The two gunmen dissembled their weapon with the efficiency borne of well drilled precision. They picked up the single spent cartridge and were gone from their respective sniper's perch before the meeting formed in Walter's office. Searching investigators would neither find evidence nor location. The shooters were back on the street less than two minutes after the silenced shots found their targets and long before the arrival of any police presence. The absence of sirens stunned them. It made no sense. The obvious became apparent, the attack had gone unreported. Why?

No one paid any attention to either of the aging, long-haired hippies with battered and uncovered guitars slung over their shoulder. The walker's knew their instruments played no music. They housed tools of a different trade. To observers, the two men appeared hung over. A result, no doubt of either too much wakki tobakki or an over indulgence of jaundiced juice. They headed in different directions. Anyone who saw them would have suggested their sole intent appeared focused on finding a new busking site. They kept walking, unhurried and without a care. Their eyes, shielded behind tinted glasses contrasted to every other physical attribute, they were sharp and alert. They missed nothing.


"What took you so long?" asked Jess as she ran and embraced Tyler as he walked through the door. He no longer wore the hippie garb, the guitar too was gone. Instead Tyler now wore a suit and carried a businessman's brief case. The case had fit neatly inside the shaped body of the guitar. The guitar now rested is a large waste disposal bin. "Arthur's been back more than forty minutes."

"I was searching for our next accommodation."

"What's wrong with staying here?" asked Kenni.

"We have to keep moving, a stationery target is too easily found. Especially as Parnell now knows we're in the vicinity. You did make the call, didn't you, Arthur?" His confirmation came by way of a nod.

"What call?" demanded Kenni.

"Just a little message to our friend, Walter," answered Arthur.

"Whose idea was that?" the police officer persisted.

"Mine." Tyler claimed credit.

"Why, for Christ's sake?"

"To unsettle his nerves," Tyler said. He understood Kenni's frustration. She however had no idea of the gravity of their predicament. How did one explain the inexplicable? Two words, National Security, provided the so-called protectors with unprecedented powers. And Parnell, as the self-appointed leader of the 'protectors,' answered to no one.

"Kenni, we're not dealing with your average criminal here. We're up against a man who is in reality more powerful than the President. He has, by way of his position as National Security chief, been guaranteed immunity against the law. He can initiate actions that contravene our Justice system. One only has to look at the alleged abuses of Guantanamo Bay detainees to appreciate the extent of that power.

"People like Parnell have only one fear and that is the loss of that power. So they'll do whatever is necessary to ensure their survival."

"Supposing I accept all of this," said Kenni. "Can you tell me then, how does all of this tie in with Tyler's being set-up on the farm, the deaths of Marvin Trent, Alex Bryant, his daughter, General Bill Thomas, Martin Paslow, Commander Rodwell and his wife and let's not forget Fraser's little boy. Have I left anyone out?" she asked.

"The two women I was supposed to have murdered in Dalton, Rachel Costello, the young reporter and her fellow helicopter passengers," replied Tyler.

"It's quite a list. Are you suggesting they're all linked," asked Kenni? Prior to receiving any response, she continued. "Tell me about the reporter, you've not mentioned her before. And the helicopter crash, where and how did that take place?"

"I'm not a great believer in co-incidence, Kenni, so to answer your question I'd have to say yes. In fact I'd bet my life there is some connection and maybe it's time I stopped running and started presenting all the facts as I know them." Tyler had their undivided attention.

"But first, back to Rachel Costello. I don't know a whole lot about her other than she was a television journalist who followed up on a lead I provided. I never met her and only ever spoke to her a couple of times. How did I know of her? That's a fair question? During my first or second day on the run. It was after the deaths of the women in Dalton. I was sitting in a fast food store eating when I happened to glance up at a news broadcast on a TV monitor. Rachel was delivering a report on the killing."

"Is there a short version to this story?" asked Arthur, his face bathed in a smile.

"No, Arthur, but there is a name you just might recognise. I must confess I'd forgotten all about his involvement until Kenni asked about Rachel. We need to talk to him. He just might provide the breakthrough we need."

"Who is it?" Patience was a virtue Arthur never practiced.

"Maybe I'll let Jess tell the story. You up for it, Jess?"

"Sure thing." Her recall of detail matched Tyler's. She omitted nothing and saved the mystery man's identity until last. "His name is Cameron McIntosh."

"Is that Senator McIntosh?" The question came from Kenni.

"One and the same," Jess answered.

"Is there any way of establishing a link between him and Parnell?" asked Kenni.

