him when he goes for his morning run.”
The cobwebs in Denny’s brain vanished.
“We’re going to give the Secret Service boys a hand,” Lott said. “McQueen must think a lot of you. He wanted you to see—.”
Two young men in denim jackets came out of the Steak ‘n Shake. Lott watched them until they climbed into a pickup truck across the lot.
“We do a lot of this sort of backup crap,” he finally said.
SIG, the FBI, and other law-enforcement agencies were constantly turning up information that required investigation by the Secret Service. It had to check out thousands of threats against the President every year.
“Ninety-nine times out of a hundred all the sweat and horse shit are for nothing.”
Lott handed him the paper bag.
“Here, take this. Just in case.”
Inside the bag was a 9 millimeter Glock.
EIGHTEEN
Under the black sky, the white broken center-line seemed to leap beneath the Hyundai as they barreled down Interstate 44.
Tall, goose-necked street lamps along the highway gave everything an eerie orange tinge.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Lott said. “If anything does, I want you to haul ass back to your motel and wait there until you hear from me.”
“The Stardust?”
“Whatever the hell they call it. You’re still only a contract employee. You get hurt, the media would be all over us, wanting to know why the hell we had you on a presidential detail when the President was threatened.”
They passed a “ZOO-MUSEUMS” sign. At the next exit, a ramp for Hampton Avenue, Lott instructed Denny to turn off the interstate.
The only sign of life on Hampton was a car halted at a red light. A few blocks later, they crossed an overpass and were in Forest Park.
The dimly lit roads and walks in the park were deserted. They drove past dense black woods, shadowy ponds and lagoons, meadows dotted with dark clusters of trees. Here and there they passed a car parked beside the curb or left in an empty parking lot.
As they followed a road past golf greens and dark, forbidding-looking picnic grounds, Lott studied the dark shapes around them. Across a meadow, a pair of headlights cut through the park.
“Go back towards the Hampton Avenue entrance,” Lott said.
They crossed a concrete bridge and drove alongside thick woods. An empty car was parked beside the curb.
“Pull in up there, ahead of that car. Don’t get too close to it.”
When they got out, Lott led him along the edge of the woods until they came to a barely visible opening. They followed a narrow path into the interior. It was as black as a cave.
The incessant chirping of crickets filled the air. Through the trees, Denny caught glimpses of a bright yellow half-moon. It was a warm night, and his shirt was damp under his arms. His khakis clung to his legs. Under his belt, the handle of the pistol rubbed against his belly.
Lott veered to the right. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. He picked his way through the woods for another hundred yards, then left the path. The shrubbery was thicker, the grass taller, and the ground rose steeply. Ahead of them was a patch of orange light.
They were at the edge of the woods, only ten feet from a dimly lit sidewalk and road.
Lott dropped to the ground under the branches of a tree. Denny flopped down beside him. The road sloped gently downward to their left, then made a small, graceful arc to the right. At the base of the slope, just beyond the woods, it was joined by another road.
He stared at the large dark knoll across the road from them. At the bottom of the knoll, just above the road, was a row of white stakes.
Lott had briefed him as they drove through the park. The President’s party would jog along a bicycle path, coming directly toward them. It would include the President, the mayor of St. Louis, three or four White House aides, an influential local banker, and several Secret Service agents. The rest of the security detail, including SIG agents and
The cobwebs in Denny’s brain vanished.
“We’re going to give the Secret Service boys a hand,” Lott said. “McQueen must think a lot of you. He wanted you to see—.”
Two young men in denim jackets came out of the Steak ‘n Shake. Lott watched them until they climbed into a pickup truck across the lot.
“We do a lot of this sort of backup crap,” he finally said.
SIG, the FBI, and other law-enforcement agencies were constantly turning up information that required investigation by the Secret Service. It had to check out thousands of threats against the President every year.
“Ninety-nine times out of a hundred all the sweat and horse shit are for nothing.”
Lott handed him the paper bag.
“Here, take this. Just in case.”
Inside the bag was a 9 millimeter Glock.
EIGHTEEN
Under the black sky, the white broken center-line seemed to leap beneath the Hyundai as they barreled down Interstate 44.
Tall, goose-necked street lamps along the highway gave everything an eerie orange tinge.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Lott said. “If anything does, I want you to haul ass back to your motel and wait there until you hear from me.”
“The Stardust?”
“Whatever the hell they call it. You’re still only a contract employee. You get hurt, the media would be all over us, wanting to know why the hell we had you on a presidential detail when the President was threatened.”
They passed a “ZOO-MUSEUMS” sign. At the next exit, a ramp for Hampton Avenue, Lott instructed Denny to turn off the interstate.
The only sign of life on Hampton was a car halted at a red light. A few blocks later, they crossed an overpass and were in Forest Park.
The dimly lit roads and walks in the park were deserted. They drove past dense black woods, shadowy ponds and lagoons, meadows dotted with dark clusters of trees. Here and there they passed a car parked beside the curb or left in an empty parking lot.
As they followed a road past golf greens and dark, forbidding-looking picnic grounds, Lott studied the dark shapes around them. Across a meadow, a pair of headlights cut through the park.
“Go back towards the Hampton Avenue entrance,” Lott said.
They crossed a concrete bridge and drove alongside thick woods. An empty car was parked beside the curb.
“Pull in up there, ahead of that car. Don’t get too close to it.”
When they got out, Lott led him along the edge of the woods until they came to a barely visible opening. They followed a narrow path into the interior. It was as black as a cave.
The incessant chirping of crickets filled the air. Through the trees, Denny caught glimpses of a bright yellow half-moon. It was a warm night, and his shirt was damp under his arms. His khakis clung to his legs. Under his belt, the handle of the pistol rubbed against his belly.
Lott veered to the right. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. He picked his way through the woods for another hundred yards, then left the path. The shrubbery was thicker, the grass taller, and the ground rose steeply. Ahead of them was a patch of orange light.
They were at the edge of the woods, only ten feet from a dimly lit sidewalk and road.
Lott dropped to the ground under the branches of a tree. Denny flopped down beside him. The road sloped gently downward to their left, then made a small, graceful arc to the right. At the base of the slope, just beyond the woods, it was joined by another road.
He stared at the large dark knoll across the road from them. At the bottom of the knoll, just above the road, was a row of white stakes.
Lott had briefed him as they drove through the park. The President’s party would jog along a bicycle path, coming directly toward them. It would include the President, the mayor of St. Louis, three or four White House aides, an influential local banker, and several Secret Service agents. The rest of the security detail, including SIG agents and
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