The Frenzy War

by Gregory Lamberson

  “No, I didn’t,” Cheryl said.

  “We rank third in the nation in terms of the highest number of executions since 1608. I bet you can guess who ranks first.”

  “Don’t mess with Texas,” Colleen said.

  “Fifty years ago, this interview would have been impossible.”

  Cheryl looked through the viewing window. “What’s Gomez like as an inmate, Warden?”

  “This is a maximum security prison, so there’s no such thing as a model prisoner. They’re all worse than animals. Gomez is no different in that respect. In other ways … well, he’s more disturbing. He’s a small man, but it’s safe to say the other inmates are frightened of him. He keeps to himself and reads a lot, but the others give him a wide berth. He’s been involved in many incidents during the time he’s been here, usually because someone challenged him. If there’s a Wild West mentality here, he’s the meanest gun-slinger we have.”

  “Will you repeat that on camera?” Colleen said.

  “I’d be happy to.”

  He probably rehearsed that, Cheryl thought. Still, Colleen

  knew to keep him enthused. “Is there a room I can use to make myself up?”

  “There’s a small office down the hall. The guards will have to escort you.”

  “That’s fine.”

  The sound of the old RKO radio signal filled the room, and Colleen answered her phone. “What? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Have we got both locations covered? … All right, let me know when we have it on the air. I’ll watch it on my phone.” She faced Cheryl. “Two separate explosions in Manhattan: the Synful Reading bookstore and the Domini Funeral Home.”

  “Oh, shit.” Cheryl took out her cell phone.

  Candice drove her SUV out of the Fifth Precinct parking lot with its strobes flashing and siren wailing. Sitting beside her, Mace called Cheryl, who answered on the first ring.

  “Are you all right?” she said. “I was just calling you.”

  “I’m fine. I take it you found out.” He had to shout to be heard over the siren.

  “Just now. Was anyone hurt?”

  “I don’t have any details yet. I’m heading to the bookstore now.”

  “This is insane. What fucking country do we live in?”

  “Take it easy. You’ve probably already guessed, but there’s no way I can make it out there.”

  A pause. “That’s okay. I didn’t want you here anyway.”

  “Is Warden Strand with you, by any chance?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Put him on, please.” Mace heard Cheryl say something away from the phone.

  A moment later, Warden Strand came on. “Yes, Captain Mace?”

  “Warden, I assume you’ll be present when my wife interviews Gomez?”

  “I’ll be watching from the adjacent viewing room, but I’ll have two armed guards in here, and Gomez will be secured to his chair.”

  “Make it four armed guards.”

  “As you wish.”

  “I know Gomez better than anyone.” Maybe better than he knows himself. “He’s a sick fuck, and he’s full of surprises. I want you to tell your men that if he makes one wrong move, they’re to shoot him in the head.”

  A moment of silence followed. “If Mrs. Mace is in any danger, we’ll follow protocol—”

  “In the fucking head, do you hear me?” Mace thought he heard Strand swallow.

  “I understand.”

  “Put my wife back on.”

  A moment later, Cheryl got on the line. “Yes?”

  “You’re in good hands, so don’t be nervous. I want you to do me one favor, though: if Gomez tries anything at all— I don’t care if he wants to scare you or if he just sneezes— get the hell away from him as fast as you can. It’s imperative that the guards have a clear shot at him.”

  “But don’t be nervous, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Avoid Lower Manhattan and Midtown when you go home. Traffic will be a nightmare.” Mace shut his phone down. In the distance, black smoke rose into the sky.

  “Your wife’s a brave lady,” Candice said.

  “I know it.”

  “I sure wouldn’t want to be in a room with Gomez, even surrounded by guards with orders to shoot to kill.”

  Candice didn’t know that Rodrigo Gomez was a closet Wolf, and Mace couldn’t help but think of the night Janus Farel killed Patty.

  Sirens grew louder, and soon Candice turned onto St. Mark’s Place, and Mace saw police cars and fire engines. Traffic slowed to a standstill.

