Hitman Damnation

ELEVEN



Police estimated that nine thousand people attended the noon rally for Dana Linder in Chicago’s Millennium Park. Located between Michigan Avenue and Columbus Drive and sitting just north of the famed Art Institute, the park was the city’s star attraction.

Architect Frank Gehry’s Jay Pritzker Pavilion was the focal point. Linder was due to deliver her campaign speech from its stage. The 120-foot-high pavilion sported an unusual flowerlike, billowing crown made of brushed stainless-steel ribbons that framed the stage’s proscenium arch, all connecting to an overhead trellis of crisscrossing steel pipes that extended over the four thousand fixed seats. The Great Lawn, which faced the stage, could hold another seven thousand people. For the rally, two giant TV screens were erected on either side of the proscenium so that the audience could get up close and personal with Dana Linder.

Another Gehry creation, the 925-foot BP Bridge, spanned Columbus Drive by connecting the park with Daley Bicentennial Plaza, situated east of the park and bordering Lake Michigan. The long, winding bridge, adorned with brushed stainless-steel panels, complemented the pavilion in function as well as design by creating an acoustic barrier from the traffic noise below. The structure was used by walkers and runners alike. From atop the bridge, pedestrians could view the impressive Chicago skyline and overlook the entire park. The bridge was crowded, of course, not only with the usual patrons who used the structure for exercise but also with rally attendees.

From the bridge’s southern tip, one had an excellent view of the pavilion stage, albeit from some distance.

It was close enough, though.

Political rallies could be peaceful events that were pulled off without a hitch. On the other hand, they might be tinderboxes ignited by an inadvertent, unanticipated spark. When a gathering of that size assembled in the city, it was best to have a strong police presence; thus, the men and women in blue were out in droves. Most of them were on the lawn and around the pavilion, but one officer stood on the bridge’s apex, his eyes on the multitude to the south. Another three patrolmen were positioned at the southern end, where the bridge emptied onto the lawn. Their backs were to the bridge as they also faced the throng.

The woman pushing the baby stroller onto the BP Bridge from the Daley Plaza side was tall and thin, but not so much that she attracted undue attention. She wore a gray and blue pantsuit that was otherwise nondescript. A full head of gray hair topped by a Chicago Cubs baseball cap and the pair of sunglasses hid her facial features well enough from anyone who happened to afford her a second glance. Otherwise, she appeared to be a grandmother out for a stroll with her grandchild on a beautiful early October day.

At the highest point of the curving bridge, the woman surveyed the park and the mass of humanity that spread across the Great Lawn. All eyes were focused on the pavilion stage, where the festivities had begun with a local high school band performing patriotic tunes such as “Yankee Doodle Dandy” and “Stars and Stripes Forever” as a prelude to the presidential candidate’s appearance.

When the music finished, the woman bent over the stroller, cooed, and held a bottle of formula to the bundle inside. No one paid any attention to her.

One of the America First Party’s House representatives from Illinois took the stage and warmed up the audience. He spoke about national values and their importance in the grand scheme of democracy. He pointed out various goals of the party. And then he announced a surprise satellite telecast from someone the people all knew and loved.

Charlie Wilkins.

The woman with the baby stroller finished feeding the bottle to the package of joy inside the carriage, stood, and focused her attention on the big TV screens.

The crowd cheered exuberantly when Wilkins’s face appeared.

“Greetings to you all!” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t be there in person to join my good friend Dana in Chicago. But I want you to know she has my endorsement, my support, and my love! I’ve known Dana since she was a child. She and her brother, Darren, God bless his soul, were parishioners under my tutelage and guidance back in Maryland when the Church of Will was just a fledgling organization. I knew then as I know now that Dana has the brains and the leadership qualities to take this great nation back to its former glory. With Dana Linder at the top, I assure you the United States will be number one again. So let me now get out of your face, ’cause that’s enough of me. Allow me to introduce the person who will lead the people of America to meet the values and goals of the America First Party—Senator Dana Shipley Linder!”

The horde erupted with noise. If there was any doubt that the candidate had support, that notion quickly dissipated. Even the boos and catcalls from a group of Democrats and a bunch of Republicans who had staked out separate territories on the Great Lawn were drowned out and rendered ineffective.

Wilkins’s broadcast disappeared from the TV screens as Dana Linder took the stage. She was dressed in a smart business suit of muted colors. Her face took over the giant monitors and beamed at the multitude. It took a full minute for the audience to quiet down and let her speak. Her voice echoed through the park with exuberance.

