No Hesitation

by Kirk Russell

  I gripped him. We rose together. The finger holding down the trigger could easily slip, but some sort of safety lag would be built in, at least a few seconds, maybe more, to get his finger back on it.

  “Call and warn the agents that if they shoot me, my finger comes off and the bomb explodes. We’ll take your car. Our talk is done.”

  I yelled down to the agents who had been coming up as Dalz and I talked and were now within shouting range. They froze as I yelled, “He’s got a bomb! Back away, now!”

  The helicopter came from behind us, and Dalz demanded I keep moving and repositioning to block the sharpshooter’s angle. He was all about not getting killed, even to the point of letting me be behind him. He was confident, perhaps because of my injuries.

  I was to his side when I stumbled forward and threw myself hard against him. He half turned, almost caught himself, then went off the edge. He grasped my clothes, and if I hadn’t jerked free, we would have gone over together.

  Most of the trail was just loose slope, but here there was rock and a straight drop, forty feet to a ledge. I tumbled onto the trail, and he fell without a sound. The agents below watched and said he managed to stay upright and land on his feet. They heard bones snap, then he tumbled forward and the bomb detonated with bright, hard force.

  I heard the blast and felt heat wrap up and over me. Rocks clattered down. Black smoke rose then bent in the wind, and only then did my heart pound. I saw tatters of cloth and blood on the rocks below and a torso without a head or legs. For a bit I just sat there then eased to my feet and walked down.

  We closed off the trail, and the helicopter pilot circled then left. Then it sank in that Dalz was really dead. I felt the embraces, the clap of hands on my back. These are the people I’ve worked with for years. These are the ones in the field, the ones I’ll miss the most. As I limped down, they were already joking about the cleanup.

  When you get lucky you can laugh, but I’d seen something I couldn’t get my head around. His left arm had been blown off and was a distance from the body. I made my way to it and looked at the wrist where he’d showed me his scars from the fire. There was no clothing, just his arm. And no scars. What do you do with that?

  I couldn’t make sense of it or even try. He must have used some visual trick, something. A rational explanation might come later. I transferred my gear to Jace’s SUV and flipped my keys to an agent who could drive the all-wheel I’d checked out back to the field office.

  We imagine grand endings, but many things end quietly. My days on the Vegas domestic terrorism squad and all those years in the field ended there. When Jace and I drove down from Mountain Springs, we talked briefly with Mara on speakerphone. After that I talked with her as we drove to my house. I didn’t know when we’d next get the chance, so I told her how great I thought she was. We don’t do that enough in life. We don’t take care of each other enough.

  “You’re going to be among the best, Jace. You’ve got the skills that can’t be taught.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It’s really about you and believing in yourself. I told Mara you were the best young investigator I’ve ever met. I meant it.”

  “I would never have known to look for Dalz on some mountain.”

  “But you will. He operated alone. He trusted no one. He knew there’d be roadblocks and no air traffic, and that wouldn’t last long in a city dependent on tourists. You’ll learn to trust what you know. I don’t know why some agents do, some don’t. But you get people, you understand, you have that feel.”

  She argued against herself, and I listened without commenting. That was all up to her. Intercepting Potello after a cartel lawyer posted bail was on her, but it was up to her to learn and move on.

  “I want your solve rate,” she said.

  “Then mix it up between sitting in front of a computer and talking to people. People are much more complex than computers, they change and what they’re willing to tell you may have a lot to do with your relationship with them.”

  On the drive down from Mountain Springs, I resolved that I’d try to pass on everything I knew that was worth knowing. I didn’t know what would come next, but if it came to turning in my gun and laying down my badge and creds, I wouldn’t just walk away. I’d work with Jace and try to pass more on before our lives grew too far apart.