  “Take the sidewalk,” Mace said.

  Candice searched for an opening. “I can’t get up there until we reach an intersection.”

  “Then I’ll get out here.” Mace opened the door and hopped out. Stepping onto the sidewalk, he broke into a light jog. When he reached a gathering of uniformed POs, he showed them his ID and kept moving. Car alarms rang around the street as firefighters blasted the burning buildings on either side of the fire where Synful Reading had stood with water from their hoses. Smoke billowed out of the rubble that had once been the small storefront where Mace had first encountered Angela Domini.

  “The windows are blown out of buildings on both sides of the street,” a male voice said behind Mace.

  Turning, he saw Shelly and Norton. You two made good time.

  “Probably C-4, maybe on a timer,” Shelly said.

  Mace looked up and down the street. POs held civilians back, and people with grime-smeared faces wept as an ambulance crept forward. “I want you two to stay here. Landry’s back at base, and Candice is making her way over. She and I need to get to the funeral parlor and check on Diega and Williams. Let’s regroup at base.”

  Norton surveyed the destruction. Somewhere behind them, a child cried. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

  Mace climbed into Candice’s SUV, which had made little progress. “I’m glad I didn’t wait in here.”

  “What’s it like?” Candice said.

  “No apparent casualties. Let’s get over to the other scene.”

  “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  As Candice pulled out of her lane and maneuvered into the opposite direction, Mace saw two National Guard jeeps heading their way. Forty minutes later, when they reached East Thirty-third Street, he saw that the neighborhood had been cordoned off by olive-green troop transport trucks.

  “What should I do?” Candice said.

  “Double-park here. This time we’re both walking.”

  As they went up Thirty-third Street, Mace felt a chill, and it wasn’t from the weather. Memories of past terrorist attacks on the city lingered in his memory. We’ve got to stop these guys soon.

  A mixture of a dozen POs and National Guards stood at the wooden barricades that had been erected near the explosion scene. Mace noted four fire engines, four ambulances,

  two troop transport trucks, two jeeps, and six police cars. Black smoke filled the sky, and light gray concrete and dust covered the street. All the vehicles that had been parked in the vicinity of the funeral home had suffered damage, and several that must have been moving on the street at the time of the explosion had crashed.

  A gaping hole in the middle of the block, where the funeral parlor had stood, revealed the buildings on the other side of the block. The wall that had separated the courtyard now resembled the brick ruins left standing in Italy after World War II. Strobes from multiple emergency vehicles cast dizzying blue and red light over the scene from different angles.

  As Mace and Candice passed an ambulance, Mace saw Willy sitting inside the back of the vehicle with his legs hanging over the edge. One of two paramedics administered oxygen to him, and Karol stood beside them.

  Mace clasped Willy’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Willy nodded.

  “You should have seen him in action, Captain,” Karol said. “He ran into the street, waving his little flashlight through the smoke,
directing civilians away from the scene. He practically cleared the area single-handedly.”

  Willy pointed at Karol. “And you saved my ass again.”

  “What are partners for?”

  Mace could not remember the first time that Karol had saved Willy’s ass. “Does he need to go to the ER?”

  “They should both get checked out,” one of the paramedics said.

  Willy shook his head. “I’m fine …”

  “I’ll take him,” Karol said.

  “Then that’s the plan,” Mace said. “Exactly what happened?”

  “We got the call from Landry to head down to Synful Reading,” Karol said. “But I wanted to notify Domini first. I was still waiting for him to answer the phone when the building exploded. Willy threw himself on top of me a second before my SUV’s windows blew into the car. Who knows what would have happened to me.”

  Mace studied Willy’s sweat-soaked features. “Good work, Lieutenant.”

  Willy nodded his humble thanks.

  “What about Gabriel?”

  With a dazed expression, Karol shook her head. “He never made it out.”

  Damn it, Mace thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  When Mace and Candice entered the task force squad room, covered head to toe in dust and grime, Shelly and Norton looked up from their desks. Both FBI agents had changed into more casual attire, and Mace wanted to do the same.

