laser-actuated shield. And there were other, redundant, shields around the podium and the body of the President. If anyone tried to fire a shot from the audience, the scanning lasers would pick up the bullet in flight and zap it into vapor with a microsecond burst of energy. Sonic janglers would paralyze everyone in the auditorium, and McMurtrie's men could pick up the would-be assassin at their leisure. Foolproof quantum-electronic security. All done with the speed of light. The President could appear to be standing alone and in the open, naked to his enemies, when he was actually protected so well that no major assassinations had been successful in years.
Which is why I was more startled than annoyed when McMurtrie grabbed my shoulder and whispered, subtle as a horse, "Follow me."
I didn't have much choice. He had already half-lifted me out of my seat in the press section. Len Ryan glanced at me quizzically. It must have looked like I was being hauled off on a drug bust.
"I'll be right back," I mouthed at him as McMurtrie practically dragged me to the nearest exit.
He waited for the big metal door to close fully before he said, "We've got troubles, and you've got to keep the news hounds out of it."
Framed by the bare-walled exit tunnel that led to the alley, lit from above by a single unshielded bulb, McMurtrie looked troubled indeed. His big beefy face was a map of worry and brooding belligerence.
"What's happened?" I asked. "What's the matter . . ."
He shook his head and grabbed my arm. Leading me down the tunnel toward the outside door, which opened onto the alley behind the Hall, he said only, "Don't ask questions. Just keep the news people off our backs. We can't have a word leak out about this. Understand? Not word number one."
And his grip on my arm was squeezing so hard that my hand started to go numb.
"It would help if . . ."
He barged through the outside fire door and we were out in the alley. It was cold. The wind was cutting and there were even a few flakes of snow swirling in the light cast by the bulb over the door. I wished for my topcoat, silently, because McMurtrie was dragging me up the alley, away from the street and into the deeper shadows, and he wasn't going to give me a chance to even ask for the damned coat.
The alley angled right, and as we turned the bend I saw a huddle of people bending over something. Two of them wore Boston police uniforms. The other half-dozen were in civvies. They had that Secret Service no-nonsense look about them.
McMurtrie didn't have to push through them. They parted as he approached. What they were bending over was a blanket. Lying there on the pavement of this dirt-encrusted alley. A blanket with a body under it. I could see a pair of shoes poking out from the blanket's edge.
"The doctor here yet?" McMurtrie asked gruffly.
One of the Secret Service agents answered, "On his way, sir."
"Both ends of this alley sealed?"
"Yessir. Four men at each end. Ambulance . . ."
"No ambulance. No noise. Get one of our cars. Call Klienerman; tell him to meet us at Mass General."
"He's still in Washington, isn't . . . ?"
"Get him up here on an Air Force jet." McMurtrie turned to another security man. "You get to Mass General and have them clear out the cryonics facility. Screen the place yourself. Take as many men as you need from the local FBI office. Move ."
The agent scampered like a scared freshman.
I was still staring at the shoes. Who the hell would be walking around back here? The shoes looked brand new, not a bum's.
McMurtrie had turned to the two Boston cops. "Would you mind securing the fire door, up the alley? No one in or out until we get this cleared away." He barely gestured toward the body.
The cops nodded. They were both young and looked scared.
Then McMurtrie fixed me with a gun-metal stare. "You'd better go back inside the way you came out. Make sure the press people stay in there to the end of the President's speech. Do not let any of them out
Which is why I was more startled than annoyed when McMurtrie grabbed my shoulder and whispered, subtle as a horse, "Follow me."
I didn't have much choice. He had already half-lifted me out of my seat in the press section. Len Ryan glanced at me quizzically. It must have looked like I was being hauled off on a drug bust.
"I'll be right back," I mouthed at him as McMurtrie practically dragged me to the nearest exit.
He waited for the big metal door to close fully before he said, "We've got troubles, and you've got to keep the news hounds out of it."
Framed by the bare-walled exit tunnel that led to the alley, lit from above by a single unshielded bulb, McMurtrie looked troubled indeed. His big beefy face was a map of worry and brooding belligerence.
"What's happened?" I asked. "What's the matter . . ."
He shook his head and grabbed my arm. Leading me down the tunnel toward the outside door, which opened onto the alley behind the Hall, he said only, "Don't ask questions. Just keep the news people off our backs. We can't have a word leak out about this. Understand? Not word number one."
And his grip on my arm was squeezing so hard that my hand started to go numb.
"It would help if . . ."
He barged through the outside fire door and we were out in the alley. It was cold. The wind was cutting and there were even a few flakes of snow swirling in the light cast by the bulb over the door. I wished for my topcoat, silently, because McMurtrie was dragging me up the alley, away from the street and into the deeper shadows, and he wasn't going to give me a chance to even ask for the damned coat.
The alley angled right, and as we turned the bend I saw a huddle of people bending over something. Two of them wore Boston police uniforms. The other half-dozen were in civvies. They had that Secret Service no-nonsense look about them.
McMurtrie didn't have to push through them. They parted as he approached. What they were bending over was a blanket. Lying there on the pavement of this dirt-encrusted alley. A blanket with a body under it. I could see a pair of shoes poking out from the blanket's edge.
"The doctor here yet?" McMurtrie asked gruffly.
One of the Secret Service agents answered, "On his way, sir."
"Both ends of this alley sealed?"
"Yessir. Four men at each end. Ambulance . . ."
"No ambulance. No noise. Get one of our cars. Call Klienerman; tell him to meet us at Mass General."
"He's still in Washington, isn't . . . ?"
"Get him up here on an Air Force jet." McMurtrie turned to another security man. "You get to Mass General and have them clear out the cryonics facility. Screen the place yourself. Take as many men as you need from the local FBI office. Move ."
The agent scampered like a scared freshman.
I was still staring at the shoes. Who the hell would be walking around back here? The shoes looked brand new, not a bum's.
McMurtrie had turned to the two Boston cops. "Would you mind securing the fire door, up the alley? No one in or out until we get this cleared away." He barely gestured toward the body.
The cops nodded. They were both young and looked scared.
Then McMurtrie fixed me with a gun-metal stare. "You'd better go back inside the way you came out. Make sure the press people stay in there to the end of the President's speech. Do not let any of them out
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