Deja Vu

Rick Williams, Charlie Young's assistant, called the waiting reporters to the podium to begin the press conference. Sara trailed along behind the other reporters keeping at the back of the crowd. Jake glared when she held him back with her but was ignored. Curious tourists, many of whom recognized Charlie Young from other high profile cases, joined the gathering crowd in front of the podium.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I have a brief statement, and then I'll take your questions," Charlie began. "Four months ago, Jasmine and Mark Genaro went out for a quiet dinner alone leaving their two young children with Jasmine's parents for the evening. It was their seventh wedding anniversary, and Mark had arranged a special evening for just the two of them to celebrate..."

Sara could feel the tension gathering behind her where the white supremacists had gathered to listen. Out of the corner of her eye, Sara watched the four cops pacing the perimeter of the courtyard. They seemed oblivious to the press conference underway. "When he starts taking questions, if no one else asks what other attorneys will be involved in the case, you ask it. Then follow that up with how he and Toby feel about bringing suit against West Virginia White Pride considering the history," Sara ordered. "That will get others asking about the shooting. Then get back to the current crime. How are the Genaro children dealing with their loss? What do you hope to accomplish?" Sara said before turning away.

"Where are you going?" Jake hissed nervously.

"To talk to the cops," she whispered back. "You'll do fine, Jake." Sara wandered over to the cops all the while watching the skinheads out of the corner of her eye. "Hi," she greeted the uniformed pair who nodded in return.

"Can we help you, Miss?" the younger one asked as his partner ignored her.

"Yeah, why are there only four of you here?" she asked pulling a notepad from the back pocket of her jeans.

"Excuse me?" he asked, taken aback by the question.

"Why are there only four of you here?" she repeated.

"You think four cops can't handle a bunch of reporters at some press conference?" the older cop with the name 'Jackson' on his uniform smirked.

Sara sighed. "You have no clue do you?"

"Why don't you tell us what we're missing," Officer Jackson asked her condescendingly.

"Sure," Sara said with a smirk of her own. "That's Charlie Young up there at the podium. You know who he is, right?"

"He's the one who sued the state of Tennessee for recognition of same sex marriages," the younger cop, Marcus, answered.

"And won," Sara told him. "Thirty two years ago next month, three members of the West Virginia White Pride opened fire on a crowd here at the Newseum..."

"Where the President was shot. Yeah, so?" Jackson asked.

"So they were shooting at Mr. Young because he was dating the President's daughter. Whom he has since married, by the way," Sara informed them pointing back towards the podium.

"That was over thirty years ago," Marcus protested.

"And right now, he's over there announcing that he's suing that same group, West Virginia White Pride, for wrongful death on behalf of the Genaro kids," Sara told them. "Care to take a guess what group those people probably belong to?" she asked pointing to the skinheads milling around at the edge of the crowd. Even from a distance they could see how agitated that particular group was getting.

"Shit!" Jackson hissed keying his radio headset. "Get me the watch commander! Marcus, go wander over and look intimidating."

It was too late though as the skinhead's anger reached critical mass. The group began moving forward towards the reporters and tourists in front of the podium who, unfortunately, were facing the wrong direction. Sara quickly realized there was a small bit of luck on their side when the first rock connected with the back of the CNN correspondent. Unlike the Presidential Town Hall meeting decades ago, Charlie Young's press conference hadn't been announced more than a day ahead of time. Thirty-two years go, three teenagers had had time to plan and come prepared with guns. Today, there were more white supremacists present, but they hadn't known about the press conference. So their choice of weapons was limited to rocks and whatever other debris they could pick up off the ground. Sara wasn't naive enough to believe that the lack of guns would mean no one would be seriously hurt, but hopefully everyone would come out alive. She ran forward and grabbed Jake by the back of his collar pulling him along with her as she raced towards the ultimate object of the mob's anger, Charlie Young.

"Hey!" Jake protested jerking free of her hold only to have Sara grab him by the arm and keep pulling.

"Come on!" she screamed as a rock connected with her shoulder blade making her stumble. "We've gotta get Charlie and Rick and get the hell outta here." Sara pulled Jake down into a running crouch as they made their way quickly up the stairs towards the podium. "Give me the car keys," she ordered him. Finally letting go her hold as she reached the prone form of Charlie Young who lay unconscious in a pool of blood from a head wound.

"I can drive!" Jake shouted at her over the screams of the panicked crowd. Most of the reporters had been in riots before and had quickly scattered, but the tourists continued to panic as the barrage of rocks and debris continued.

"Yeah, but I can't carry Charlie!" she screamed back as she hauled the unconscious man into a sitting position. "Get him over your shoulder in a fireman's carry," she ordered helping Jake do just that. Sara then turned to grab Rick's arm dragging him with them towards the car. Reaching the car she shoved Rick around the side where he managed to dive into the passenger seat. Sara and Jake then shoved Charlie into the car. Jake climbed into the back seat with the unconscious man, and Sara ran around the other side of the car. As she shut the door behind her the first of the skinheads reached the car. The angry young man slammed the rock he was holding into the side window causing it to crack but not shatter. Sara reached into the purse she'd thrown onto the seat beside her, pulling out a Glock semi-automatic. She pointed it out the window at the man trying to break in who immediately backed away. At the same time she awkwardly used her left hand to turn the key in the ignition and put the car in gear. Honking once in warning, Sara put her foot on the gas and sped away from the press conference turned riot.

"Where are we going?" asked Rick holding a handkerchief to his own bleeding forehead.

"GW," Sara announced. "Uncle Charlie looks pretty bad."