by Steven James
It was time.
Before things got any worse, I needed to call Margaret and tell her the truth about what had happened earlier today between Basque and me.
80
Washington, DC
In her office at FBI Headquarters, Director Margaret Wellington listened in silence as Agent Bowers recounted the details of his encounter with Richard Devin Basque earlier that afternoon. “Given the circumstances,” he said, “I should have called you.”
“And what kind of deal did you make with him to avail yourself of the information he was offering regarding Kurt Mason’s location?”
“I told him I would leave him alone with Kurt.”
“You were going to leave the two of them alone?”
“That’s right. It was a snap decision. And it was the wrong one.”
She sorted through what he’d said. “But from what you’re telling me, Basque would work only with you, and it’s only because of his help that you were able to locate Mason’s house, learn about the timing, and prevent what might have been one of the worst train disasters in US history.”
“You’re saying what? That Basque helped us save people’s lives?”
“Not Basque, no, but the chain of events that he was a part of—and that you were a part of—yes.”
Patrick was silent.
“These issues will obviously need to be reviewed by the Office of Professional Responsibility. Until then, you’re on administrative leave.”
“Administrative leave?”
“Yes.”
“What about Mason and Basque?”
“Law enforcement down there will take care of that. I want you back in DC.”
“When?”
“Tonight. We’ll sort things out first thing Monday morning. Be in my office at eight o’clock sharp.”
+ + +
I hung up with Margaret.
That had actually gone better than I’d expected. I’d thought she might ask for my resignation on the spot.
Okay, so administrative leave. I could work with that. I might not have carte blanche regarding the investigation, but it didn’t mean my brain was on vacation.
And there were still a few things I needed to take care of.
+ + +
Margaret hung up and mulled over her next step.
Earlier in the afternoon, she’d discovered that indeed it was National Security Council Representative Pierce Jennings who’d been leaking details to the press. Her people had uncovered phone calls from him to one of Cable Broadcast News’s political correspondents before the Bureau had officially released any details about the crimes this week to the press.
Why was he doing it?
Margaret didn’t know.
She guessed power or money—in matters like this it was usually one or the other. She could look into that later. Right now she had a lot more to worry about in dealing with the incident in Charlotte than in dealing with Pierce Jennings in DC.
+ + +
I thought about calling Lien-hua and Tessa to tell them I was coming back to Washington, but opted to just text them instead.
Before leaving the hospital, I stopped by Mitzner’s room. He was still unconscious. I told the officers guarding him that the minute he was able to speak, they needed to find out what they could from him about how Basque had envenomated him.
I checked with admitting and learned that the engineer and conductor from M343 were a little banged up from jumping off the train, but they were going to be alright. One of the men had a broken ankle, but that was the worst of it.
The engineer who’d started the engine from the rail yard was fine.
So we had at least a little good news.
Right now there was nothing more for me to do here at the hospital. There wasn’t anything for me to do at the site of the wreck, either—it was all up to the fire chief and hazmat crews to evacuate the area and knock down that vapor cloud of anhydrous ammonia. Local and regional law enforcement would take care of security around the stadium.
When I made my way to the hospital’s main entrance, the ambulances were starting to arrive with victims suffering the effects of inhaling the cloud of anhydrous ammonia.
The car that Voss had provided me with was still Uptown where I’d left it before my meeting with Basque. Getting into or out of Uptown was going to be nearly impossible.
However, the cruiser I’d borrowed to get to the hospital was here in the parking lot. I could use that for now. They could always pick it up from the airport later, after I’d boarded my plane.
* * *
Back at the hotel, I made arrangements to get on the earliest available flight, but it didn’t leave Charlotte until after seven thirty, which meant that by the time I flew to DC, landed, and got out of the airport, it would be almost nine o’clock.
I flipped on the news while I packed my things.
They were talking about an anhydrous ammonia leak back in 2002 in Minot, North Dakota, and how it compared to this event today. Back then, emergency services told people to shelter in place—to stay in their houses and shut off their home heating systems to keep the vapor from being drawn indoors. And they told them to go into the bathrooms and, if they could smell the ammonia, to turn on the shower, and to wet washcloths and lay them over their mouths.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen with all the people outside for Fan Celebration Day.
That day in North Dakota there’d been one fatality, dozens needed to be treated and nearly twelve thousand people were caught in the path of the vapor cloud.
I prayed that today we would get by without anyone being fatally affected by the anhydrous ammonia spill—the one, that, in a butterfly-effect sort of way, I was responsible for.
+ + +
Earlier that afternoon when Richard Basque had fled from Patrick, he hadn’t known whether or not the MRI magnet would disrupt the nanobot sensors, but it was a chance he’d been willing to take.
