Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [76]
“Damn you!” she muttered to whoever had sent those missiles up on their deadly trajectories. The potency of the feeling of doom that had suddenly consumed her caused her to cry silently. She wiped her eyes, gave the folds of the dog’s neck a squeeze, and returned inside her Watergate apartment, closing the sliding glass doors to the balcony as though to shut out any evil lurking outside.
Chapter 28
Three Days Later
Blaine, Washington
“This is Roberta Dougherty reporting live from Blaine, Washington, on the Canadian border. I’m standing near a ranch owned by Zachary Jasper, head of the so-called Jasper Project, a militant antigovernment, white-supremacist group suspected of having played a role in the downing of three American commuter airliners almost three weeks ago. The Federal Bureau of Investigation and the ATF have moved a sizable contingent of armed men and assault equipment into the area in anticipation of some sort of military action against the ranch and its occupants. We’ve learned from reliable sources that the FBI has obtained a warrant to enter the ranch and search for possible evidence linking the Jasper Project to the aircraft downings. We’ve also been told that Jasper, the head of the group, has refused to accept the warrant and to allow the government to enter the property, setting up a potential siege and armed conflict. We’ll keep you abreast of developments in this increasingly tense situation.”
The camera pulled back to reveal a virtual army lined up along the road leading to the ranch’s main entrance. SWAT teams in flak jackets and helmets, carrying high-powered rifles with scopes and automatic weapons, flanked a dozen vehicles, including two armored personnel carriers with weaponry mounted above the bulletproof windshields. A three-bedroom RV, rented from a nearby recreational-vehicle rental company, had been established as a command center. Dozens of FBI agents wearing windbreakers bearing the agency’s seal in large letters on the back stood with other special agents in suits. The ranch was kept under constant surveillance through two large telescopes and binoculars. State police had been brought in to establish a perimeter behind which onlookers and the press were corralled.
Inside the main house, Zachary Jasper stood in the kitchen, phone in hand. On the other end of the line was the FBI’s Joe Harris, who’d flown to the scene to take personal charge of the operation. Standing next to him was a hostage negotiator who’d accompanied Harris from Washington.
“… and I’m telling you, Mr. Harris, you’ve got no right coming on this property, warrant or no warrant,” Jasper said in a measured voice. “You’re looking for a damn scapegoat because you’ve got nothing else on who shot those planes down.”
“Look, Mr. Jasper, you’re setting up an ugly situation here,” Harris said. “You’ve got innocent people in there who are going to get hurt if you don’t listen to reason.”
“That’s right, Mr. Harris, women and children in here who haven’t done a damn thing except stand up for their rights as free, white citizens of this country. And I’ll tell you this, sir. Every person here, right down to the youngest, is ready to fight for their birthright.”
The negotiator had been listening to the conversation on a set of earphones attached to the battery-powered phone Harris held. They looked at each other without expression before Harris said, “Mr. Jasper, I’m putting you on with Special Agent Simone.” He heard the click of the phone being replaced in its cradle.
“Keep trying,” Harris told Simone. “Keep calling until he picks up again.