  Landry came out of his office. “Karol called from the ER. Willy’s being examined now.”

  Mace checked his watch. It was 7:45 PM. “Give us ten minutes to clean up, then let’s meet in the conference room.”

  Mace went into his office and peeled off his jacket and tie. He reeked of the smell of burnt wood. In the men’s room, he took off his shirt and scrubbed his face and arms with soap. He did not want to put his shirt back on, so he exited wearing his T-shirt.

  Joining his team in the conference room, he turned on the TV, which was already set to Manhattan Minute News,

  and muted the volume. On the screen, Michael O’Hear, a colleague of Cheryl’s, addressed the camera from Thirty-third Street. Using a remote control, Mace verified that all the other channels were broadcasting coverage of the attacks as well. Images of smoky streets, destroyed cars and sidewalks, and National Guardsmen filled the screen. Mace returned to Manhattan Minute News, which showed Synful Reading burning.

  “This is the biggest stotry in the world right now,” Landry said. “Public Information has its hands full.”

  “Everyone has their hands full,” Mace said.

  “Shelly and I have been monitoring the transmissions and reports from other agencies,” Norton said. “‘No terrorist group has claimed responsibility for the bombings’ seems to be the mantra.”

  “I’ve seen the satellite photos,” Shelly said. “Nothing suggests that a RPM was used at either site. Most likely, the explosives were planted in each location in advance.”

  Jesus, Mace thought. “That would mean your C-4— if that’s what they used—was sitting in the bookstore all this time, and they planted some in the funeral parlor last night. In both instances, the explosives were right under our noses.”

  “No casualties have been reported, thank God,” Landry said.

  “Except for Gabriel,” Mace said. “He was the target. If they wanted to kill civilians, they would have.”

  “Then why target Synful Reading? The store’s been closed for days.”

  “It was a symbolic gesture,” Shelly said. “Terrorists pro

  duce terror. The Brotherhood of Torquemada wanted to send a message to the Class Ls, and taking out Domini was only part of that message.”

  “They also want to keep law enforcement busy,” Mace said. “Nothing distracts from existing investigations like bombings.”

  “You’re right,” Landry said. “Missing Persons has turned up no leads on Rhonda Wilson, and the rank and file are hot for blood because we’ve got cop killers running around out there.”

  Mace counted off points on his fingers. “They’ve created a panic. They’ve killed people the general public believes are civilians. They’ve killed cops. They’ve destroyed property. Their efforts have resulted in the governor sending in the National Guard. You would think they’d lie low for a few days, but if anything, they’ve only ramped up their efforts. They’re sending a message to everyone in this city, not just the Class Ls, that they won’t be deterred.”

  “There’s no reason to believe they’re aware this task force exists,” Landry said. “As far as they’re concerned, no one knows that the Brotherhood of Torquemada or the Class Ls exist.”

  “Except they know we had two detectives watching Gabriel last night. We stopped one of their operations. They must have realized Willy and Karol were back there today. Maybe they were sending a message to us by taking Gabriel out. The question is: What’s their next move?”

  Freshly coiffed and made up, Cheryl shook her hands. Ryan and Paul had set up their cameras on tripods and some lights on stands in the corners, and Alex manned a sound mixer at one of the tables. Two corrections officers with shotguns stood at attention on the side of the room where Cheryl intended to sit for the interview.

  “I never thought I’d see the day you were nervous,” Colleen said.

  “I know I shouldn’t be,” Cheryl said. “I covered Gomez’s killing spree and his trial. He was a big part of my life. This feels like the final chapter between us. I wonder if anyone will even watch with everything that’s going on in the city.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We don’t control the news, no matter how hard we try. We’re going to repeat this all week, so people will see it.”

  Strand entered the room with an armed guard. “Ms. Wanglund? It’s time.”

  Colleen rubbed Cheryl’s arm. “Honey, I’ll be calling the shots from the next room. Don’t worry about a thing. You’ll do great.”

