Stride stopped. “What is it?”
Haq came to the doorway.
“I want you to remember something. This wasn’t easy for me, not after everything that’s happened. But you told me you believe in my judgment, and I believe in yours. So please do the right thing. Keep Khan safe.”
Stride nodded. “I’ll do my best. You need to remember something, too.”
“What’s that?”
“Building trust between us isn’t a sprint,” Stride said. “It’s a marathon.”
* * *
Khan sweated in the shut-up space of the Taurus. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, because he didn’t know whether he had the courage for what came next. He was terrified and filled with doubt. When he stared at the gun on the passenger seat, he struggled with whether he could actually take it in his hand again.
He was parked in a small lot near the loading dock of the Radisson Hotel. The hotel’s cylindrical tower rose above him. He’d backed into a parking space in the shadow of a concrete retaining wall. Near the loading dock, he saw green trash bins and empty laundry carts. The noise of the physical plant made a roar through vents in a brick wall. Every few minutes, an employee came through a gray metal door to take a cigarette break, and he caught the aroma of smoke.
Whenever he saw someone, he hunched low behind the wheel. Everyone in Duluth knew his face, and despite the changes in his appearance, he was afraid of being recognized. He kept an ear on the street, expecting to hear sirens coming for him. He checked the clock on the dashboard and saw that the man who was supposed to meet him was late. Maybe he wasn’t going to come at all. Khan couldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to get involved.
Five more hot, interminable minutes passed.
Near the loading dock, the metal door opened again. Another hotel employee came out, looking nervous. He was tall, his skin very dark, his wiry hair buzzed short. He wore black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, and he carried a plastic laundry bag. His glance shot around the parking lot and then landed on the burgundy Taurus.
Khan turned his lights on and off. He put the gun on the driver’s seat between his legs. The man hurried toward him, his head bobbing left and right to be sure no one was watching. Khan could feel the man’s impatience, as if his mission couldn’t be over fast enough.
The man climbed into the passenger seat. His eyes examined Khan, trying to match the face to the photo he’d seen everywhere.
“You know who I am?” Khan asked.
The man nodded. He didn’t offer his name, and Khan didn’t ask.
Khan had used his burner phone to call the emergency number Malik had given him. He’d reached the plumber named Abdul and used the code phrase about Noah and the Unbelievers to let the man know he needed help. Abdul had called back almost immediately, on a phone he said was secure, and Khan told him what he wanted.
Someone who could get him inside the Radisson Hotel.
The man in the car handed him the laundry bag. “Put on this uniform. It should fit. If you come out of this alive, you stole it, yes? You didn’t get it from me. You never met me. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” Khan replied.
“I have a family,” the man said.
“I understand. I’ll keep you out of it. Is the woman in the hotel?”
“She just arrived at Astor’s. That’s the revolving restaurant on the top floor. She’s in a booth by the window, but you’ll have to walk around the circle to find her. Take the service elevator. Go through the kitchen. Act like you belong there, and no one will challenge you. Do what you have to do, and get out.”
“What about security?”
“Her guards aren’t with her. She must think she is safe with you dead.”
“Okay. Good.”
“Regardless of whether you succeed, you know you are likely to die,” the man told him. “Sooner or later, the police will kill you. Are you prepared for that?”
“If I die, I’ll get to see my wife and child again,” Khan replied. “It’s a blessing.”
“Allah u akbar.”
The man checked the parking lot and then climbed out of the car and hurried back inside the hotel. They’d been together for less than a minute. Khan was alone with his gun, his waiter’s uniform, and his plan. He bent forward across the steering wheel and stared up at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the restaurant on the top floor of the hotel.
Dawn Basch was up there.
Their destinies were about to collide.
51
“Shelly Baker?” Serena asked.
The woman in the hospital bed turned her face from the window. She was heavyset with curly brown hair that lay on the pillow like a deflated balloon. Without makeup, she looked older than her age, which Serena guessed was mid-thirties. Her nose was flat and wide, and her eyes were rimmed in red.
