Hellfire (Sisters In Law Book 2)

by John Ellsworth

  When they left the Arlington Heights FBI field office they took Sims' government-issued Chevrolet.

  A black Impala. Then they located Jamie's home and began watching. They needed the go-ahead from the Washington FBI's Emergency Response team. Then they would go in and identify themselves and undertake their investigation of the boy's role. Moreover, they were hopeful he knew the whereabouts of the stolen documents, that he might have actually participated in their relocation and knew how to get them back.

  If frightened enough.

  They drove back and forth on the street running parallel to Jamie's house as they awaited clearance from Washington.

  Then they decided to kill time by driving to South Chicago. Sims, who had been in touch with the FBI plant in Washington, thought he knew where the Muslim woman was holed up, as he put it.

  They drove east and south and located the garage with the walkup unit above. They drove around it three times. On the fourth pass their radio crackled.

  Washington. They were cleared to contact the Susmann kid.

  Pedal to the metal, they headed for Christine's home--the kid's home--on the North Side.

  42

  He was shot because of his own gun. FBI identified themselves to XFBI guards and the latter stood down.

  When the FBI agents were invited inside the house by Jamie's grandmother, they were told Jamie was upstairs and they were free to talk to him. She showed them to the stairs and nodded her okay.

  Jamie had seen them approach the house on his CCTV. He had watched them park and come onto the porch. Two men in suits shooting furtive glances at their surroundings as they waited on the porch. He prayed his grandmother would send them away, but she didn't. In fact, she did the opposite: she invited them inside the house. What the hell? Wondered Jamie. Has she no good sense? And where was XFBI?

  He decided to face them head-on. So he took up his position at the far end of the hall, just outside his mother's double doors. There he stood, leaning forward on his crutches, gun in hand. There was no way he was going down without a fight.

  Sims was first up the stairs, followed by Ferlinghetti. Sims was a battle-hardened veteran of the First Gulf War and an expert marksman. He summited the stairs and peered around the corner. There, at the far end of the hall, was Jamie Susmann, raising the gun and pointing it directly at him. Sims immediately drew his own service Glock and fired three shots in rapid succession. The first and third shots narrowly missed their target, but the second shot caught the youngster in the face and blew him back against the double doors, where he crumpled to the floor. He was bleeding profusely and was unconscious when the two agents ran up to him.

  Ferlinghetti was already on his comms, calling in the EMTs while Sims dropped to his knees and used his handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood. Jamie's head lolled to the side and his tongue protruded from his mouth as his muscles went limp throughout his body. Sims was certain the boy had died. He shook his head at Ferlinghetti, who came off his comms and dropped to his knees besides Sims.

  "Wait!" cried Ferlinghetti. "He's breathing."

  Sims had been feeling for a carotid pulse and, at the same moment Ferlinghetti cried out, his fingers touched the pulse.

  "Quick," said Sims, cradling the boy in his arms, "check his airway."

  Ferlinghetti checked the airway with his fingers and bent his head to listen. "Clear," he said, "he's definitely breathing."

  "Let's get him downstairs."

  With Sims lifting his shoulders and upper torso, Ferlinghetti caught Jamie around the knees and lifted him from the floor. Together the two men navigated the stairs, Ferlinghetti stepping down backwards while Sims tentatively found each step by feel.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, where they stretched Jamie out on his back.

  At that moment, Christine's doctor-mother took over, again checking the airway and compressing the wound with the blood-soaked handkerchief.

  "Dirty bastards," she cried at the two men. "He's a boy, a crippled little boy!"

  "But he had a gun," said Sims. "He pointed a gun at me."

  The doctor refocused her gaze and Jamie's shoulder holster registered in her brain.

  "What were you doing with a gun?" she said to her grandson. "Stupid, poor boy!"

  With sirens blazing and red lights flashing, the emergency medical crew flew up the driveway and three EMTs hit the door running. They threw open the door and banged inside with their wheeled stretcher, unfolding it and raising it as they came. The EMTs and the two agents gently lifted Jamie from the floor to the stretcher. His airway and vitals were checked. Oxygen was started and a line inserted to keep his blood pressure up. Monitors were attached and, when they had done what they could do, the EMTs wheeled and carried him to the ambulance, where he was loaded inside.

  The siren wailed and lights flashed as the ambulance circled the drive and headed for the street. Jamie's grandmother grabbed up Janny and ran with her to the garage, where she fastened the little girl in her car seat and opened the garage door with a click. She was just minutes behind the ambulance as the high speed drive to the hospital ensued.

  While the scramble for the hospital played out, federal agents swarmed Christine's home, taking pictures of the scene and removing Jamie's two computers: desk top and lap top. One external hard drive was also seized, along with five thumb drives they found around the room, in his book bag, and fastened to his keychain.

  * * *

  Five hours of surgery were required. In attendance were two doctors. The neurosurgeon went first. He tended to the bullet removal and neurologic repair. He then yielded the operating table to a maxillofacial surgeon who literally rebuilt Jamie's bony structures in his face. Tubes were inserted; screws were placed in face and skull plates. Jamie survived the long hours under the knife and drills.