  Cheryl watched Colleen exit with Strand and the guard. A moment later, Colleen and Strand entered the viewing room on the other side of the glass and took their seats. Two monitors had been set up for Colleen, one for each camera. She put on a headset, and Cheryl saw her mouth moving, then heard a tiny transmitted voice in her ear: “Camera check.”

  “Camera one, check,” Ryan said.

  “Camera two, check,” Paul said.

  The guard who had escorted Colleen and Strand returned to the room and walked over to Alex, who stood with a wireless microphone in one hand.

  “I’ll be right back,” Alex said. “I hope.”

  Cheryl watched the guard lead Alex through a steel door near the wide window. The door closed behind them with a clanging sound. Taking a deep breath, she sat at the metal table. From this vantage point, she saw her reflection in the window.

  A minute later, Alex returned with the guard. “That is one creepy little fucker.” Alex adjusted the wireless microphone on Cheryl’s collar, then returned to his sound station.

  The guard went into the corridor and closed the door.

  Cheryl’s stomach felt queasy. “Any new developments in the city?”

  “There haven’t been any more explosions, and I haven’t had any reports of deaths yet,” Colleen said. “Thank God.”

  “I could live without seeing National Guards with machine guns everywhere.”

  The metal door swung open, and another guard entered the room, followed by a short man in an orange jumpsuit and another guard. As per Colleen’s instructions, Paul panned his camera on its tripod, following Rodrigo Gomez to his seat.

  Rodrigo’s hair was long and greasy, and the fuzz that covered his chin and upper lip resembled thick black thread. His hands were cuffed before him, and a chain connected

  the cuffs to leg irons. The guards eased him into the chair, which Cheryl realized had been bolted to the floor. One guard handcuffed his wrists to the arms of the chair, and the other secured his ankles to the steel legs. The guards stood on either side of the viewing window with their shotgun
s lying over their arms. The whole time, Rodrigo stared at Cheryl.

  Meeting his stare, Cheryl waited for Rodrigo to speak and tried not to look at his unibrow, which seemed bushier than it had at his trial.

  Rodrigo glanced around the room at the guards and the crewmen, then over his shoulder at Colleen and Strand. Returning his attention to Cheryl, he spoke in a soft voice. “Well, well. Cheryl Mace. I guess it’s just the two of us. But it was Cheryl Chimera back in the day, wasn’t it?”

  Cheryl relaxed a little. “Yes, it was.”

  “Where’s Sheriff Mace?”

  “All right, everyone, we’re going live in five seconds,” Cheryl heard Colleen say in her earpiece.

  “Live in five,” Ryan said.

  “Just wait for me to speak,” Cheryl said.

  Rodrigo smiled, revealing crooked teeth. “Let’s give the folks at home a good show.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to watch this.” Mace raised the volume on the TV as a wide shot of Sing Sing filled the screen and prerecorded audio of Cheryl introducing the special came over the speaker.

  “We can watch it from our desks and keep working,” Norton said in a diplomatic tone.

  “I’ll stay here if you don’t mind,” Landry said. “Suit yourself,” Mace said.

  Seven minutes of documentary-style presentation detailed Rodrigo Gomez’s killing spree and trial, including excerpts from Cheryl’s news reports. The recap ended with footage of two corrections officers leading Gomez, chained, into a windowless room. The camera intercut the guards chaining Gomez to a chair with Cheryl watching from across the table.

  “Now,” Cheryl the narrator said as the camera zoomed into a close-up of Gomez, “I’ll speak to Rodrigo Gomez, the Full Moon Killer, one-on-one in an exclusive Manhattan Minute News special conducted live from Sing Sing Correctional Facility.”

  When the camera cut back to Cheryl, the live feed kicked in.

  She looks nervous, Mace thought.

  “Rodrigo, you’ve been incarcerated for seven years,” Cheryl said. “That works out to one year for each of the five women you murdered. Do you have any regrets?”