counter-snipers, would be posted at strategic points along the jogging route.
Gradually the sky grew lighter. The half-moon became white. Lott grew even more watchful. The trees and bushes were still indistinct but the knoll was no longer black. It was taking on a greenish color.
Denny could read his watch now. Four-twenty. Still more than an hour until sunrise. He slapped at a fly on his wrist.
Lott looked up at the sky, then leaned towards him. “There should be security off to our left,” he whispered. “I’m going to check it out. Stay right here till I’m back.”
NINETEEN
With daylight seeping into the park, it was as if a picture were slowly forming in front of him.
Now Denny could make out the black-topped bicycle path. Like a gray creek, it twisted and curved on the slope above the road, cutting between two small trees near the base of the knoll and coming directly towards him. The white stakes he had noticed earlier were the white-washed trunks of a half-dozen saplings.
He looked up at the sky. The stars were gone now. In the woods behind him, a bird began to chirp. Two sparrows flitted above him to the trees across the road.
Then, at the base of the slope, a black sedan appeared and came towards him. Half-way up the slope, it stopped and a lean man in a dark suit got out, a small dark two-way radio in one hand.
The car continued towards Denny. There were three men inside. They went past him, stopping just beyond a road sign to his right. Another man in a dark suit stepped out of the car and disappeared from Denny’s view.
The first man stood in the road and looked at the woods. He turned and strolled up to the trees beside the bicycle path and talked into the radio.
A few minutes later, the street lamps went off. It was light now, even though there was no sign of the sun. Off in the distance, far away in some other part of the city, a siren wailed.
The sky was lighter between two large pines near the crest of the knoll, and as Denny watched, the top of the sun appeared. Within seconds it was so brilliant he couldn’t look at it.
He watched two large brown rabbits, barely visible on the sand-colored sidewalk below him. They had begun to hop towards him when he heard voices.
At the base of the slope, where the two roads intersected, a pack of runners burst into view. Nearly a dozen men in T-shirts and shorts and sneakers, bunched together like a flock of chickens. They were moving at a surprisingly fast clip.
He searched the faces until he saw the President, the fourth runner from the front. There was the famous mop of hair, the gaunt face.
Colin Patrick was very intent, puffing. He had the lean body and easy, fluid movement of an athlete.
They came up the bicycle path, between the trees, suddenly a thundering herd.
TWENTY
The President’s face disappeared among the other bobbing faces, then popped back into view.
He was smiling at the middle-aged black man beside him. When he looked straight ahead again, his face was serious. He was concentrating on his running.
Gunshots crackled.
Three quick pops, like firecrackers.
Then three more.
Half the runners went down, falling to the ground in almost perfect unison, as if it were a stage musical and their falls were choreographed. The others ran toward the President.
Denny froze, stunned.
More shots spat out.
The runners were piled on top of one another, some lying flat, some kneeling, their arms and legs outstretched to protect the President.
Everyone was shouting. Two runners pointed in the direction of the woods. Another pointed toward the top of the knoll. They all had pistols. A runner on one knee seemed to be staring straight at Denny.
Haul ass! Lott had said. Get back to the motel!
On his hands and knees, Denny scooted backwards, bulldozing his way through the underbrush. Then he sprang to his feet and sprinted down the trail.
In the daylight he could see a dozen faint trails through the underbrush and across the blanket of
Gradually the sky grew lighter. The half-moon became white. Lott grew even more watchful. The trees and bushes were still indistinct but the knoll was no longer black. It was taking on a greenish color.
Denny could read his watch now. Four-twenty. Still more than an hour until sunrise. He slapped at a fly on his wrist.
Lott looked up at the sky, then leaned towards him. “There should be security off to our left,” he whispered. “I’m going to check it out. Stay right here till I’m back.”
NINETEEN
With daylight seeping into the park, it was as if a picture were slowly forming in front of him.
Now Denny could make out the black-topped bicycle path. Like a gray creek, it twisted and curved on the slope above the road, cutting between two small trees near the base of the knoll and coming directly towards him. The white stakes he had noticed earlier were the white-washed trunks of a half-dozen saplings.
He looked up at the sky. The stars were gone now. In the woods behind him, a bird began to chirp. Two sparrows flitted above him to the trees across the road.
Then, at the base of the slope, a black sedan appeared and came towards him. Half-way up the slope, it stopped and a lean man in a dark suit got out, a small dark two-way radio in one hand.
The car continued towards Denny. There were three men inside. They went past him, stopping just beyond a road sign to his right. Another man in a dark suit stepped out of the car and disappeared from Denny’s view.
The first man stood in the road and looked at the woods. He turned and strolled up to the trees beside the bicycle path and talked into the radio.
A few minutes later, the street lamps went off. It was light now, even though there was no sign of the sun. Off in the distance, far away in some other part of the city, a siren wailed.
The sky was lighter between two large pines near the crest of the knoll, and as Denny watched, the top of the sun appeared. Within seconds it was so brilliant he couldn’t look at it.
He watched two large brown rabbits, barely visible on the sand-colored sidewalk below him. They had begun to hop towards him when he heard voices.
At the base of the slope, where the two roads intersected, a pack of runners burst into view. Nearly a dozen men in T-shirts and shorts and sneakers, bunched together like a flock of chickens. They were moving at a surprisingly fast clip.
He searched the faces until he saw the President, the fourth runner from the front. There was the famous mop of hair, the gaunt face.
Colin Patrick was very intent, puffing. He had the lean body and easy, fluid movement of an athlete.
They came up the bicycle path, between the trees, suddenly a thundering herd.
TWENTY
The President’s face disappeared among the other bobbing faces, then popped back into view.
He was smiling at the middle-aged black man beside him. When he looked straight ahead again, his face was serious. He was concentrating on his running.
Gunshots crackled.
Three quick pops, like firecrackers.
Then three more.
Half the runners went down, falling to the ground in almost perfect unison, as if it were a stage musical and their falls were choreographed. The others ran toward the President.
Denny froze, stunned.
More shots spat out.
The runners were piled on top of one another, some lying flat, some kneeling, their arms and legs outstretched to protect the President.
Everyone was shouting. Two runners pointed in the direction of the woods. Another pointed toward the top of the knoll. They all had pistols. A runner on one knee seemed to be staring straight at Denny.
Haul ass! Lott had said. Get back to the motel!
On his hands and knees, Denny scooted backwards, bulldozing his way through the underbrush. Then he sprang to his feet and sprinted down the trail.
In the daylight he could see a dozen faint trails through the underbrush and across the blanket of
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