  Maybe that was my way of making peace with my fears, but it felt bigger. It felt like the right thing to do, and it calmed me. Jace had told me that in all her years as an agent in San Francisco, she would always lay out her clothes for the next morning. She knew how long it took in seconds to brush her teeth, what she would eat for breakfast, and the minutes her commute to the office would take, plus alternate routes if there was an issue with the primary. I get that. I know the feeling and know the loneliness.

  “Are you going to get to know your dad?” I asked.

  “You know what? I am. I want to.”

  “All of that matters.”

  “You mean like finding someone to love?”

  “Or they find you because you’re open to it.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I know the difference.”

  “I know you do, and you don’t need me to tell you that you need counterbalances and good things. You call, or I’ll call you,” I said. “We’ll just keep that going. I’m in tomorrow to do my reports, but things are about to change and I want to be sure we keep in touch.”

  “I’m down with that,” she said and got out of the car and came around and gave me a hug. I shouldered my gear and watched her drive away.

  59

  Mara called early the next morning and asked, “When will I see your report on Dalz and Mountain Springs?”

  “Today.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  After our call I pulled out the rolled-up piece of carpet I use when working on the jeep and lay down on it and looked under at the rear axles. Both were leaking and needed rebuilding. I opened the garage door for better light and inspected the rest of the undercarriage, thinking I’d get it towed to a mechanic I knew in the next day or two.

  After inspecting everything, I lay on the carpet a minute before getting up. I was pretty beat up, so in a way it felt good just to lie there as I replayed yesterday in my head. Jo had nosed up her little SUV close to the garage door so I could easily see under it as well.

  I spotted a red plastic tie that caught my attention then several other ties and something attached to the underside. I took a closer look and saw a long magnet and a couple of plastic straps of a kind I’d never seen before. Rather than being cinched together, the ends of the plastic straps looked like they were glued together. Could be epoxy, I thought, not that it made any difference. I backed away, called the office, and asked for the bomb unit. Then I got Jo out of the house and over to the neighbors.

  The bomb squad brought the robot. A signal jammer was turned on so a cell call or another electronic device couldn’t trigger it as the ties were cut, and the robot pulled the magnet holding it to a steel strut free. It took a half hour of back-and-forth to get permission to take the bomb into open space a mile away, empty lots facing the desert, and detonate it.

  Mara arrived in time for the blast and the concussive bang that followed. The bomb squad left, and Mara and I talked more about yesterday. Funny how our attitudes can shift and we can become more open when we know change is near.

  We talked awhile, and I liked that we didn’t have a what-comes-next talk.

  In the early afternoon, I went into the office and wrote my reports and took an unexpected call that I’d guessed Mara knew was coming. The head of TEDAC, the FBI Terrorist Explosive Device Analytical Center, asked me if I’d be interested in applying for a job.

  “I trust Kathy Tobias in all things,” he said. “I’d heard of you, but if Kathy recommends you—and she does—that carries a lot of weight with m
e. We need someone who could play a significant role in our joint responsibilities. You wouldn’t be pushing a bomber off a mountain, but we see some pretty interesting stuff. We’re six to eight months out from hiring. You wouldn’t have to move, but you would have to travel. I’ll e-mail a description, and let’s talk again in a month. I’ll send everything today if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested.”

  I called Tobias to thank her, but really I called her to talk about Indonal. I’d been thinking about him all day. I told her how much I’d grown to like him. She stifled a sob then broke down. She apologized, but do we ever have to apologize for caring?

  “What do you think of the TEDAC idea?” she asked as a way of ending.

  “I like it.”

  “I knew you would.”

  Later in the afternoon after Jo got home, we called Dr. Yandovitch and put him on speakerphone. He’d heard my name in the news and opened with, “You don’t need me if you can hike up a mountain and wrestle a bomber off a cliff.”

  “I had a pair of those collapsible trekking poles, or I never would have made it.”

  “I knew there was more to it,” he said. “If you’ve still got those sticks, bring them to my office. I’ll hang them on a wall as inspiration to patients. I’ve reviewed your X-rays and the MRI again and have re-evaluated what you can reasonably expect after surgery. You talked about returning to active duty.”

