Wake Me When It's Over

by Cheryl A Head

  “Now, wait a second, here’s what the camera from the concourse shows,” Judy said, deftly navigating the security footage thumbnails and joggling through the timeline. “Here.”

  The Chinese delegation party was in full swing in this footage. Businessmen and elegantly dressed women milled around the cars, holding champagne glasses. Mr. Kwong stood awkwardly off to the side, chatting when he was approached, but not mingling with the others. From the right a golf cart moved into view and turned into the visitor rest area. The vehicle paused at the large palm plant for a few seconds then continued down the corridor. Judy paused the video, and Charlie looked quizzically at the others peering at the screen. But Judy was already moving her mouse over the picture.

  “Wait. Wait for it,” she said, and punched the keyboard.

  The close-up of the man in the golf cart looking back toward the Guí Motors party was grainy, but conclusive. The time-coded video at 9:10 p.m. showed Geoff Heinrich loitering at the planter where explosives had been discovered.

  “And . . . we have another video showing him loitering at another planter near the Ford exhibit,” Carter explained excitedly.

  A brief silence preceded a barrage of simultaneous suggestions and questions, and Charlie gestured for quiet. “Hold on. Let’s coordinate what needs to be done next,” she said, hurrying back to the conference room followed by the others.

  “First, Carter, get hold of any camera footage that shows the planter areas, on all levels, in the past few hours. The feds will want that.”

  “I’ll help with that,” Cynthia volunteered and, without waiting for acknowledgement, left the office with Carter.

  “Mack, we need to find this guy. We should put all patrol teams on alert to locate him.”

  “Right, Don. Get in touch with Hoyt.”

  Don rushed to retrieve his walkie-talkie while Judy and Gil waited for assignments.

  “Wait. Don’t call Hoyt yet,” Charlie said, dropping into a seat. “If one of our people finds Heinrich, what do we want them to do?”

  “They should detain him,” Don said.

  “What about the explosives?” Charlie asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if he detonates a bomb when we try to take him?”

  “That’s a chance we have to take.”

  “No, Don. Charlie’s right,” Gil said.

  “At least if a bomb goes off tonight, fewer people will be hurt,” Don argued.

  “True, but we don’t know how many bombs he has, or how many he may have planted, or where. What if he has more accomplices? If we detain him, that may not be the end of things.”

  “Okay. I see what you’re getting at,” Don said. “So, we don’t grab him, just keep tabs on him, see where he’s planting the stuff, and get at the explosives later.”

  “Exactly. Right now, Heinrich thinks he’s moving about with a certain amount of impunity. Maybe we can beat him at his own game.”

  Heinrich looked at his watch; it was 11:30 p.m. The walkie-talkie he’d taken had been squawking every thirty seconds, so he turned it to the lowest setting. He’d planted the last batch of chemicals close to the Ambassador Ballroom so they could be easily found. As he had guessed, when a bomb-sniffing dog recognized the signature of explosive components near Cobo’s executive level, the alarm went out. And, as he had hoped, most of the security patrols swarmed to the third level. He’d returned to the loading dock area to stay out of sight and to rendezvous with Dudiyn, but his messages had been ignored.

  That asshole, if he fucks up this plan, I’ll kill him.

  He heard the sound of rolling wheels and then a low whistle. Heinrich peeked through the plastic strip curtains and waved Dudiyn over. “Where’ve you been? I sent you a message twenty minutes ago.”

  “I was busy.”

  The two held each other’s stare in the dim light. Heinrich tried to read the thoughts behind the man’s cold, gray eyes, wishing they weren’t partnered on this dangerous task. Heinrich’s client had insisted he use Dudiyn. Although he was quite competent on the technical side of things, his proclivity for violence and poor hygiene would have exempted him from being hired if Heinrich’d had the final say. Finally, he took a step back and offered Dudiyn the item in his hand.

  “Here’s your security band.”

  “I already got one.”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  Dudiyn didn’t bother to answer. He just stepped deeper into the loading area, then turned to face Heinrich. “Did the diversion work?”

