Shockwave

by Norm Applegate

  Redell stood up. Kept his eye on Dwyer. Reached into this pants pocket and fumbled around. He pulled out a cell phone. It was glowing. Redell answered it.

  "Yeah," he said.

  Redell moved away from Dwyer. Moved toward the boarded up window. Leaned against the wall.

  "How many?" he asked.

  Redell looked between the cracks covering the window.

  "We're in good shape here," he said. "All right."

  He closed his phone and stared at Dwyer. Tapping his finger against the wood plank across the window.

  "FBI are out there," he said. "Right on time. Following their procedures to the T. This is exactly what we expected. Next will be the camera guys."

  Dwyer glanced around at Redell's men.

  They were laughing. Grinning, like they knew something. Like they knew a secret. Dwyer started putting it together. This whole thing was a distraction. A sideshow that would draw everyone in and when they got here the bomb would go off. When the smoke cleared, Redell and his men would have vanished. The body parts left behind would take days to identify. Redell would be gone.

  Chapter 31

  One of Redell's men, the young guy who strapped the bomb to Kelly Paul's waist walked out of the farmhouse. He didn't know he was being watched, it was the last thing on his mind. He was in a hurry and moved quickly along the dirt path to the barn. He was carrying a plastic cooler, blue and white under his right arm.

  The barn door wasn't locked. He lifted a thin metal arm up and opened the door.

  Kelly Paul was sitting on a chair, arms on her thighs, the bomb sticking up from her stomach. She heard the door open. She heard the footsteps. She was hoping it was Jack. She stared straight ahead.

  "You hungry?" the young guy asked.

  "Why are you doing this?" Kelly answered him. Her voice was tired.

  She was looking over his shoulder. Looking to see who else was with him.

  The young guy smiled.

  "I brought you something," he said. "The other guys didn't want to feed you. I stood up for you. Said you needed to eat."

  She realized he was alone.

  "So you're taking care of me," she said. "Because I'm worth something? Because my father is worth something? You think you can come in here with food and everything is okay? Is that what you think?"

  "You're a bitch," he said. "The guys said you're a bitch. Some rich bitch been spoiled all her life. When we're finished with you, you ain't going to be worth anything."

  She didn't respond. Turned away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. Not because she was being tough. She was scared. The threat was real. She was worried about Dwyer. He had been gone awhile.

  "Doesn't mean anything to me if you don't eat," he said.

  He put the cooler down and slid the lid off.

  "I was just trying to be friendly."

  Kelly Paul turned around and looked at him. He was smiling. She was about ten feet away from him.

  "What it is?" she asked.

  He looked down into the cooler.

  "Not sure," he said. "Its better than nothing. Don't know when you'll get a chance to eat again."

  She stood up.

  "Why are you doing this for me?"

  He looked at her and shrugged.

  "Is Jack okay?" she asked.

  Her voice was shaky.

  "He's in there with the boss," he said. "He's making some kind of deal. Trying to work things out."

  She moved closer. Could see tinfoil in the cooler. Covering something.

  "I think you should eat," he said.

  "You expect me to thank you for this? Kidnap us and tie a bomb to me."

  She was three feet from the cooler.

  "We're just trying to send a message," he said. "You know, so you don't try and escape."

  He took a step backward, away from the cooler.

  "Bringing me food doesn't change things," She said.

  She was standing above the cooler. Looking into it.

  "I guess not. Just trying to help."

  He took another step back.

  "I'll eat. Did you bring some for Jack?"

  She squatted down. Reached into the cooler.

  "Yeah, there's enough for both of you."

  She lifted the tinfoil and pulled it back.

  "Yummy ain't it?" he said.

  She froze. Then screamed. The stench hit her. She fell backward on the ground. Scrambled to get away from it. Her heels scraped the dirt, legs were kicking, she was shaking. She flipped over onto her hands and knees. Began to vomit. Saw the pail that was brought into the room earlier. Crawled to it. Sobbing, crying, throwing up.

  "Yup, that's all that's left," the young guy said. "Had a bomb tied to him just like you."

