# # #
“Bomb!” Charlie shouted running and waving her arms at the wedding guests. “We have a bomb.”
Most of the people in the line watched, unmoving and confused, as Charlie ran first to the rear of the plaza to flag down Mandy, and then, screaming, charged toward the lines.
“Evacuate the plaza and the church,” James’s voice sounded in everyone’s earbuds.
The other agents in and around the plaza went into action, running toward the crowd. The agent at the door of the church ran inside.
“There’s a bomb. Everybody has to get out of here,” Charlie screamed, pushing the family in front of her with both arms.
Either the sight of four men and two women running through the crowd, waving and pushing, or finally the recognition of the word bomb sent the crowd of nearly a hundred people moving all at once. Charlie and another agent tried to stop the crowd from running toward the bike, but the crowd’s retreat was disorganized. Mandy yanked the wedding canopy poles out of their stands, and the canopy crashed to the ground, forming a barrier. The tangle of aluminum, fabric, and flowers sent guests fleeing in the opposite direction.
“Robbie’s getting away,” Charlie heard in her earbud. “He had another bike stashed, and he’s pedaling up Lafayette Street. I’m getting the truck to go after him.”
“Don. I’ll meet you at Lafayette and Eighteenth.”
Charlie took off at a full run, looking back at Mandy who was still herding guests away from the front of the church. Three agents flanked the bicycle. Charlie sped through the alley between the church and St. Anne’s school—past the chapel, the loading area, and the rear of the convent—and darted across the lot where the brick nineteenth-century firehouse stood. As she closed the distance to the intersection, Don’s truck rounded the corner from West Lafayette onto Eighteenth Street. Charlie adjusted her direction to intersect the truck’s path. She saw Don swivel his head her way but he didn’t stop.
“Don, wait,” Charlie hollered waving her arms futilely as the truck tore up the street in pursuit of Robbie.
For a second, as the truck raced by, Charlie had locked eyes with a wide-eyed Judy in the passenger seat. Charlie readjusted her angle to head toward the Corvette. She hit the key fob before she got to the vehicle and snatched open the door. As she slid into the seat, she heard an explosion.
# # #
He’d already removed the lock from his new bike when he heard Don lumbering up the street at a fast pace. He moves pretty good for an old man. There was no time for Robbie to store the lock, so he dropped it and pulled the bike away from the shrub and the chain link fence where he’d stashed it twenty-four hours before. He pedaled hard for forty yards before looking back. Don had already turned and was running back toward the church.
Robbie had a good pace going on the new bike. He noticed his pants leg flapping and slowed. It took no more than ten seconds to clip his pants cuff and he was on his way again.
When he heard the explosion, he turned to look again toward St. Anne’s expecting to see a massive cloud of dark smoke. What he saw instead was a truck—Don’s truck. It was still four blocks away but it was barreling toward him. Robbie pedaled harder.
Up ahead he could see the broken shell of the old train station looming like the backdrop of a doomsday movie. If he could get there, he could hide among the rubble and overgrown lots surrounding the ghost building.
He pedaled like his life depended on it. With only an eye wiggle in both directions, he glided the curve onto Bagley Avenue at twenty miles per hour, and then onto Sixteenth Street where, with every bit of energy he could muster, he raced toward the train yard.
# # #
Don saw Robbie turn onto Bagley Avenue, but he had to screech to a halt when he ignored the red light and almost hit two passenger cars. The drivers slammed on their brakes and horns and might have stopped for an altercation if Don hadn’t rammed the truck in reverse and maneuvered around the furious drivers. Judy was too scared to talk. She just tried to keep her eye on where she’d seen Robbie veer off the road.
“Did he turn here?” Don asked.
“No. There, there,” Judy said pointing up Sixteenth Street. “I saw him turn in there.”
Don drove quickly in the direction of the train station with its dozens of windows lined in rows and columns over the eighteen-floor main building and two office towers. When Don veered the truck onto the narrow and damaged Newark Road, they were moving parallel to the train yard and a brick storage shed with undergrowth that was shoulder high. Don stopped.
