Part 33 (2/2)
Broken bones and casts awaited me. Men had sacrificed far more for their country. I took a deep breath, ready to do my duty and step in front of the president's limo.
At the moment the street was empty of traffic. It had been rerouted for the motorcade.
I gripped my sign.
”What's the big deal about Doc Palmer?” the guy next to me asked.
My cell phone rang. ”Hail to the Chief.”
”Excuse me, I have to take this,” I told him. ”The president.”
”Grant?” Christina said on the other end of the line. ”Change of plans.”
My heart sank.
”We're leaving the hotel right now and taking the freeway to Coronado. We're not going down Harbor Boulevard.”
”Really? Why?”
”They didn't say. Sorry.”
So that was it. The only other possibility was Coronado.
”Grant? You're not thinking of going to Coronado, are you? You promised.”
”Sorry, Christina. I can't talk now.”
Flipping the phone closed, I dropped my sign.
”He's not coming,” I said to the man next to me.
”Yeah, like you were really talking to the president.”
”Suit yourself, but I'm telling you his itinerary has changed. He's taking the freeway. He's not coming down Harbor Boulevard.”
The woman next to him, chewing gum and wearing an orange ball cap, pulled earphones out of her ears. ”Radio says he's not coming,” she told her husband. ”He's taking the freeway to Coronado.”
The man stared at me in disbelief.
I shrugged.
The professor and Sue Ling heard the news about the change in the president's route to Coronado from a news update on the television. She sat on the sofa and the professor sat next to her with the sofa arm separating them. They watched a small thirteen-inch screen from a combination television/VCR tape player that was kept in a closet when not in use.
It was unusual that the television was turned on during the day. Its use was normally restricted to Friday nights. Sue insisted the professor take Friday nights off. It was their movie night. They would alternate between action/adventure movies and romantic comedies. The adventures for her, the romantic comedies for him.
”Poor Grant,” Sue said when she heard the news.
The professor said nothing. He stared intently at the screen as though he was trying to see things that weren't there.
Jana's cell phone rang. She smiled when she saw CHRISTINA on the display, her newest addition to her phone list. The two women had hit it off famously from the moment they met in the hotel hallway. ”I hope you have good news,” Jana answered.
”Where are you?”
”Stuck on the on-ramp to the bridge. Traffic's backed up.”
”It's not traffic. The bridge is closed.”
”Closed? Already?”
”The time schedule has been moved up. We're on the freeway,” Christina said. ”Is there another way for you to get to Coronado?”
Jana looked around her. She was boxed in. ”I'd have to hop a freeway divider, hitch a ride south down to Imperial Beach and come up the strand.”
”Hop the freeway divider? Do you do that here in California?”
”If I remember my high school civics lessons, I think there's a law against hopping freeway barriers while wearing high heels.”
”You've been spending too much time with Grant,” Christina said. ”You're beginning to sound like him.”
”Sorry. I'm frustrated that I'm stuck here.”
”What's ahead of you?”
”It's hard to tell, the road curves onto the bridge. There are probably twenty cars between me and where it merges with the southbound ramp.”
”The one the motorcade is taking?”
”Yes.”
”Jana, get up there. I'll . . . try to think of something. Just be ready to jump in a black limo if the opportunity presents itself.”
”You got it, girlfriend, just remember I'm in heels.”
Abandoning her car, Jana Torres took two steps, stoppped, slipped off her shoes, and ran past a traffic sign that indicated she was on the road that would take her across the bay bridge into Coronado.
Standing on the wharf, I gazed dejectedly across the bay to Coronado Island and the profile of the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan, where the farewell rally would take place. The final farewell rally in all probability.
There were two ways to get over there. The bridge, or drive all the way down to Imperial Beach, then come up from the south by way of the strand. The bridge was closed to traffic and the longer route was, well, longer. On normal days there was a ferry service, but the Coast Guard had shut it down until the president was away.
All I could do now was wait for the bridge to reopen.
Staring across the bay, I wondered what the next hour would hold. Douglas always had a flair for the dramatic. It would be just like him to throw his own farewell party as a kickoff to his a.s.sa.s.sination.
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