Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  “It’s pretty cold out…” Jim mused aloud.

  Mark shrugged. “True, but it’s sunny. I bet you can get a few hundred out on the tours. Make sure the boats take an extra-long tour.”

  Gene was nodding and Jim warmed to the idea. “We might have enough time to get some of the river tour boats to participate too. The hard part would be getting everyone aboard quickly and without raising suspicion.” He thought again and shook his head. “On second thought, I don’t want to draw anyone to Navy Pier who wouldn’t already be there. We’ll talk to the lake boat operators and pursue that route, but not expand it.”

  “Gene, I can’t stop you from going, but I want you on one of those boats. If nothing else, you can be my eyes and ears out in the lake.”

  Mark let out a deep breath as though in relief and once again, Jim wondered what he was withholding. He didn’t have time to worry though. “Mark, you need a coat and a hat. I have one in my hall closet. Be right back.”

  As Jim returned to the kitchen, he overheard Gene caution his son. “Be careful today, Mark.”

  He stepped through the doorway in time to see Gene extend his hand and Mark clasp it, but then Mark pulled his father in for a brief one-armed hug and mumbled, “Love you, Dad.” And then he turned away, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Gene’s brow was furrowed as his eyes followed Mark. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, but instead, confusion fought with concern and he must not have known what to say. He glanced at Jim, and raised an eyebrow as though asking what the display was all about.

  Far from an expert about father and son relationships, Jim could only shrug. Neither man struck him as being overly emotional, but then again, he hadn’t seen them together long enough to know if the behavior was out of the ordinary. Not wanting to get involved, he thrust out the coat and hat. “Mark? Here’s the jacket and a baseball cap.”

  Mark turned. “Thanks.” He took the items but didn’t make eye contact. “Let’s go.”

  Gene left first and Jim noted that Mark kept his eyes on his father’s car until it was out of sight.

  After they were on their way, Jim pulled out his cellphone. “Jessica? I have a special assignment for you. I’m going directly to Navy Pier. You need to meet me there as soon as possible. Oh, and dress like you’re going to spend the day as a tourist.”

  After a few other instructions, he hung up and glanced at Mark, intending to ask him to spill the beans on what he was withholding, but Mark sat with his elbow on the window ledge, leaning his head on his hand. He’d pulled the hat low, but Jim saw enough of his expression to realize the other man was a million miles away. Whatever had him so distracted, Jim was sure that if it was something that was detrimental to the outcome, Mark would share it with him. He trusted him completely. Mark had already proven himself by taking the risk in the ‘L’ track incident. He had to have been aware that he could take the rap for the bombing, but he didn’t hesitate, even without proof, to bring the bomb to the attention of the police. If he would risk that, he wouldn’t risk something going wrong here without enlightening Jim. The rest of the drive was completed in silence.

  Chapter 26

  Mohommad climbed aboard the bus and inspected his payload with a sense of satisfaction and purpose. Hazim and he had put the finishing touches on it just hours before, making sure the wires were all tight and wouldn’t loosen on the road.

  Originally, Hazim had been designated to ride with him, but Mohommad insisted that he wanted to do the honors alone. Hazim was under the impression that Mohommad would use the timer they had installed and they could meet up later in Afghanistan. Mohommad had smiled at him and shook his head, telling him that the plan had changed. After a brief argument, Hazim had acquiesced to Mohommad’s wish and bowed out.

  At that moment, the other man should be on his way to O’Hare, booked on a flight to Egypt. From there, he would catch another flight to Pakistan and eventually reach his home village in Afghanistan. Mohommad had reminded him that the icing on the cake would be that with his experience, Hazim would be sought out for advice and he’d be a hero to those who mattered. It was imperative that at least one of them lived to pass on the knowledge. If something went wrong, and Mohommad had to resort to using the emergency trigger, Hazim would at least be able to carry on the fight from Afghanistan. Mohommad assured him that for generations to come, the name Hazim would be uttered with reverence.