“He could be anywhere in here,” Don said. “The rail yard, under the train overpass on Vernor Highway, in one of these buildings, or in an abandoned vehicle. All these streets loop back to Bagley, too, so keep your eyes peeled, Novak.”
Don crept the truck forward. “I think he was wearing a green jacket or bike shirt,” he said.
At Seventeenth Street Don turned back toward Bagley Avenue, searching for any signs of a biker. Then he looped back toward the rail yard and continued to the overpass where they stared into the darkness of the tunnel.
“He could have gone in there,” Judy said.
“He could be anywhere.”
“I think we should double back,” Judy said. “He has to be exhausted. He was pumping that bike at full speed ever since he saw you following.”
“Okay. I hope you’re right. If we don’t find him, he could be gone for good.”
“Don, I heard an explosion back there. I’m worried about Charlie.”
“Okay, call her. My earbuds aren’t working, so we might be out of range of the command truck.”
“She didn’t pick up,” Judy said putting the phone in her lap.
“Mack’s okay, Novak. Keep your eyes open.”
“What’s that?” Judy said pointing ahead toward the brick wall.
The fifteen-foot-high wall was really a storage tunnel with a series of openings covered by rusting metal doors. Along the wall was a dense growth of weed trees and tall grass.
“I thought I saw a glint of light. Back up.”
Don put the truck in reverse, and within a few yards they both saw the reflection of sunlight on metal.
“Don, there’s a bike behind that bush.”
They left the truck doors open as they ran to the wall. The bike was well covered, and Don had to step behind the bush to grip the handlebars. He backed the bike into the open.
“It’s a brand-new bike,” Judy said.
“Yeah,” Don said, looking around. “He must have gone over this wall. Look at all the missing bricks here. It would be easy to climb up.”
Don ran back to the truck, shut the passenger door, and jumped behind the wheel. He drove it up on the curb and into the tall grass, parking the truck as close to the wall as he could.
“I’m going after him. You stay here.”
“Call James and get some help,” Judy pleaded.
Don was already in motion. He’d removed his jacket, and wedging his boot onto the tire, he lifted himself onto the hood of the truck. He had to lean a bit to get a hand grip, but when he stepped onto the cab roof he could see over the wall. It was, indeed, a tunnel-like storage building.
“Go ahead and call James. I’m going after the kid,” Don said.
Judy retrieved her phone. As she did, she watched a vehicle round the corner and slowly move toward her. As the Jeep crept by the driver looked at her. He had the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen.
# # #
The explosion came from the front of the church, and the first thing Charlie thought about was Mandy. So instead of following Don’s truck, Charlie turned toward the church plaza. Howard Street was primarily a pedestrian walkway, but Charlie eased the Vette onto the short curb and moved onto the plaza. An FBI agent, dressed in bomb squad gear, moved to block her path, but waved her on when Charlie pointed to the pineapple. She passed the bike which was now lying on its side, the saddlebags removed.
“What was the
explosion?”
“We found an IED in a bike helmet. A small load. We blew it up over there,” the agent said, pointing in the direction of the US Customs yard. “It was amateur work.”
“What about the bike saddlebags?”
“Large load. Mucho dangerous. Whisked away already.”
Charlie moved forward, easing the tires over the metal poles and twisted flowers that had been part of the wedding canopy when she spotted Mandy still at the rear of the Plaza. She was part of a human chain of agents holding back a crowd of onlookers.
Mandy’s safe.
Charlie gunned the Corvette to Eighteenth Street, and turned on the tracker for Don’s truck. The red point wasn’t moving, but it was straight ahead and beeping loud and clear.
# # #
The blue-eyed man stopped the Jeep and walked back to the truck. Judy frantically punched James’s number into her phone. It was ringing when the man snatched it from her hand and put it to his ear.
“Hello,” James said. “Judy?”