  She moaned. Deep painful sobs. Her stomach thrust, it was violent. She was coughing up stuff.

  Inside the cooler was a head. It was her son Jimmy. Actually half his head. The back skull and left side were missing. One eye was bulging. Kind of hanging out onto his cheek. The other was gone. The skin was white, blotchy, swollen. His mouth was open in an awkward angle. His tongue flopped over his teeth. His head was floating in a mush of blood and flesh. The young guy, confident he had messed with her head, stood grinning. Watching Kelly Paul suffer. Watching her in pain. He stepped toward the cooler. Stood above it and looked at Jimmy's face. He could smell blood. He could see it happening. The excitement before the bomb went off. His heart was racing. He couldn't take his eyes off Jimmy tied to the pole outside the barn. He remembered the screams. The look on the kids face. The boom. The dust, red mist, shockwave. Then there were body parts, small strips of wet flesh. It gave him an erection. He recognized things, feet, fingers, an arm.

  Kelly Paul was holding onto the pail. Crying, cursing, begging God to come down and stop this insanity.

  The young guy backed away. Left the pail in the room. Left Kelly Paul moaning on the ground.

  His back was to the door. He stood for a beat. Listening to her, watching her, enjoying it. He heard movement behind him. On the other side of the door. He turned and pushed the door. Opening it an inch or two. He saw men approaching, Redell's men. They were coming to the barn. He opened the door a few feet. Saw Jack Dwyer. His eyes shot from him t

  o Big Red. He winked. Red smiled.

  Dwyer walked past him into the barn. Big Red had one elbow someone had the other? The young kid followed behind.

  Dwyer noticed a couple of things immediately. First thing was Kelly Paul. She was lying on the ground. On her stomach, crying. The second thing he noticed was the smell. Not one smell but two distinct odors. Blood he had smelled in the Gulf war. A coppery heavy musk, the smell of death. The other reminded him of drinking, binge drinking and the smell of vomit the next morning.

  He knew Kelly was alive he could hear her, could see her breathing. Her back was moving up and down rapidly.

  He saw the cooler. Knew the coppery smell was coming from that. He was pushed past it. Pushed into the chair. The guy with Big Red cuffed his hands behind his back. Pulling them into position. He saw the cringe on Big Red’s face when he glanced into the cooler. Dwyer tried to look, couldn't see into it.

  Dwyer looked up at the kid. Could see he was nervous, excited. Shuffling his weight from leg to leg. A big grin on his face. It was out of place. He'd done something to Kelly.

  "You screwed with her didn't you?" Dwyer asked.

  The kid's grin got wider. He looked at Big Red.

  "It was real sexy," the kid said. "You missed all kinds of fun."

  Dwyer's jaw got tight.

  "Asshole, I'm talking to you."

  The kid swallowed slowly, like he had a lump of food in his throat.

  "You like sexy?" Dwyer asked. "We'll see if they call it sexy when I get finished with you."

  The kid looked at Dwyer. Pulled a knife out from behind his back. Dwyer recognized it. The knife he'd bought from the truck stop. The kid poked it at him. Played with it, like he was fighting, carving the
air back and forth. Dwyer could see he didn't know how to use a knife.

  There was nothing he could do; his hands were tied. But if he was free he could have grabbed the kid's wrist maybe yank the knife away from him. But it could end up on the ground and in a scuffle the kid might get it again. He could just grab him, he wasn't big, pull him down onto the ground. Except the kid would be swinging widely with the knife.

  Dwyer could give him a foot sweep when the kid lunged for him. That would get him off balance and maybe fire a couple of fists at his head. But that's close fighting and never a first choice against an opponent with a blade.

  Dwyer could dance around the kid. Stay up on his toes, circling to his left jabbing at him maybe connect once or twice. Then rush him when he was stunned. But that would take time the kid could yell for help. All good ideas, but Dwyer was cuffed to the chair.

  Big Red tapped the kid on the shoulder.

  "Let's go," he said.

  The kid shrugged his chest toward Dwyer.

  Dwyer stared into his face. He saw weakness.