  They had planned originally to use a timer with Mohommad to pick Hazim up after he parked the bus. Mohommad was going to head to Mexico and then eventually back to Afghanistan, but when Mark stole the camera, he had forced Mohommad to re-think the plan. It was too risky to park the bus anywhere, but especially in front of Navy Pier because he was worried Mark would know about it. While the bomb was powerful, the timer wasn’t especially complicated and a good bomb squad would easily be able to short circuit it. So, instead, Mohommad had volunteered to drive it and use the fail-safe back-up that required a direct gunshot. After he did that, the bus would blow up almost immediately, so it was now a suicide mission. Mohommad shrugged. It was better this way. Afghanistan didn’t appeal to him as much as he pretended to his uncles. It would kill them to realize just how corrupted he had become by living in America for so long. Every time he tried to pretend to love Afghanistan, he was overcome with shame. He couldn’t live with that anymore.

  He made sure he had the pistol and felt his pocket for the disposable cellphone. Hazim had one also, and once he was past security, he would text Mohommad. It would have been better to wait to make sure Hazim had landed in Egypt, but this was the best they could do. With his toe, he pressed a piece of tape more firmly against the floor.

  Mohommad sat in the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel. He had expected more turmoil in his belly, but he felt surprisingly calm. The hardest part would be actually driving the bus. It was so heavily loaded, he worried someone would notice how low it rode, but most people didn’t notice things like that. He glanced at the scattered trash in the barn, feeling a twinge of guilt at leaving the old man a mess, but he didn’t worry too much about it. There was no need to cover their tracks anymore.

  His bus driving experience was minimal, but he only had to make it forty miles and the first thirty were highway miles. By the time he hit the city, he would be more comfortable. He had practiced driving other large vehicles, but it would have been too risky to take the bus out, so for the last four months, he and Hazim had gathered materials for the bomb and transported them here in small quantities to store in the back of the barn. Although no longer used for animals, the structure was sound and more importantly, had no gaps in the boards to allow prying eyes. Set off the road and behind some newer pole barns, it was hard to see unless you were looking for it.

  He had only found it by chance in the summer when the old and faded ‘Stalls for Rent’ sign had caught his eye. The old man who lived in the farmhouse on the property had been surprised at the interest, assuming that Mohommad’s inquiry was in regards to stalls available in the pole barn. He’d been thrilled to rent out the barn when Mohommad had said he wanted to rent it to store some old farm equipment until he could sell them. After paying the rent, he hadn’t seen the old man again. He thought it would be difficult to smuggle the bus, bought at an auction, and the fertilizer in, but the owner never paid attention. As luck would have it, the old farmer liked his alcohol, and from the amount of liquor bottles in the recycling bin every week, he was probably in an alcohol-induced stupor every evening when he and Hazim had worked in the barn. They couldn’t have asked for a more secluded place to work.

  Once on the highway, Mohommad pulled out his phone. Besides Hazim, he wanted to make one more phone call. “Zaira? It’s me.”

  “Mohommad? Where are you?”

  “I can’t tell you that, dear sister.” He smiled, hearing her voice soothed him even more.

  There was silence on the other end that lasted for a beat. “Mohommad…what is going on? You’re
not doing anything crazy, are you?”

  “I’ve never been more sane. My mind is crystal clear.” He spoke the truth. Never before had he seen the world in such sharp relief. The sky had never been so blue or the sun so bright. It was beautiful and he took it all in as he drove. The forest preserve bordering the highway was a tangle of gray tree trunks and brush, but he spotted a cardinal on a branch, and a hawk gliding in lazy circles. “I just wanted you to know that I love you and forgive you for not understanding. It’s not your fault.”

  “Mohommad, you’re scaring me.”

  “I don’t mean to. I just wanted to hear your voice. Give my nieces a hug and kiss from me. Tell them I always loved them.” He hung up before Zaira could reply and tossed the phone out the window.

