Landfall - 11. The Fury of the Storm

I wake at 6:30 am to Dave's cell phone alarm, hearing the sound of driving rain on the balcony doors. It's flooding outside, lightning flashing; long rolling kettle drums of thunder.

As nasty as the night Jackie died. Not a good sign.

Dave snuggles next to my back, chin on my shoulder. “I'll order breakfast, have it delivered to Jonathan and Greg's next door. We can eat before we head out. Court starts at 10, need to leave by 9:15 or so. I'll have 'em deliver at 7:30 ok?” Dave is fully alert; wonder how long he's been awake?

“You go ahead, hit the shower, get dressed. I had staff pull a couple of suits and dress shirts from your house; they're in the closet. Want ya looking sharp for court today!” He smiles. “And yeah, I've got a couple of suits here, too—don't want you showing me up.”

I shower, shave, pull on a t-shirt and my suit pants. Dave's ready quickly, like me in t-shirt and suit slacks. We head next door, and just make it inside when breakfast is delivered. Everyone's making nervous small talk, no mention of the trial this morning.

We killed enough time to make it to 9 am. Dave calls breakfast to a close. “Jonathan, you get the Suburban to the elevator doors. We'll be there at 9:20. With the rain, we're gonna need a few extra minutes to make it through traffic to be at court before 10. Greg, you go down with me and Barry in the elevator. I'll knock on your wall when we're ready.”

Dave and I head back to our room to finish dressing. Certain Jonathan and Greg are finishing dressing too, since they were in t-shirts and suit pants during breakfast just like Dave and me.

Pull on the dress shirt, and tuck it in. Grab a tie, and tie it from memory. After living in t-shirt and shorts the last month or so, this feels strange, even if it was my work “uniform” for the last 20 years. Grab my jacket and turn around.

Dave is standing with jacket on, and damn, is my lawman a looker or what? Navy blue suit, pale blue shirt making his electric blue eyes sparkle and black hair look like a photoshopped picture. I'm stunned, literally can't get a word out.

“Do I look ok?” He's brushing his broad shoulders to make sure they're lint free, and looks up and smiles. Breathtaking.

“Come here, ya big lug.” I grab him and hug hard. I can feel the underarm holster with his gun. “Things start to change today, and I've never said thanks....well, for everything.”

“Barry, it only gets better. You'll see. Trust me on this.” He leans down a little and kisses me. “That was for luck. You look great! Now let's go.” He's going into full-blown professional mode.

He heads to the guest bedroom, knocks on the wall as the signal for Greg. Minutes later, there's the coded knock on our door. We open up to head out.

The door across the hall opens up, the boys come racing out in jeans, barefoot, shirtless, both of their agents behind 'em. Trey has on the belt buckle I gave him. They grab me in hugs and hard squeezes. “We heard the knock...had to see ya before you headed out. Go get 'em, dad!” Trey's speaking; Cory's head is bobbing up and down like a old-time car ornament in agreement. “We'll see you later today! Good luck!”

Dave grabs my arm and nods down the hall toward the elevator. It's time.

“I'll see you later, boys! Behave! Love you!”

Code entered for the parking garage. Suburban waiting, Jonathan at the wheel. We load up and head out.

The federal building is only maybe a dozen blocks away, but with downtown Dallas' one-way streets, takes maybe 20 minutes, and the rain is slowing everyone down. Jonathan turns to head into the parking garage adjacent to the building—I'm assuming it's a secured entrance—and we come to a dead stop. There's a wreck, blocking the garage's entrance. Two cars, the one coming out of the garage has T-boned the driver's side of the other car still in the street. Two ambulances and a fire truck fully block the entrance. Paramedics are working on the driver of the car in the street, the other driver under an umbrella in suit and tie, leaning against the rear fender of his car, is holding a piece of gauze against the side of his face. We aren't going in that way.

Look over at Dave. He's grim. “Hafta go in through the front, dammit. Circle the block Jonathan, pull up as close as ya can—get on the sidewalk if ya have to—we need to be as close to the doors as possible.” The fast sweep of the wipers on the windshield only emphasizes his frustration.

Jonathan makes the block, and we round the corner to see the Federal Building set back from the street, smaller buildings to either side, plaza in the middle. One of those brick, stone, and glass monstrosities designed to be imposing, and yet is remarkably forgettable. It's a storm of activity in front of the building, even in the now lighter rain.

Dallas police have set up barricades, creating a walkway to the entrance. TV satellite trucks are parked at random spots on either side of the street, with cabling stretched across the street for news feeds. Their generators are running full blast adding to a dull roar of sound from the traffic, the crowd, and the cop radios.