“No, it’s not Judy,” Spader said, turning off the phone. He dropped it the ground and smashed it with his boot, then pulled out the SIM card and bent it with his teeth.
“You Judy?”
Judy didn’t answer. She looked at the keys dangling in the ignition.
“No, no, no. I better take those,” Spader said. “Where did Don Rutkowski go?”
Judy clenched her teeth and folded her arms.
“Don’t make me hurt you, Judy.”
When the shot sounded, they both jumped.
“I guess that’s Don there,” Spader said, jumping onto the hood of the truck and then, with a quick glance at Judy, effortlessly hoisting himself up onto the wall. Judy jumped out of the truck and ran toward Seventeenth Street. She was on Bagley, running in the direction of the church, when Charlie’s Corvette turned the corner. She waved until Charlie saw her, then darted to the car.
“Don’s in trouble,” Judy shouted.
# # #
Charlie’s phone rang. “You answer it, Judy,” Charlie said, controlling the wheel on the damaged road running parallel to the train station yard.
“Hello?”
“It’s James. Your phone disconnected, Judy. You’re with Charlie?”
“Yes. We’re near the train station on Newark Road. Don’s gone after Robbie, and that guy with the blue eyes . . .”
“Spader?”
“Yes. Him. He went after Don.”
“Put Charlie on the line.”
“I can hear you, James.”
“Wait for backup.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
Charlie pulled in next to the truck. She removed her suit jacket and grabbed sneakers from the trunk. She’d run in boots back at the church, but there were yards of train tracks on the other side of the wall, and Charlie wanted good footing.
“Stay in my car, Judy. If you see Spader come back over that wall, get the hell out of here.”
Judy couldn’t even respond before Charlie stepped onto the bumper of the truck, up to the hood, and on top of the cab. She didn’t look back before pulling herself onto the wall and then out of sight.
Chapter 33
The 200 yards between the wall and the rear of the train station was crisscrossed by a half dozen railroad tracks. Don had played football in high school. Then, moving up and down a field that size had been effortless, but that was a long time ago and the sight of Robbie’s slight body so far ahead of him made him sigh. If I can get close enough, I’ll just shoot him.
The disuse of the yard had allowed the weeds, errant grass, and bushes to have free rein. Here and there short trees with squat trunks had gained a foothold.
Don discovered quickly that the only way to move without injury was to watch his every step. He’d already shocked his knees with the drop from the wall and had almost twisted his ankle treading on loose gravel that gave way to a hole in the asphalt underneath.
Robbie was moving at an angle that would take him east of the old station, and Don adjusted his path of pursuit, using the trees to give him a bit of cover in case the kid looked back. As he moved closer, he noticed that Robbie wore a small backpack, and he was having as much trouble as Don making the hike on the scraggly ground. Don unholstered his Ruger, holding it in two hands. When Robbie got to a clearing, he turned and spotted Don. Don fired in his direction and missed. Darting from door to door at the rear of the vacant building, Robbie found an opening and slipped into a crevice.
Shit. Don picked up his pace. Sweat dripped around his ears and neck, and gnats and early mosquitoes swirled around his face every time he stepped on vegetation. When he cleared the rail yard, he paused to gasp for breath and stare at the space where he’d seen Robbie disappear. He moved cautiously toward the opening. James had said Robbie owned a couple of long guns, and maybe the kid had a firearm in that backpack.
Don peeked around the portal with a quick dart of his head, the brass door was long gone to the scavengers and vandals who had picked away at the metals that once adorned the station. Don stepped inside and winced as his nose was assaulted by the smells of dampness and desecration. Areas of the floor were covered in six inches of water, and much of the broken marble surface was covered in mounds of debris—fallen molding, concrete blocks, torn mattresses, glass, and twisted steel pieces. Rotting columns were on either side of the open middle. The walls were blanketed in graffiti.
