Part 34 (2/2)
A deep male voice said, ”Ma'am, we'll take care of this. Please get back in the car.”
The now-familiar protest of the bus driver started up again, prompting a response from the CHP officers. The Secret Service agent played referee.
With everyone engrossed in the Jerry Springertype drama, Jana was able to wander unnoticed to the school bus. Slipping on her shoes, she casually climbed aboard as though she belonged with the children. Only when she was inside did she risk a glance back at the motorcade through the winds.h.i.+eld.
She saw Christina climbing into the limo as the stout brunette thrust her fists skyward to a smattering of cheers and applause. The CHP officers mounted their motorcycles to move them out of the way. And the Secret Service agents returned to the motorcade, one of them bending down to give a thumbs-up sign to the back window of the presidential limo.
Maybe it wasn't Christina's doing after all. The president wants this bus at the rally. Why?
The driver and two teachers were making their way back to the bus. Jana turned and made her way down the aisle toward the back.
Curious eyes watched her. Some of the children smiled and waved. She smiled and waved back.
”We're going to sing for the president of the United States!” one girl told her proudly.
”I know!” Jana replied. ”Sing pretty for him, OK?”
”Teacher! Manuel hit me!”
Next to the window a boy with innocent brown eyes was sitting on his hands.
”Stop hitting her!” Jana scolded him. Manuel didn't fool her for a second.
Jana made it to the back row just as the trio of adults was boarding the bus. She slid down low, displacing a skinny little boy from the back corner.
She whispered to him, ”Thank you for sharing your seat with me.”
”We're going to sing for the president of the United States!” he told her.
”I know.”
”My daddy said that he didn't vote for the president, but that I could sing for him anyway.”
”Can you keep a secret?” Jana said. ”I didn't vote for the president either.”
The boy grinned.
”Can you keep another secret?”
The boy nodded.
”Pretend like I'm not here, OK?”
He agreed. She won him over with her smile. Little boys, grown men, Jana knew her smile could get them to do whatever she wanted them to do.
From the front of the bus, adult voices issued orders for the children to sit down and be quiet. The motor roared to life. With a series of starts and jerks, the bus inched forward, backed up, then inched forward again as the driver maneuvered around the cars in front of them.
Hunkered down in the backseat, Jana congratulated herself. With Christina's help she was in the motorcade. Whatever happened from here, she would be there to report it.
With time to kill, she mulled over the Secret Service agent's thumbs-up sign. News copy for tonight's broadcast formed in her head.
Moments before the a.s.sa.s.sination the president stopped his motorcade to a.s.sist a busload of children who were scheduled to sing for him. Ironically, their song would be the last song he ever heard.
As the bus picked up speed Jana risked a peek out the rear window. With the city skyline behind them and the bay below them, they were about a quarter of the way across the bridge.
”Don't do this, Myles.”
”Myles is dead. My name is Semyaza.”
From the flight deck of the USS Midway I scanned the bay bridge and surrounding area for anything that could be a threat to the motorcade. Coast Guard patrol boats plied the waters beneath the bridge, duplicating my effort.
I felt as useless as the museum aircraft on the deck beside me.
The president's motorcade came into view, a long line of black vehicles followed by a yellow school bus.
”No!” I cried.
Semyaza grinned. ”Nice touch, don't you think? The school bus was the president's idea.”
The motorcade sailed smoothly across the bridge under clear blue skies. It was a perfect San Diego Chamber of Commerce day.
I had to find the threat and reveal it. What were the possibilities?
Sniper. No. There were no buildings close enough to the bridge for a sniper. Besides, the bridge was too high, the angles were all wrong.
Portable rocket launcher. But from where? Again, distance and angles were a problem.
Explosives. The pilings beneath the water surface could be rigged. But that was so obvious. It was the Secret Service's job to secure the bridge. But then, it was their job to secure buildings and they had missed the school book depository in Dallas in 1963, hadn't they?
Of course, if the president was part of the plot, any of the vehicles in the motorcade could be rigged to . . .
The school bus!
No! It was unthinkable.
I shot a glance at the nonhuman being beside me. Was human life so cheap to them that they would kill a busload of schoolchildren for show? What was I saying? Since when did Satan or demons have any regard for human life?
I have to warn them. I have to warn the people on the bus. Or maybe . . . maybe I don't have to warn them. Maybe the answer to putting a stop to this whole thing is standing beside me.
”You have the power to stop this, don't you? If not the power, the authority.”
Semyaza sneered. ”You cannot begin to comprehend the power I have,” he said.
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