  “Like a charm. But law enforcement is all over the building. They’re concentrating on levels two and three, where I put the bait.”

  “Okay. Did you find me any food?”

  “No. I was avoiding the cameras. Sorry,” Heinrich said as an afterthought, “You have the bombs?”

  “I have them.”

  “Fine. The receptacles are in place, so you should be able to start placing them in about an hour. We’re behind schedule. How long do you think you’ll need?”

  “Maybe two hours. I’ll take my time. I don’t want to arouse suspicion. If the feds have some areas roped off, I may have to place fewer bombs.”

  Dudiyn kept looking back at the door and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He jumped when the muffled sound of the two-way radio sounded.

  “What’s that?”

  “I got my hands on one of the two-way radios.”

  “Maybe I should have it.”

  “No. I’m leaving Cobo now, and it’s the only way I can keep up with what’s going on.”

  Dudiyn removed his cap and wiped his head and face with a paper towel from his back pocket. He tapped his foot.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Heinrich asked.

  “No problems.”

  “Meet me when you’re done. And for God’s sake, respond to my messages. We both want to be paid, so don’t fuck things up.”

  The two locked eyes again. Heinrich felt the man’s hatred pulse toward him, along with his unbearable stink. Heinrich turned away to retrieve his golf cart. He was about to enter the cart when the acrid body odor pulsed over him. When he turned, Dudiyn, visible only in silhouette, was slowly approaching him.

  “What do you want?”

  “I think I should have the walkie-talkie.”

  “I already told you “no.”

  Dudiyn was close enough now for Heinrich to see his face. His eyes were wide, two pinpoints of concentration. His lips were twisted in a sneer. Heinrich looked down to see the gun in Dudiyn’s hand. Held steady, and pointed at his gut. Heinrich’s second of fear was replaced by bold arrogance and he squared his body to Dudiyn. He locked on the man’s eyes and swept the gun aside with his hand. That’s when Dudiyn grabbed his arm, raised the pistol, and shot three bullets into the back of Heinrich’s neck. Dudiyn smiled as the German’s eyes registered confusion, and when he tried to speak, Dudiyn pushed him against the golf cart, and Heinrich fell in a slump into the seat.

  The VIP reception had been a success, and the Guí executives were pleased. Mr. Kwong had released his suite at the hotel to one of his bosses and had insisted on sleeping in the office. Amy had volunteered to stay, but hadn’t been allowed, and after the preview party Kwong escorted Amy to her car in the Cobo garage.

  “You have been a loyal worker.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kwong.”

  She’d noticed tears in his eyes when she started up her car, and in the side mirror view he stood like a burdened man.

  She called Cynthia when she got home, reporting Mr. Heinrich’s sighting and Mr. Kwong’s state of mind. Cynthia told her of the found explosives, and Amy called Lin Fong. They had spoken a few times since his escape from the warehouse. When she’d first seen Lin at the teleconference, pretending to help the technician but clearly spying for Mr. Heinrich, she’d thought he was a little too sure of himself. But since the abduction, she’d learned he was just a second-generation Chinese-American trying to fit in.

  “The
y found explosives in Cobo, and there are police dogs everywhere.”

  “Do they know who planted the explosives?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I bet it was Baldy.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who beat me,” Lin said. “He was just plain mean. I think he meant to kill me.”

  They were both quiet for a few minutes. The only light in Amy’s suburban bedroom came from her cell phone and the laptop she had open on her oversized bed.

  Lin was sprawled on Charlie’s couch in the living room where he’d paused his PlayStation 2 to listen to Amy’s soothing voice. She was a modern girl who listened to rap music and read fashion magazines, and was smart and caring.

  “Amy?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “I want to go back to Cobo to help.”

  “What could you do?”

  “I don’t know. But I want to be there.”

  “That’s not a good idea. Cynthia says the situation is dangerous. She warned me that I should stay away.”