  They walked away. Dwyer followed the kid with his eyes, studying him, understanding him, marking him.

  Chapter 32

  Kelly Paul was shaking. Her heart pounding. She was standing looking at the cooler with her son's head in it, staring hard at the plastic container.

  "What did they do?" Dwyer asked.

  Kelly Paul brought her hands to her face and screamed.

  Dwyer looked at the cooler.

  "What is it?"

  She stood staring at it, shaking.

  "Tell me," Dwyer said.

  Kelly Paul pointed and mumbled something. Tears flowing down her face. She was whimpering.

  "My son," she said.

  Dwyer felt sick. He understood.

  He stared at the cooler. Pictured the remains of her son stuffed into the container. The cooler probably contained what was left of him. A picnic accessory for a peaceful day. Maybe worth twenty-five or thirty dollars. He pictured blood, a mess of body parts. But Kelly knew it was her son. She had identified him. Maybe his head.

  Dwyer started at the cooler. No way of looking into it. He was tied up, far away from it. Kelly had already seen what was inside.

  What was she thinking, feeling? What was going on in her mind?

  Dwyer stared at her.

  She could feel it. She pulled her eyes away from the cooler and stared back. They stared at each other for a long moment. Dwyer could see the pain.

  She walked over and threw her arms around Dwyer. Sobbing, crying hysterically.

  "Talk to me," Dwyer said, "I can help."

  She didn't reply.

  "I'm a psychologist, I've seen a lot. Let me help you."

  She continued to cry.

  Dwyer leaned into her. Did the best he could to comfort her. Wanted to put his arms around her and hold her tight. But he couldn't.

  "They killed him," she said.

  Dwyer knew pain.

  "I'm sorry," he replied.

  Kelly put her hands on his face and stared into his eyes. Her skin was warm, no rings on her fingers. Nails trimmed. She had a fragrance about her Dwyer liked. Sad eyes, in pain.

  They stared at each other for a long time.

  "What happened?" Dwyer asked again.

  Kelly spoke slowly trying to catch her breath. There was a glazed look to her eyes, she was thinking through what had happened. Dwyer smiled at her.

  She told him exactly what had happened. From the kid coming into the barn with the cooler pretending he was doing her a favor. Doing a good deed, bringing her food. He'd told her to take the lid off the cooler. She didn't want to talk about it. She stopped mid-sentence, like she was reliving the moment.

  "They killed him," she said. "He's dead."

  Dwyer shook his head. He wanted to hold her, tell her it would be okay.

  "Why would they do that, why?"

  Dwyer didn't respond.

  "He was my baby."

  She stood up. Brushed her tears away from her face with both hands. Folded her arms across her chest and was rubbing them. It wasn't cold in the barn. In fact it was warm, almost hot. She walked around the room for maybe a minute or two. Then she sat down on one of the benches.

  She sat for another minute then told Dwyer her son's name was Jimmy. He was living off campus by the University. He was in his last year. Good grades, one of the sciences, Dwyer thought she said.

  "I can't believe he's dead. I was supposed to meet him for lunch."

  Dwyer just looked at her. Not sure what to say.

  "They tried to kill you," Dwyer said. "But you survived. Survived to get revenge, to stop them...for Jimmy."

  She glanced over at the cooler. Took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could see her breathing was jumpy.

  "How?" she said.

  That was a good question. One Dwyer didn't have an answer for. He'd been in tough situations before and made it through. He was convinced this would be no different. It wasn't his time to die. He was thinking. Looking around the room. There's always an angle he told himself. You just have to find it. Be resourceful, sometimes it's obvious. Just think.

  Dwyer watched her kneel down on the floor. She brought her hands together and prayed. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful, calm. Dwyer didn't understand prayer. He never went to church. He was a logical thinker. There were too many gaps in the religious thinking. He believed in evolution. Things change, they're always changing.

  He recalled when he was five. His mother taking him to church. He was afraid. People dressed funny, spoke strange, he sensed it wasn't right, something wrong. That was the only time he went. He was a stubborn boy. Strong willed, stronger than his mother. They fought over it and his father got involved. Put an end to it. He had no need for religion. Jack Dwyer never learned to pray, never found the calling. Never went to church.