“My fellow Americans!”

More cheers.

“And good afternoon, Chicago!”

Even bigger shouts.

“You aren’t sports fans, are you?”

The crowd went wild.

“Well, how about this for sport? Come this November fourth, the people will put an America First Party candidate in the White House!”

Tumultuous rejoicing.

Linder continued with a carefully prepared, pep-rallying speech designed to incite enthusiasm and excitement among her listeners.

The woman with the stroller looked around the bridge and confirmed that all eyes were on the pavilion stage.

The moment had come. It was when time slowed down and every thought, every action, seemed to last an eternity, and yet only a partial second elapsed with each effort.

The woman noted the flags waving on the poles and determined wind velocity and direction. Perfect.

The noise of Linder speaking ceased. The sound of the air became a vacuum.

As she’d rehearsed faultlessly, the woman reached into the carriage and picked up a cellphone. She quickly dialed a number and dropped the mobile back inside. An instant later, surprisingly loud, popping explosions went off in a trash barrel in the middle of the park. The crowd around it screamed in fright, reacting to the sudden clamor. This diverted everyone’s attention, including Linder’s.

The woman on the bridge swung the weapon to position, resting the barrel on top of the carriage in lieu of a tripod base. She bent her knees slightly and aimed. Even through the sunglasses, she got a clear bead on Linder through the Schmidt & Bender telescopic sight.

Linder’s forehead appeared in the crosshairs. Her mouth was opening and closing, uttering silent words blocked by the sniper’s sensitive discipline.

The woman’s index finger touched the trigger. All it would take was a simple squeeze. She took a split second to breathe, and then she instinctively and efficiently applied the appropriate amount of pressure.

The shot rang out over the bridge.

Without looking to see if the target was hit—the woman knew she was—she reached into her pocket and removed the smoke grenade obtained from Cherry Jones’s arsenal. The woman pulled the pin and tossed it a few feet away from the baby carriage. With a loud, thudding boom, a thick cloud of violet-colored smoke immediately filled that section of the BP Bridge. Pedestrians screamed.

Time resumed its normal pace.

Visibility was reduced to zero. Then came the vocal reactions from the crowd near the stage. Something had happened. Something bad.

Police whistles. Shouts. Pandemonium.

It took several minutes for the smoke to thin. By then, a large host of onlookers had congregated at the foot of the bridge as uniformed officers desperately tried to keep them back. They all shouted at once:

“Someone shot Dana!”

“The killer was on the bridge!”

“It was a woman!”

“Where’d she go?”

“What happened?”

With handgun drawn, one officer cautiously approached the stroller, which still stood where the woman had abandoned it. He looked inside and found no infant—just an M40A3 sniper rifle, a gray wig, a baseball cap, and a gray and blue woman’s pantsuit that had literally been ripped off a body.

Agent 47, naturally bald-headed and now wearing his black suit—revealed after tearing away the woman’s clothing—stood among the agitated crowd, participating in the shouting and clamor. He was just another one of the herd, deftly blending in with the chaos around him.

As the police joined arms to force the crowd off the bridge, 47 slipped farther south and onto the Great Lawn. The audience was straining to see the stage and yearning for news of what had happened. The assassin slowly moved through them as he also pretended to be a concerned supporter. The TV screens by the stage had gone blank, and a group of campaign workers and police were huddled around the fallen body of Dana Linder.

It took nearly twenty minutes for 47 to make his way to the south side of the lawn. He spied the trash barrel that police were now inspecting. The fireworks the hitman had procured from Cherry had done the trick once he had hooked up a firing cap with a cellphone detonator. They had supplied the appropriate amount of diversion. Pleased with himself, 47 moved on to AT&T Plaza, which contained the famed Cloud Gate stainless-steel sculpture—commonly called by its nickname, the “bean.” As Agent 47 looked up into its silver surface and adjusted his tie, he saw a distorted, funhouse-like reflection of the mayhem going on behind him in the park.

He then calmly walked past the McCormick Tribune Plaza and Ice Rink, which was not yet open for the winter, and onto the sidewalk of Michigan Avenue. From there, he went to the Art Institute and spent the next two hours admiring the world-class exhibits and killing time, seemingly oblivious to the horror that had occurred in the park that day.

He’d catch it on the evening news.