He’d been expecting an ankle bracelet. He’d been prepared for that, but Patrick had surprised him.
Given more time he would’ve liked to research things a bit more in depth, but it looked like it had all worked out in the end.
With all those nanobots in his bloodstream, entering the MRI room had been excruciating——almost like thousands of needles piercing him all at once, trying to get out. It’d hurt like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
But, in the service of avenging his sister’s death, it was worth it.
He hadn’t found any clues as to Mason’s whereabouts in his Fourth Ward home in the brief time he’d been in there while Patrick chased Mason around the back, but based on his previous conversations with him and the story he knew Mason was telling, Richard figured that at this point his best bet would probably be to head to DC.
Patrick had asked him if the climax would be in the afternoon or tonight. The only way he would have asked that question was if Mason had mentioned a timeline to him.
So, now, using the car he’d stolen from a mall parking lot, Richard headed north. No, he hadn’t been able to corner Mason in Charlotte, but if he was right in what he was thinking, he would find him in the nation’s capital tonight.
+ + +
I left the hotel and parked at the Charlotte Field Office.
Voss wasn’t there—he was on-site over at the stadium, working with the hazmat incident commander. In fact, almost everyone was gone from the Field Office and there was only a skeleton crew here.
I left the nanobot-tracking sensor, the body armor, the cell phone I’d borrowed from the police officer at the home Mason had rented, Ingersoll’s automatic knife, and the Glock, with the agent at the front desk. I made arrangements for one of the agents to pick up the cruiser I was driving to the airport. Since my driver’s license and creds were still at the bottom of the mi
ne shaft, I pulled some paperwork together to get me through airport security.
Then, distracted by my thoughts about Mason and Basque, I left for the Charlotte Douglas International Airport to fly back home.
+ + +
Kurt Mason was impressed.
Yes, the Semtex had exploded. Yes, the mine had collapsed. Yes, the freeway overpass had fallen, and one of the tankers had released some of its contents, but if the news reports were correct, there had been no fatalities.
Patrick had managed to stop M343 before it would have blown as it crossed the pressure sensor.
It was good work, but this had always been about more than just the train wreck and the chemical spill. That was part of it, yes, an important part, but so were the textile plant and the mine. And it was that broader story that mattered more than the number of casualties.
Anonymous people die anonymous deaths every day. But their lives, their deaths, don’t always mean anything, unless they’re part of something bigger.
However, tonight the people who were going to die would be remembered. Their names were going to live on in posterity after the website went live.
There was still the final act of the story, the one that would tie everything together, the one that, in retrospect, Patrick and his team would see was the place where everything had been heading all along.
And that act would take place tonight at nine thirty in Washington, DC.
PART V
The Fourth Statue
81
6:34 p.m.
Tessa was in the hospital room alone with Brineesha and Tryphena, who lay sleeping in the bassinet beside the bed.
Ralph and Lien-hua had stepped out to make a few calls. Tony, who’d spent the past two hours there, had left to stay the night at his friend’s house.
Now, as Tessa watched the news with Brineesha, neither of them said a word.
FBI Director Wellington was giving a news conference about the train wreck in Charlotte. The Director didn’t mention names, but Tessa had spoken with Lien-hua before she left the room so she knew about Patrick’s role.
She also knew that her dad was flying back tonight. Lien-hua was planning to pick him up from Dulles at nine.
Tessa had tried calling him twice.
He hadn’t answered.
Director Wellington finished up by fielding some rather pointed questions from the press about the Bureau’s response to the incident.
“Why was the FBI even involved in this?” one reporter asked. “Rather than FEMA?”
“We were in contact with FEMA officials, but counterterrorism is our mission, not theirs. FEMA responds to disasters. We do all we can to stop them.”
They asked her about the culpability of the Bureau in regard to her decision to approve the intentional wrecking of a train carrying hazardous materials through a major metropolitan city, and she noted that the wreck had averted a far greater disaster. “This event resulted in no fatalities and, from all available data, that would not be the case if we had not acted when we did to stop M343.”
Before closing, she accepted one final question: “You’ve announced that you’re running for Virginia’s First District congressional seat next term. How do you think your handling of this situation will impact your political career?”
She replied without hesitation, “There are some things that are more important than a political career. Protecting innocent lives is at the top of that list. Thank you for your time.”
Then she stepped away from the podium, the press conference wrapped up, and Brineesha said to Tessa, “I do believe Director Wellington is going to be known for that quote. Whatever her political career ends up being, that statement is going to stick with her.”
It wasn’t such a bad sentiment to have associated with your name: protecting innocent lives as being more important than a political career.