"Probably not," Tyler took over. "People like McIntosh tend to steer clear of any direct involvement that might incriminate themselves instead they use go-betweens to do the dirty work. Go-betweens like Marvin Trent and Pattison Walford who believed they were simply obeying orders. Guess you could say the same about Arthur and me. Until now, I know I never questioned an order from above. Who's to say one of my hits wasn't aimed at silencing a potential witness to someone else's betrayal." Tyler saw no point in revealing Arthur's role in Trent's death.

"But back to the point, is there a way of establishing proof? I believe there is, and that is by talking to the Senator himself."

"There's no way he'll talk to you?" said Kenni. "Especially after what you did to him at the Chalet."

"Who said I'll be doing the talking. I thought it might be a good time for you and Arthur to meet with the Senator." Arthur's face lit up at the prospect of confronting McIntosh.

"Why would he agree to talk to us?"

"Because you're Rachel's sister and prior to getting into the helicopter Rachel downloaded a copy of her filming at the Chalet to you and now you're wondering if he'd be interested in purchasing the footage," said Tyler.

"That's blackmail," said Kenni.

"It would be if we had the evidence, but without the footage it's mere bluff," Tyler argued.

"Will he buy it?"


They rehearsed for thirty minutes prior to making the call. Kenni became Sammi Costello, Arthur her boyfriend Patrick.

As expected the phone was answered by a young female assistant. "Senator McIntosh is currently unavailable, my name is Shelly. May I be of assistance?."

"You may soon be out of a job, sister," said Kenni with an abruptness that shook the receptionist. "Unless you want to share a cell with the murdering bastard." Concerned the girl may disconnect, Kenni softened her tone. "I need to get a message to the Senator immediately. If he doesn't take my next call in ten minutes, I'm going to CNN. Tell him my name's Sammi Costello, I'm Rachel's sister and I have in my possession a copy of the footage she shot at the Chalet. Rachel downloaded it before she got in the helicopter." Kenni sensed the angst she was creating.

"Tell the Senator, we need to talk. And Shelly, remind him, he gets only one chance."


Panic swept around the McIntosh office. Where was the Senator? Should the threat be passed on to him or would it be better directed to security? Two things influenced her response, fear and knowledge. The ruthless tone of the caller produced a chilling fear while the Senator had a history on known sexual improprieties. She couldn't go to security. She made the call.

"Haven't you been told I'm not to be disturbed when I'm with my constituents?" His breathing sounded strained.

"Senator, a woman named Sammi Costello just called, said she was a sister of Rachel and she claims to have some film shot at a chalet that her sister downloaded. She wants to talk and said you'll only get one chance. She's threatening to go to CNN. She's calling back in a couple of minutes. What should I do?" The receptionist heard cussing, firstly from her boss then from a far-from-happy woman.

"When she calls, tell her I'll be back in my office in fifteen minutes."

"Should I arrange a trace on the call?"

"No." The receptionist detected fear in the Senator's raised tone.

What had he done now?


*


The Senator made one call.

"Go take the call, arrange a meeting and I'll take care of everything." The words of the man re-instilled the confidence in the Senator. The man was a genius. He provided a solution to every problem.

McIntosh walked towards the elevator. The fifteen minutes in the traffic allowed time to think. He had formulated a plan of attack. He would agree to her demands, whatever they might be. It would buy him time.

There was no one else around. He had the elevator to himself. That changed on the third floor, the doors opened and a woman entered. She stood an inch or two over five feet, attractive, dark hair, next to no make-up and of middle-eastern appearance. And she wore gloves. In different circumstances he would have made a pass. The elevator door closed and the lift resumed its ascent.

Without any warning, the woman grabbed at her chest and collapsed. McIntosh reacted instinctively. He fell to his knees beside her and searched for a pulse. With his attention focused solely on the prone woman's wrist, the Senator failed to note the elevator had stopped. Nor did he see her hand lunge at his groin.

Her speed was unbelievable. He felt the needle prick his skin but felt no more. His final thought confirmed his assessment of the man he had called. He really did have a solution for every situation. His death was that solution.

The woman regained her feet, searched through the Senator's pockets and located his phone. Time was of the essence but the killer recalled the instruction. It had been specific. Death in this case wasn't enough; the target had to be disgraced, his reputation shattered beyond redemption.

She removed his trousers and underwear, she then performed an amputation. She laid his bloodied and dismembered manhood on his stomach. Beside it she scrawled five words. 'You won't need this again.'

She left the building the same way she had entered; unseen. Surveillance cameras rarely scanned fire escapes. She texted a one word message using the phone she'd taken from the Senator's pocket. 'Done'

A reply came within seconds. 'Stay around. Four to go and they're here.'