  “Did I tell you Ms. Mack taught me Tae Kwon Do?”

  “Yes. That’s how you met her.”

  “Uh huh, that’s right. She used to say something in our class. She would say, fear isn’t the opposite of bravery. When Baldy was beating me, I was afraid, but I’m not a coward.”

  “I know that, Lin. I don’t think you have anything to prove.”

  “You know we have something to prove every day.”

  “The model minority,” Amy said woefully.

  “I want to help Ms. Mack. That’s what she hired me to do, and I want to show her that she can still count on me.”

  The janitor’s cart was heavy, and Dudiyn struggled to push it in the direction of the first-level service elevator. He looked at the five-pound PVC pipes in the well of his cart. It had been his idea to put pest control labels on the pipes, so that even if they were spotted, they wouldn’t cause immediate concern. As Dudiyn moved toward the TV studio, a man outside the facility was looping camera cable. Holding one end of the cable between his thumb and index finger, he rolled the cable across his elbow and back to his hand. He displayed an enormous smile as Dudiyn approached, and paused in his task.

  “Getting things spiffy for the show tomorrow, I see.”

  “Yep,” Dudiyn said.

  “First thing tomorrow morning, I’ve got two dozen live feeds coming out of our studio. The Europeans love these car shows even more than we do.” The man laughed.

  When Dudiyn didn’t share in the cheerful banter, the man changed the subject. “I hear there’s some kind of trouble in the showroom. The security guys came charging through here a few minutes ago,” he announced.

  “Yeah. I heard.” Dudiyn began pushing his cart. “But I’ve got a schedule to keep so, I’ll just steer clear.”

  “Okay. Well, don’t work too hard.”

  Dudiyn didn’t answer or look back.

  Tony Canterra had come to Cobo after calls from Charlie and the ATF. He joined the Mack partners in the conference room where Cynthia, Scott Hartwell, Tyson, Mandy, Hoyt, and Dennis Calhoun, the facilities supervisor, were discussing the bomb threat. Judy and Carter were in the outer office still screening video from the security cameras.

  “What are we talking about here, Tony?” Mandy asked. “Are we looking for a big bomb like Oklahoma City?”

  “No. It took an enormous cache of explosives to pull off something like Oklahoma City, and we have new safeguards to monitor transactions involving large quantities of bomb-making materials. FBI, ATF, and global agencies use a database to keep up with that stuff. This is more in line with an IED: that’s an improvised explosive device. But, that being said, perhaps a car bomb isn’t out of the question. I’ll alert ATF to sweep the parking areas when they’re finished inside.” Tony made a note on the writing pad in front of him. “Maybe we should also consider additional barriers in front of the doors.”

  “I’ve had some experience with IEDs in Afghanistan,” Gil said. He rose and began writing on the white board. “They require a switch, a fuse, some kind of container, the explosive, and a power source.”

  “That’s right,” Tony said.

  “What will they look like?” Mandy asked.

  “Well, they probably won’t be very large, to make them easier to smuggle into Cobo. IEDs can be made into a suicide vest, or they could be pipe bombs or pressure devices.”

  “Do we have any idea where Heinrich is now?” Hartwell asked Cynthia, who shook her head no.

  “We’re still looking for him,” Charlie said. “We have footage of his comings and goings a few hours ago in a half-dozen areas of Cobo, but our patrols and cameras haven’t spotted him in the last couple of hours.”

  Tony interrupted the conversation about Heinrich with an update on ATF’s work. “Sweeps of the public areas on levels two and three are completed, including the administrative offices on three,” he said, looking at his phone. “They’re using canine units and handheld detectors. They’ll focus on level four now.”

  “When do they sweep our level?” Gil asked.

  “They’re saving level one for last.”

  “Why?”

  “I know the answer to that one,” Hartwell spoke up. “The fourth level is a higher priority. It’s adjacent to the People Mover station.”

  “Yes,” Tony responded. “Also, they’ve already done preliminary sweeps of the seating areas and exhibits on this level, and found no explosives components.”