  CT scans were taken before and after. When the surgeons had conferred and were satisfied they'd done all they could, Jamie was released to the ICU.

  They wheeled him out of the OR and into the ICU.

  He remained unconscious and unresponsive to verbal commands long after the anesthesia had worn off. His grandmother sat beside his bed with his sister.

  Five hours later, his grandfather arrived from Orbit. He took over the bedside watch while Janny's grandmother carried the sleeping child to the elevator and down to the vehicle she had driven to the hospital eleven hours earlier.

  They headed home.

  * * *

  A jailer took her into a conference room, notified Christine and explained what had happened. She was sorry to say she had no details beyond the fact there had been a shooting and surgery and that Jamie was now in ICU.

  As would be expected, Christine became animated and demanding. She insisted on seeing a judge and having bail set without further delay. After an hour of wrangling and wheedling with her jailers she was allowed to call Ed Mitchell. Ed was away in Ann Arbor for the holiday, where he was said to be visiting his mother in her nursing home. He said he could be in Chicago in less than five hours; he was leaving immediately. They would find a magistrate and drag him out of bed, Ed promised, so Christine could make bail and get to the hospital.

  At two o'clock in the morning, Ed finally tracked down the Honorable Boyd Werbler, who was spending the holiday at Lake Geneva in Wisconsin. Ed scrambled to track down the jurist. The deputy explained the situation to the judge, who groggily absorbed it all and started reading the order Ed had prepared.

  Thirty minutes later, Ed had a signed order. Bail was set for both Althea and Christine at $450,000 apiece and passports were ordered surrendered. Three hours later bail bonds were posted and Ed rushed Christine to the University of Chicago Hospital, where Jamie remained unconscious and unresponsive. Althea grabbed a cab and rushed home.

  Christine and Ed ran through the hospital to the ICU. The charge nurse delivered them to Jamie's bedside. Christine's father was already at Jamie's beside. He turned to Christine and shook his head.

  Christine
took Jamie's hand in her own and pressed it against her face.

  "Jamie, open those eyes!"

  Ed touched Christine's shoulder and allowed his hand to remain there, gently rubbing and trying to soothe her grief and tears.

  Jamie's head and the left side of his face were swathed in bandages. Drainage tubes snaked down into suction bags as the swelling produced fluids that needed to be carried away. His left eye was swollen shut; the bullet had entered his face just beneath the eye and two centimeters to the left.

  Dr. James Roanoke, the neurosurgeon, appeared behind Christine.

  "You're the mother?"

  "Yes."

  "We don't know the extent of neurologic damage. A portion of the brain was destroyed."

  "What--what about his vision?"

  "My guess is that the vision is going to be unaffected. The bullet was grossly near the optic nerve but anatomically a mile away. It should be okay."

  "Tell me the truth, doc. Is he going to regain consciousness?"

  "You know, I have to say this in these cases again and again, and I hate it. But I'll say it anyway. In cases of trauma to the skull and brain, only time will tell. Once he's awake we can make some assessments. But for now I'm managing brain swelling, pressure, and intracranial bleeding. I think I have everything repaired but surgery is essentially 2-D while injuries are 3-D. So we'll just have to see."

  Ed said, "Doc, we know you've seen this injury before in your practice. What's your best guess?"

  The doctor nodded and looked up at the ceiling. "Best guess is there's going to be some degree of neurologic damage. Certainly there's anatomic damage. But you're going to need to talk to one of our neurologists about that. Remember, I don't assess neurologic deficits, my job is to repair."

  "Thank you, doctor."

  "Yes, thanks, doc."

  "I'll be back here in the morning when I do rounds. In the meantime, if he needs me again, I'll be in the hospital and just a page away. So...say your prayers and talk to him. It all matters."

  "Will do," said Christine.

  The doctor moved on to his next stop.

  "Jamie, can you hear me?"

  43

  For a crisp new hundred-dollar bill the mechanic downstairs allowed Hussein and Sevi to pull the white van into the garage for parking over the holiday weekend. They moved it in Friday night at closing time and the mechanic punched the button that lowered the articulating door of the service area.

  On Sunday night, they began the process of assembling the bomb. First, Sevi taped Hefty trash bags over the windows in the garage door. She checked and re-checked until she was certain no light was escaping. Now they could work under the service bay lights.

  The six fifty-pound bags of explosive ammonia nitrate fertilizer were arranged two behind the back seat of the van and two on either side, creating a U-shaped compartment within which to work.

  Four fifty-gallon barrels of fuel oil were then loaded in between the bags of fertilizer. Great care was taken not to throw off a spark or do anything that would prematurely set off a holocaust right there in the garage.

  Then came a helping of nitro-methane inside three barrels. They were smaller barrels, but space was now at a premium.

  Once the barrels and bags were all onboard, Hussein tested the closure of the van's rear doors. They snugged in perfectly, with less than inch to spare between the inner door metal and the nitro barrels.

  Hussein raised his hand.

  "Time for a break. Let's think about this next part."

  Sevi went inside the station to the soft drink machine and returned with two frosty cans of Coke. "Here," she said, and handed a can to Hussein, who raised it to her in a toast. She ignored him and popped the top on hers.

