have you seen the news?” Dante asked, careening around the corner.
Gray sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on his computer monitor. He did not move.
“They’re saying Ethan is a terrorist or something. That he took part in the assassination of Congressman Burr,” Dante explained in disbelief.
Gray said nothing, his gaze remained fixed in place.
“Gray? Grayson, you okay?” Dante asked, shaking him gently by the shoulder.
Gray turned slowly in his chair, his lips curved down at the edges. His honey eyes looked confused, glossy almost like he might cry. Without looking at Dante, Gray managed two words, “Jason’s dead.”
“What? Jason? How?” Dante tried to restrain his emotions, the shock and grief avalanched on top of him all at once. He felt his eyes gathering that same gloss he saw in Gray’s eyes. Stepping back, he dropped into a chair a few feet behind him. No. No.
Gray looked down at
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