Photographers are on the sides of the barricades pushing and shoving to get to the front doors, along with interested bystanders. Newscasters are standing around, mics in hand, ready in case an interview emergency occurs. Since they aren't allowing cameras in the court room, the best the newscasters can hope is that they get an interview with someone who's actually in the court—and they only got in by registering and getting a “ticket”. Apparently, this is the best show in town. Insane. At least the rain is letting up.

Jonathan can't get close to the door, maybe 40 yards or so away, due to the permanent concrete pylons installed to make sure terrorists can't drive near the buildings. He pulls up, making sure Dave can open his door.

“We're gonna hafta run the gauntlet, guys. Greg, you take the lead, I'll be just behind ya to the right. Barry will be sandwiched between us, Jonathan will be right behind him. Greg and I will wait till Jonathan's out of the Suburban. Barry, you get out, we're gonna move quickly—not running, but quickly—to get inside the building. The front glass and doors are bullet-proof, so we'll be in better shape inside.” Dave's obviously done this before.

Dave's out, standing in the drizzle. Greg seemingly joins him instantly.

“Shit.” Jonathan's curse snaps me out of my focus outside. “I've got to move the truck up a little, I can't get out with these fuckin' pylons in the way.” He moves the truck up maybe a foot, and test opens his door. “Ok, let's go.”

Our movement gets the crowd's attention, and they surge forward. Dallas police are working to keep 'em behind the barricades, but it's a challenge. I open the door, everyone assumes their positions, and we start walking.

The crowd is yelling, everyone vying for our attention. Various questions about the case, we keep walking, not answering. There's a surge of energy, and a section of barricade gives way. The crowd starts to overflow into the plaza, but the Dallas cops manage to push 'em back.

We're maybe 20 yard to the entrance door, halfway there. I turn my head slightly to the right, and see it--there's a red dot on Dave's shoulder. It disappears for a second and it's back.

“SHOOTER!”

Everything goes into slow motion.

I give Dave a small shove, and he whirls around to look at me. There's 3, 4, 5 pops—I don't know how many--and Dave's neck is blooming in blood, messing up the collar of his shirt. He staggers back, falling. Never had a chance to grab his gun.

The crowd's yelling. Running. Panicked.

Greg has turned around, gun drawn, he shoves at me. “Get to the fucking truck! NOW!” Another couple of pops as I turn, and Greg is clutching his chest, blood over his tie and shirt. He manages to make a couple of steps then falls face down on the plaza's concrete, not moving.

Jonathan's grabbed my arm, clamped on tight. He's dragging me along. Gun in his other hand. “Run, god dammit! RUN!” A couple more pops, and he's grabbing his chest, too. Navy suit shoulder is purple red, then there's a red patch off center of his chest on his crisp white shirt.

I'm running as fast as I can. The guys are all lying on the plaza behind me. Maybe 10 yards or so from the truck, and hear another couple of pops. Feeling a burning in my left arm, and it's hanging pretty uselessly by my side, blood on the sleeve. Another pop. My head is throbbing, there's something dripping in my eyes, can't see what's up ahead. Another pop, dead center in my chest, I stagger back. A final pop. I'm knocked back on the ground, flat on my back, I try to clear my face, but there's blood all over my fingers when I do.

All is quiet...the hum of the TV satellite trucks' generators adds only white noise. Just silence. There's no traffic sound, no people sounds. Sirens in the distance getting closer. Can't keep my eyes open...need to get to Dave...wish I could see my boys....

“Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our regular programming for this breaking news story. Here's the scene at Federal Plaza in downtown Dallas where an unidentified gunman just moments ago opened fire as federal agents were entering the Court building with Frank Cavauto. Cavauto, as you remember, was the lead witness in the federal banking corruption trial which was scheduled to start today.”

“This scene happened just moments ago, we'll roll the video clip of the attack, and you can clearly see the agents being shot in a hail of bullets. The FBI has confirmed that two unnamed agents were killed in this attack, and one agent is in critical condition at Parkland hospital. The extent of his injuries is unknown.”

“You can see Cavauto racing to get to the safety of the Suburban when he's struck by the sniper as well, apparently shot multiple times in a storm of gunfire. And....this just in, we're now being told by reliable sources that Cavauto was also killed in this attack. Cavauto would have testified against alleged mob influence in banking and a variety of industries.”

“Also in this case, federal prosecutors with the Justice Department have just announced that they reached a plea agreement with the defendants, details of which will be announced later today. This deal was reached after intense, round-the-clock negotiations that only ended shortly after daybreak this morning.”

“Again, this breaking news: Frank Cavauto, lead witness in a federal case of mob banking corruption, along with 2 FBI agents, has been killed, and one agent has been critically injured in a sniper attack at Federal Plaza in downtown Dallas.”

“Stay tuned to WFAA, Channel 8 for more details as we receive them. We'll have a full report at our noon and 6 pm newscasts. Thank you for joining us--and your regular programming will resume shortly.”