  "When do we drive it to the school?"

  "Monday morning. But one week? Why did you move it up?"

  "One week. I moved it up because of you. I don't want to have to watch you until we explode it. Get it done now."

  "What time Friday?"

  "Ten o'clock that morning. On the button."

  "How will you set it off?"

  "Tonight we're going to run the fuse in the van. That part is dangerous. Then I will connect a battery and a cell phone. All I'll have to do is dial the cell phone and boom!"

  "You've thought it all out."

  He smiled. "We learned all this in Pakistan. There are some good bombers there."

  "I know."

  He leaned against the rear deck of the van, one arm hoisted up over a barrel of nitro-methane. "Well."

  "You know, it was my family that was murdered," she said.

  "Yes, and my wife," he retorted, for he knew what was coming.

  "I am to the point where I just want to call it off. Murdering innocent school children solves nothing."

  "You thought it did when we first met."

  "But I've changed since then."

  "I have not. My resolve is stronger than ever. This must be done."

  "I don't want to go with you."

  "But you are going. We will be three blocks away. I already have our corner picked out."

  "Why would we be there?"

  "We need to see the destruction. Anyway, I do."

  "Please don't make me go."

  "Oh, yes. You cannot be trusted now. You are fortunate I have lied to the other men. They would kill you without question if they knew."

  "Well, why haven't you reported me? And why haven't you killed me?"

  "The truth? I plan to marry you. I am going to take you with me to back to Syria and we will be wed there."

  "That isn't going to happen."

  "Oh, but it will."

  "What if I refuse?"

  "Simple. You will be killed. Your friend the lawyer will be killed. Your friend the lawyer's son will be killed. And the little girl. I am serious about this."

  "I know you are."

  "You will be my wife. You will bear my children."

  "I cannot imagine anything worse than having your children."

  "Then your imagination is lacking. We can work on that, beginning Monday at ten a.m. You will see something worse, much worse. And you will know how serious I am about you and me."

  He then uncoiled the fuse and ran it between all the barrels. Primadet is a flexible detonation cord and he had no trouble wrapping the greater circumference of the rear area of the van and then running a length of the cord in and out of the interior of all bags and barrels.

  "Now," he said. "That's it for tonight."

  "What about the battery?"

  "The battery is upstairs. We will bring it down Tuesday morning when we leave here. Along with the cell phones."

  "All right. I'm very tired. Can I go to bed now?"

  "You can sleep with me tonight. It will be good preparation for our wedding."

  "You said it was impure. You said it was unclean."

  "Like you, I have changed. Allah will forgive this one lapse."

  He held out his hand.

  She closed her eyes and held out her hand.

  His grasp was firm and dry.

  She allowed herself to be taken back upstairs.

  Her eyes remained closed the remainder of the night.

  The next morning the mechanic was seen backing the van out of the garage and then driving off.

  Across the street the XFBI agents watched as the van departed. The mechanic had brought it there the day before and he was leaving in it now.

  Nothing unusual.

  A block away Hussein sat up in the back of the van.

  "Back to the storage garage."

  The mechanic caught his eye in the rearview. "Same place we picked it up?"

  "Yes. And drive carefully. Drive carefully."

  "Hands at ten and two, both eyes open. Careful as she goes."

  "Good."

  44

  Tuesday

  The dinner was catered on Tuesday night. The location was Christine's Conference Room A, where the table itself was covered in linen tablec
loths and the caterer had provided three candelabras so neon wasn't necessary.

  "Neon wrecks the mood," Christine told the caterer. "I'm looking for soft and soothing. It's been a rough holiday and we're ready to come together and have a good cry. By candlelight."

  "First," Christine told her guests, "a Jamie update. He is still in the hospital but out of ICU. He's in a private room and you can stop by and talk to him but he's unconscious and hasn't been responding. Still, who knows? His doctor says the more we talk to him the better the odds are he'll respond. So please, if you get a chance, he knows everyone. Familiar voices are welcome."

  "I'll stop by later tonight," said Winona. Her eyes were red from crying. She had spent the day in divorce mediation with Gorman. Just the two of them; no lawyers, and a mediator. She had much to say and was anxious to get it all out. She would get her chance.

  "So will I," said Althea. "When I got bailed out of jail I went home to my kiddies. Their dad had been staying with them at my place but he needed to get to work. So I spent the holiday with them, thank God. We played video games and cooked a turkey. Turkey for Labor Day? Hey, it worked for us."

  "Sevi won't be here tonight," Christine told them. "Much has happened and there's another update for you."

  "Is she okay?" said Althea.

  "Tell, tell," said Winona. "We miss our girl."

  "Sevi has moved out. Jaime said TRAC was creating a video on her."

  "TRAC?"

  "New software. It takes video feeds and creates a virtual video of a subject's movements inside the city. So far it's just Chicago."

  "God, what a kid," said Winona. "If I'd had a boy--"

  "Same here," said Althea. "I make mine spend all their time on science and math. They all have computers and tablets and smart phones. One of them is actually getting interested in how they make software. So who knows? There's still hope."