Robbie was either running or hiding. The kid didn’t want a fight so he was probably searching for a way out of the building. Don stopped to listen. He knew there were people and animals who had made this empty building their home, but he heard a noise that sounded like someone sloshing on the flooded floor. He moved toward it.
# # #
Spader was fit and had no problem navigating the wall’s ascent and the drop to the rail yard. He stopped to take in his surroundings. It reminded him of places in Europe he’d seen. Areas of former commerce and vitality scarred by war and blight. Eighty yards ahead he saw Rutkowski moving over the tracks. There were no signs of Robbie. Spader tucked his gun at his waist and put his phone in his back pocket. He’d trained for this kind of pursuit, sometimes across miles of desert, other times over the roads and destroyed homes of bombed villages. Time to move.
It took him less than five minutes to get to the door he’d seen Don enter. He retrieved his gun and stepped inside. It was quiet, wet, dank. He shivered, and his nose twitched with the mix of mildew, urine, and cold air. It was almost seventy degrees outside, but in the dark bowels of this old ruin with its marble walls, columns, and floors, it felt like forty degrees. There were holes in the floor where old benches and seats were once anchored. Metal girders protruding from the walls and ceiling had likely held clocks, train schedules, and signs. Foul water pooled in the middle of the room.
A pigeon flew overhead and angled into the next room, with Spader following its path. This would not be a good place to fire a gun. Bullets would ricochet dangerously and loudly. The next room looked like the last except splotches of daylight illuminated the peaks of the back wall and ceiling. Spader stopped and spun around. He saw a rat scurry into a hole near the broken baseboard. Several birds perched in the ceiling corners. Spader tilted his head, thinking he heard voices. Then he heard them again, not words but urgent tones coming from an archway to his right. He moved swiftly across the marble floor, his steps splashing water.
This room’s only source of light spilled in from the larger room beyond the archway, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The voices were louder as he moved forward, not yelling but speaking with an angry staccato. Spader paused when he made out Robbie’s lean form huddled behind some large square object. He held a backpack in front of him. Rutkowski stood twelve feet away, his arm extended.
“Don’t come near me. I have a bomb,” Robbie said.
“Give it up, kid. It’s all over,” Don replied. “Whatever you have in there, you need a way to trigger th
e blast. And if you move, I’ll kill you.”
“I have the remote,” Spader said loudly.
Both Robbie and Don jumped at the sound behind them. Don spun his gun in the direction of the voice. Spader had dipped behind a column, his gun trained on an exposed Don.
“Who is it?” Don asked, squinting.
“Drop the gun. Now.”
“Who are you?” Don asked, dejectedly dropping the Ruger with a loud clang.
“Haven’t you figured that out by now?” Spader asked derisively. “You and your FBI friends have been bungling amateurs.”
“Seeing Blue,” Don stated.
Spader’s laugh was mocking. “You can get up now, Robbie. Come over here.”
Robbie rose from his hiding place, bumping an old heating vent protruding from the floor. Robbie’s squeal of pain distracted Spader, and he stepped away from the column. Without hesitation, Don charged the man, knocking him off balance. Don grabbed at Spader’s gun, and they wrestled with the firearm for a moment until Spader gave Don a headbutt. Don fell back, holding his bleeding nose.
“You won’t have another chance to do that,” Spader said, breathing hard, raising his arm.
“Don’t move and drop your gun!” Charlie shouted.
Spader made a half turn to look behind him.
“I mean it. Don’t move!” Charlie yelled.
Spader’s gunshot was aimed at Don, who was charging again, but the bullet rang off the wall just a second after Charlie’s shot echoed in a deafening sound. Spader sank to the ground, and Don fell on top of him.
# # #
Don had a self-diagnosed broken nose and his shirt was covered in blood. His ego had taken more punishment than his body. Spader still had a pulse as Don and Charlie dragged him through three rooms to the train station’s rear pavilion. Robbie was nowhere to be found. Outside, Don and Charlie leaned against a cracking concrete berm.
Warn Me When It's Time Page 22