  Dwyer watched her for a long time, twenty minutes maybe more.

  She opened her eyes. They were dry. She stood up. She had changed, calm, solid.

  For the next few minutes they talked about her family and her father running for President.

  "Did they mention Jimmy?" she asked.

  Dwyer shook his head.

  "What did they tell you?"

  "About your family?" he asked.

  "About anything."

  "It's your father they want," Dwyer replied. "They think he's anti-American."

  "Then why kill Jimmy?” she asked. "Want him for what?"

  Dwyer didn't answer.

  "Are they going to kill us?" she asked.

  Dwyer didn't answer.

  "They are, aren't they?"

  Dwyer could see where this was going and it wasn't going to help either one of them. He thought about lying to her; tell her they wouldn't do that. Come up with some lame excuse about them being safe. But what if it was their last few minutes together. Did he want them to end in a lie?

  "There's a way out of this, we just need to find it," Dwyer said.

  "It's hopeless. We're trapped," she was crying. "They're going to kill us."

  Dwyer need time to think. He had to keep her calm.

  "You have faith?” he asked.

  She looked at him, confused.

  "I want you to draw a cross on the floor and show me how you pray," Dwyer said.

  Chapter 33

  It was noon, getting hotter every minute. Major Ken Ore walked away from the group. They had been lying in the grass on top of a hill. Hidden under the canopy and overhang of an oak tree. He wiped his forehead and slid his sunglasses on. Walked ten feet and felt the sun on his face. The tree had blocked it out, made it feel cooler. He was sweating under his uniform, dark fatigues. He had his back to the team. He saw another tree, down the hill and about forty yards from the group. It was a small tree, and a couple of shrubs, and an area to sit out of the sun.

  He walked south down the hill, along the path they had marched up earlier, through the thick grass and found a spot under the tr
ee. He leaned against it, keeping the team in front of him. He trained his eyes on them watching their moves. There were eight of them including Agents Miller and Hammons. He was facing into the breeze. The warm air held the smell of hay and things blooming. It was peaceful.

  He squatted down against the tree trunk. Selected a number on his cell phone and placed a call.

  In the city of Tampa and in a hotel by the airport a phone rang. Minister Benjamin Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. He recognized the number.

  On the second ring, it was answered.

  "I've walked away from the team," the major said. "They can't hear me."

  There was silence for a moment.

  "Any problems?" Benjamin Paul asked. "Have you spotted anyone at the farm?"

  Major Ore was watching Agent Miller and his men. Then turned his attention toward the farm.

  "We saw a young kid carrying a cooler go into the barn. Maybe food. Maybe she's in there," Ore said. "Right now we’re just watching and waiting."

  Benjamin Paul stood up. Walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. He looked down at the parking lot, left and right. Turned toward the room and began pacing. He was one of those guys who could think better while walking. Sitting in a chair limited his reaction, he felt restricted.

  "So let's assume these are our guys," Minister Paul said. "There have been no other sightings or bullshit from the FBI or State Police. Nobody's called me. Nothing on CNN, nothing."

  "It's safe to say these are the guys then." Ore said.

  Major Ore opened a bottle of water. Drank down a couple of gulps.

  "What about the farm?" the Minister asked. "Any leads on to whom it belongs?"

  Ken Ore wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "Miller's got a name." Ore said. "He's checking it out. Some guy they call Big Red owns the place. Belonged to his family. He inherited it a couple of years ago."

  The Minister stopped pacing. He looked down at the desk. Picked up a pen and scribbled the name, Big Red on the hotel notepad.

  "Well, what do we know about him?"

  "I think we got something," Ore said. "Had some gun infractions. Bought some rifles, semi-automatic. Didn't have a license. History is clean. Not even a speeding ticket. But he's a big son of a bitch. Over six feet. Right-wing type. Linked to a gun club that's pretty active politically. Maybe linked to one of these skinhead groups. You know neo-Nazi crap."