  Charlie knew from experience to be skeptical of the information federal agents gave to civilians. Even when they offered facts, they often withheld the truth. She, Don, and Gil had been trained in that nimble game of deception during their own days at DHS.

  “What do you make of that, Tony?” Charlie asked.

  “Make of what?”

  “Why ATF has found only a smattering of chemicals, but no real bombs?”

  Every head turned toward Tony for his answer. But before he could speak, Hartwell offered an excited opinion.

  “Could the explosives have been in the planters for a while? When were the seating area improvements done?” Hartwell asked the facilities supervisor.

  The man searched his memory. “I believe they were finished just before Thanksgiving. Our landscapers would have put the palm plants in then.”

  Hartwell’s unintentional deflection had, momentarily, taken Tony off the hook. Don and Charlie exchanged a look, silently agreeing Don would play the bad cop role he loved so well.

  “You didn’t answer the question, Canterra. Why aren’t we finding any bombs, no blasting caps, that sort of thing?”

  “Heinrich has help,” Tony answered.

  “We know that. Dudiyn,” Don said.

  “Right.”

  “So, we’re not out of the woods until we find both of them,” Hartwell said more than asked.

  “What do you have on Dudiyn?” Charlie asked.“We intercepted one of his calls,” Tony said cryptically.

  “And?” Don asked.

  “And he’s probably the person we should be looking for now.”

  “I think he was the one I saw working with a soldering iron at Heinrich’s house,” Mandy stated.

  “And he was definitely the one retrieving the fake bleach containers and phones from the weapons building,” Cynthia added.

  “Wait a minute,” Gil said excitedly. “Maybe that’s where Heinrich is hiding— the weapons garage. Maybe that’s where they’re both hiding.”

  The conference room became electric. Hoyt was already rising from the table when Tony’s words slowed him.

  “Wait. Heinrich’s not at the Spectrum storage building.”

  “How do you know?” Don asked.

  “We know.”

  “What about Dudiyn?” Gil asked.

  Tony shook his head no. “We don’t think he’s there either.”

  “Oh, stop the bullshitting, Canterra. Either tell us what you know, or let us get on with our stumbl
ing in the dark,” Don yelled.

  Charlie watched Tony. He was a good man, but an even better soldier. She watched as he mentally weighed the pros and cons of disclosing the information he was holding close. Finally, he looked at Charlie and held her gaze. He was prepared to tell more.

  “Dudiyn is still on the loose, but we’ve already located Heinrich,” Tony said.

  “What? Where is he?” Hartwell shouted.

  Tony let out an audible sigh. “He’s dead. His body was found a half hour ago, and we’re pretty sure Dudiyn is the one who killed him.”

  Don, Hoyt and Mandy were the most shaken by the news of Heinrich’s death, primarily because they each wished they’d been the one to kill him. Tony confessed that Agent Mann, the one Heinrich had cozied up to at the Spectrum staff meeting, had planted a tiny tracking device on his expensive slacks. Since then, DHS had been following his movements throughout Cobo. Tony then recounted the relevant points of the intercepted phone call in which Dudiyn promised an unknown person he would get rid of Heinrich and execute the plan against Cobo himself.

  Charlie retrieved the folder Carter had prepared on Bernard Dudiyn, and as she thumbed through it passed the contents around the table.

  “This is him?” the facilities supervisor asked, looking at an eight-by-ten photograph. “He looks like a skinhead.”

  “Yes, and he’s a pro. As you’ll see from the Interpol report, he’s known to a few police agencies around the world,” Charlie said.

  “His Spectrum ID gives him access to most of the areas in Cobo,” Cynthia stated.

  “Can his ID be deactivated?” Tony asked.

  “Yes. I’ll take care of that right now,” Cynthia said, and left the room.

  “I’ve a theory,” Charlie said, walking around the conference table to the white board, where she ripped one of the notes down and laid it in the middle of the table. “And it helps to explain this question: How were the explosives found in the bomb sweep to be detonated?”