Tessa was just surprised it’d come from Director Wellington. It sounded more like something Patrick would say.
She tried calling him again.
He didn’t pick up.
* * *
Lien-hua returned, invited Tessa out for dinner, and they walked down the street to a Thai place near the hospital.
The construction crew that had been there all day was setting up to work into the night. Under the glare of bright work lights, one of them was hooking up the hose of an industrial-strength pressure washer.
To Tessa, it brought back a bad memory.
She’d helped Patrick pressure wash the back deck and the porch earlier in the summer and knew that, depending on the tip you used at the end of the hose and your proximity, you could score concrete with one of those things.
She’d been wearing flip-flops that day and had made the mistake of getting her left foot under the stream for just an instant. The jet of water had ripped through her skin.
Thank God she hadn’t had the narrow-stream-tip-thing on there. It probably would’ve taken off one of her toes. Grossed her out just thinking about it.
Move past that, girl.
You’re about to eat supper.
Tessa and Lien-hua found a booth in the back of the restaurant, just like she’d done with Beck.
You should be getting used to sitting with your back up against the wall by now.
As those words rolled through her mind, there seemed to be deeper meaning to them, but at the moment she wasn’t quite sure what it was.
After they’d ordered their food, Lien-hua said, “Just so you know, Pat’s going to be on administrative leave when he gets back.”
“For what? Working with Basque?”
Lien-hua looked at her curiously.
“Brineesha and I have been watching the news.”
“They reported about Basque?”
“I pieced a few things together.”
“Well, yes. Your dad is on leave for working with Richard Basque.”
They were both quiet. As the only two women to survive being abducted by that man, they shared a deep, harrowing connection with each other—but it was something neither of them liked to bring up or talk about.
Tessa took a sip of her root beer. “But no one died in the train wreck and, from what they’re saying, that wouldn’t have been the case if they hadn’t acted—if Patrick hadn’t acted.”
“That’s true. Hundreds of people—thousands, actually—were at risk of losing their lives.”
“That should count for something, right?”
Lien-hua seemed to be balancing out how to reply. “Things don’t always count for what they should.”
“So, basically, for Patrick, today both rocked and sucked at the same time.”
“I think that’s not a bad way of putting things.”
The food came. The two of them ate in relative silence, and finally Tessa said, “I haven’t called Beck yet, by the way. I don’t know if I’m going to.”
“Well, if you are, I’d suggest you do so before your dad gets home.”
“Why’s that?”
“Pat’s going to have a lot on his mind.” Lien-hua left it at that.
“Yeah.” Tessa wasn’t sure that really answered her question, but it didn’t seem like the right time to probe. “I guess he will.” Then she asked, “Is my dad going to be okay?”
Lien-hua didn’t answer right away. “Yes. He will. He’ll be okay.”
82
While Lien-hua stepped away from the table to use the restroom, Tessa took out her cell phone and stared at it.
Despite her reluctance to talk on the phone, she needed to actually talk to Beck—not just text him—if she was going to find any closure on this.
A sigh.
A decision.
And then, at last, she went ahead and tapped in his number.
Three rings later he answered. “He
llo?”
“Hey, it’s Tessa.”
“Tessa?”
“Yeah. Don’t hang up.”
“How did you get this number?”
“That doesn’t matter.” But as soon as she’d said those words, she realized that they might not serve to get this conversation off on the right foot. “I got it off Lien-hua’s phone. Listen, can we talk? I mean, face-to-face?”
“You can’t call me, Tessa.”
“I just want to straighten things out. The way they ended last night, the way . . . Well, if you’ll meet with me just this once, then you never have to talk to me again. Just don’t blow me off. Please don’t blow me off.”
A pause. “I’m on an assignment.”
“Until when? When do you get off?”
“I won’t be done until nine or ten tonight.”
“That’s fine.” She really did not want to wait until tomorrow. “That’ll work.”
“Where will you be?”
“I’m not sure if I’ll be at home or at the hospital.”
“It might be better if we didn’t meet at your house.”
“Um, yeah. Okay.”
“I’ll text you when I’m done here. You can let me know where you want to get together.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll see you soon, Tessa.”
+ + +
It took Kurt Mason two stops before he found a grocery store that carried balloons with the message on them that he was looking for.
He purchased one and jumped back on the highway, then, once he was on his way, he called ahead to his person in DC. “I’m going to be needing you after all.”
“And then you’ll bring her home?”
“Yes.”
“When do you need me there?”
“Nine thirty.”
“And then all this will be over?”
“Yes. Then all this will be over.”
83
I spent the flight deep in thought.