  “That’s right,” I said, and my spirits sank as I listened.

  “That includes running if I remember correctly.”

  “It does. In fact, I’m supposed to run in the next few days.”

  “Well, don’t.” He paused. “Don’t do any running just yet. I’m confident surgery is a good decision, but I can’t make you whole again. You’ll be a lot better and if you’re diligent we can arrest the degradation, but I don’t think you’ll ever get back to meeting the requirements for active duty.”

  “Never?”

  “I won’t say never—every time I do, I’m wrong—but as I said, I’ve looked at everything again and I have to restrain what I may have led you to hope for. The human body is a remarkable piece of working art, and yours may surprise both of us. Another surgeon might be more confident, so you don’t have to take me as the last word, but I felt I had to tell you. I know you’ve been thinking it over . . .”

  “Will I walk and be active and fit?”

  “You’ll be fit. You’ll stand straight, but you shouldn’t wrestle terrorists on mountains. You’ll have to do something different.”

  “Different than active duty.”

  “Most likely.”

  “If you were me, would you go ahead with surgery?” I asked.

  “I would.”

  “I’m close to a decision. I’ll call you later today or tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll watch for your call.”

  I leaned back and looked at Jo. “Want to go out somewhere?” I asked. “Go do something, maybe get dinner somewhere.”

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

  “What do you really think of Yandovitch?” I asked after we were in the car.

  “Everything I’ve ever heard was good. And I like him.”

  “I do too, but I’ve arrested people I’ve liked.”

  “Don’t make the decision without talking to me first.”

  “We’re talking right now. I want to know exactly what you think.”

  “Then I’m going to tell you.”

  But she didn’t just yet. We had a cocktail and a nice dinner, and I got a few thumbs-up and nods from people walking by in the restaurant. Somebody sent our table a bottle that we ended up giving to the waitstaff. For a day or two I’d be a minor celebrity.

  The badge, the gun, the creds I carried, the job I loved—they were my identity. Jo and I kept talking, but it wasn’t until early the next morning that she told me what she really thought.

  “It’s about us as much as you,” she said.

  “I know it is. I think a lot about that.”

  “It’s a serious surgery and one without any guarantees. I’ve been around the good and the bad ones. Sometimes it’s a tangled nerve or a cancer that’s spread more than the scans showed. In yours it could be an atrophied muscle he can’t do anything with.”

  “He’s made that clear, and I get it.”

  “I know you do. Here’s what I really think. If you go ahead, you go without hesitation. None. You go with your all. You leave the doubts at the door and accept the risks, and I don’t mean just you. I mean, me as well. Us.”

  Her eyes watered as she said, “I know what can happen. I’ve seen it. But for us, for you, we don’t do any second-guessing later.”

  “I hear that, Jo. No hesitation. I’ve thought about it and I’m there. I’m in.”

  “Are you?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I am too.”

  The night before the surgery, Jo lay close to me, her hand on my chest, her warm breath on my shoulder, and the smooth, lovely curve of her hip against me. I felt her heart beating. Very early the next morning she drove me to the hospital, where they bent the rules and let her stay with me until the anesthesiologist put me out.

  “Hey,” she said just before.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “It’ll go well and everything will be fine,” she said then laughed and changed that to, “I don’t mean everything will be.”

  “I knew what you meant.”

  She squeezed my hand hard, and I smiled up at her. What she’d meant was that everything would be different, and some of it quite hard, but that we would be fine.

  About the Author

  Photo © 2020 Shoey Sindel

  Kirk Russell’s eleven crime novels in three series have garnered many starred reviews. His previous novel, Gone Dark, featuring FBI bomb expert Paul Grale, was an International Thriller Writers finalist. No Hesitation continues the Grale series. Russell lives in Berkeley, California.