  * * *

  Mark gave the bill of his cap a tug and turned up the collar on the jacket as he stepped out of Jim’s car. He took one look at the area in front of Navy Pier and knew they had a little time. The shadows were too long so the sun would have to move higher in the sky before Mohommad arrived. His gaze moved upward and he stilled at the sight of the Ferris Wheel. Cold tendrils of dread swept from his chest, up his neck and down his arms, making the fine hairs stand on end. He turned away from the ride and caught Jim’s eye across the roof of the car. Pushing his fear aside, he said, “I think we have about an hour.”

  “Damn. I was hoping we’d have more time. We’ve got to hustle to get everyone in place.” Jim strode around the car and Mark fell into step beside him as they walked up to the front entrance to Navy Pier.

  “Jim, would it be so bad if you didn’t get anyone in place? Why do we need a bunch of people here? Wouldn’t it would be better to have less people around. The boat thing is great to get the visitors away from possible harm, but I’m telling you, having agents and police swarming the place is going to change things. I can’t promise that the dream will happen like I envisioned it if Mo gets spooked by an unusual number of uniformed officers.”

  Jim stopped and rested one hand on his waist as the other rubbed across his mouth while he contemplated Mark’s advice. He surveyed the area, taking in the light crowd. Mark compared it to what he had seen in his dream. It was early yet, and more people would arrive closer to late morning, but right now, adding a bunch of people who just milled about trying to look like they belonged would attract more attention, to Mark’s way of thinking.

  Mark couldn’t help thinking of Superman as Jim looked from one side of the pier to the other, his fists on his waist. It was fitting. The man had complete confidence that they would stop Mo. After all, they had right on their side.

  “Quite a few of our people are here already. Can you tell who they are?”

  Casting an eye over the area, Mark had to admit that all he saw were ordinary looking families and couples. “No, but that still doesn’t make it right.”

  Jim pressed his cellphone to his ear and motioned for Mark to follow him. Feet dragging, Mark complied. None of this seemed familiar from his dream, but he reminded himself that he’d entered the dream at what seemed to be mid-scene. Maybe all of this had taken place and he just hadn’t seen this part.

  A staging area had been set up inside a Navy Pier management office and already, a bank of monitors was in place, showing every angle of the park. Jim’s definition of a small low key operation differed from Mark’s. The place felt like Grand Central Station. Mark leaned against a wall and refused the cup of coffee someone tried to press on him. His nerves were already jangling. No need to add more fuel to the fire. Agents and officers were dressed as either employees of various businesses, or as visitors. Mark, of course, had drawn the role of visitor. The fact that he was wanted by the very people in the room with him amused him somewhat. Of course, they would never look for him in the midst of their own group.

  Jim approached and handed him a Kevlar vest, igniting painful memories from the last time he’d worn a bulletproof vest. Kern had been killed, but not before he had taken another life. The senselessness of the deaths had hit him like a sledgehammer after he’d left the warehouse where they had set the trap. Mark didn’t know whether to be sad or grateful that at the end of the day, he wouldn’t be around to regret anything. He pushed the vest back into Jim’s hands. “I don’t need it. Mo doesn’t shoot me.”

  “Take it anyway. Just in case.”

  “No.” Even though he didn’t think it would make difference in the outcome, he made a good argument against the vest. “I’m going to be in a bus that is sinking in the lake. Do you really think a heavy vest is going to increase my chances of survival?”

  Jim blinked and after a beat, nodded. “Fine.”

  Regretting his sarcasm, Mark reached to take the protective apparel from Jim. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter. If you want me to wear it, I will.” It wouldn’t make a difference in the outcome, and he hated the thought of being remembered in his last hours as being a sarcastic jerk.

  “No.” Jim smiled and shook his head. “I just have to remind myself that you’ve already ‘lived’ this, so to speak, and I have to do a better job of listening to you.”

  Mark pushed off the wall and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “What should I do now?”

  “You’re cleared to go out and do whatever it is you need to do. We have cameras in place. I thought about wiring you, but that didn’t work so well in the past.” His eyes flashed with humor and the corner of his mouth turned up. Mark appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood. “Anyway, it seemed to be more of a distraction, so we’ll just keep an eye on you, and have an agent close at hand at all times,” Jim finished.

  Taking a deep breath, Mark let it out slowly in an attempt to quell his nerves. All humor disappeared from Jim’s expression as he extended his right hand. “You’ll do fine out there, Mark. When this is all over, I’m going to see that you get your name cleared once and for all, and you get the recognition you deserve.”

  Jim couldn’t have known the effect of his promise, but he must have sensed it from the way Mark gripped his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I appreciate it.” Just knowing that his parents wouldn’t have to bear the double burden of his death, and him being thought a terrorist, lifted a weight from his shoulders.

  * * *

  Mark strolled through an immaculately groomed small park. They said in the last few seconds of living, you saw your life pass before your eyes. Mark wondered if he was getting the double feature since he had more than a few seconds. He wanted to pay attention to what was going on around him, but it was as if he couldn’t control his thoughts. A woman with a stroller kept pace with him, and he glanced at her in surprise when she moved up close to him.

  “Quit staring at me like you’ve never seen me before. Remember you’re supposed to be a happy dad.”

  “Jessie?” Why hadn’t Jim mentioned that she was going to be the agent assigned to him? Was it because Jim knew Mark would protest? He knew he should be angry. While he didn’t want her there to see the end results, he selfishly felt a surge of joy that he had one more chance to speak with her. He grinned, and she rolled her eyes, but her lips pressed together as if trying to suppress her own smile. She had obviously taken his silly expression as an over the top attempt to play the ‘happy dad.’

  His grin faded as he took in the stroller. “Whose baby is that?” Jim wouldn’t take the chance with a baby, would he?

  “Don’t worry—it’s not yours,” Jessie teased.

  “No, I’m serious. You have to take this baby back to its mother.” He didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. Heart pounding, he leaned over and grasped the blanket.

  Jessie snatched the blanket away, glancing around as she did and said in a low voice, “Mark, for God’s sake, it’s a doll.”

  Relief washed over him, followed by a surge of anger. “How was I supposed to know? In my first dream, there was blood and body parts all over. And the one thing that stood out in my mind was what was left of a stroller just like this.” He gave the handle of the str
oller a hard shake. “What if I can’t stop this thing and it means that you blow up? What if some of those body parts are yours?”

  Jessie blanched, but her shoulders straightened. “I’m sorry for making light of your concerns, but this is my job. Now, if you don’t mind, we need to play our roles. School buses are beginning to arrive.”

  Mark turned and saw several buses approaching the front entrance. This was it. He faced her again, wishing he could take back his words from the minute before. Her sunglasses hid her eyes from him, and he longed to see them one more time. He touched her cheek, smoothing his thumb over her skin. “I’m sorry.” She might think it was for what he had said, and it was, but mostly it was because he was going to ditch her the moment he saw Mohommad’s bus.

  As if she could read his mind, she lifted her glasses and searched his face. “Mark?”

  He broke eye contact and headed closer to the street. “Come on. We have to move closer to the front of the Children’s Museum.” They had to cross the street before the buses blocked their way. The two buses he had seen were already unloading. They went behind them, cutting in front of a third bus. The sudden influx of children on the pavement made navigation more difficult.

  “Here comes a new batch of buses. Anything?”

  His senses seemed to sharpen, but everything moved in dream-like slow motion. The laughter of nearby children was louder, the piped music clearer and the acrid smell of the exhaust from the line of buses burned his nose. Ignoring the crowd, Mark searched the line of buses. When he moved through the crowd, he almost tripped over a young boy who dashed in front of him. Catching his balance and lightly gripping the child by the shoulders to keep from falling on top of him. The boy’s mother rushed up and apologized to Mark.

  His mind whirling, he had a difficult time concentrating. The buses were all pencil yellow with black markings. Standard school buses. School district names or bus company names emblazoned on the sides were the only discernible differences that he could see. He swept the line again. Concentrate! He was forgetting an important detail. Wait. It was a slight difference that set the exploding bus apart from the others. The markings. That was it. Markings—or lack of them.