“What do you want?” Shelly asked.
“My name is Serena Stride. I’m with the Duluth Police.”
“I already talked to that other cop, the Chinese woman,” Shelly replied in a voice that made it clear she didn’t want to be bothered.
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. This won’t take long.”
For an entire day Serena had been working her way through the list of marathon contacts from Tuesday morning. Shelly Baker was just one name among dozens of phone calls, but she was also a victim of the bombing, and that was enough of a connection for Serena to investigate. Not that she suspected Shelly of being involved. She wanted to ask the woman a few questions, cross Shelly off the list, and move on.
“Is this about my brother?” Shelly asked. She half lifted her torso off the mattress, causing a shock of pain that made her face twitch. “Did something happen to Travis?”
“No, Sergeant Bei is still trying to find him,” Serena told her.
“You have to understand, Travis does stupid things sometimes, but it’s not because he’s a bad person. Think about what he went through in the past few days. His sister’s a cripple, and Joni’s dead. Travis thought he should be dead, too. He felt guilty that God spared him and not us. He can’t even look at me.”
Serena sat down in the chair next to the bed. “I’m very sorry for what happened to you, Ms. Baker.”
“Don’t be sorry for me. There’s no point in second-guessing God’s plan. I put my faith in Jesus. I always have.”
Serena didn’t say anything. She’d given up on God years earlier, as a child, at the hands of her mother’s drug dealer. It was hard to trust in God after something like that. If Shelly Baker could still believe that Jesus was looking out for her, after everything that had happened, then Serena admired her faith.
“You know what Travis did, don’t you?” Serena asked. “You know he set fire to that gallery. A mother and child died.”
Shelly blinked over and over. Her big lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line. “Is that why you’re here? So I can help you put my little brother in jail? I’m sorry, I won’t do that. I won’t say a word.”
“No, that’s not why I’m here,” Serena told her.
“If Travis did anything, then it was an accident. I mean, I’m heartsick about that poor woman and her son, but I’m sure nobody meant to hurt them. Not like me. Not like Joni. Whoever put that bomb at the marathon knew that people were going to die. It was deliberate. It was murder. The three of us happened to be the ones standing there. We were in the path.”
“Yes, it was a terrible thing,” Serena said.
Shelly closed her eyes and said nothing. Her blood pressure was climbing.
“I apologize for upsetting you,” Serena went on. “The reason I’m here has nothing to do with Travis. I just need to check something with you, and then I’ll be on my way, and you can rest.”
“What is it?” Shelly asked.
“I’m going through a list of calls made by marathon staff on the Tuesday before the race. It’s just routine. That Tuesday morning, someone at the marathon called your cell phone number. Do you remember what the
call was about?”
Shelly’s eyes opened. Her face was confused. “What? Why does that matter?”
“As I say, it’s routine follow-up. Do you remember the call?”
“Tuesday?” Shelly asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, sure. MIH.”
“What’s that?”
“MIH. That’s what we call it. Mouse in the house. Lorena from the marathon called to say they had a mouse infestation in the office. They’d spotted three or four of them already. She wanted someone out there to take care of it right away. That’s what we do. I’m the office manager for Ralston Extermination.”
“Do you know why Lorena called you specifically?”
“Yes, the marathon has been a client of ours for years. They store a lot of perishables as they get close to race day, and they can’t afford to have bugs or mice or anything like that getting into their supplies.”
“Was there anything unusual about the call?”
“No. I mean, Lorena was a little annoyed with us, because she said they pay us to prevent that sort of thing. Anyway, it was four days before the race. She was stressed, so I just apologized and said we’d deal with it immediately. That’s what we did.”
Serena nodded. “Okay, thank you for clearing that up, Shelly.”
“Sure.”
Serena stood up. She was done; she had the answers she needed. It was time to walk away. And yet she found herself still standing there in the hospital room. She hadn’t moved; she was frozen. Something about the conversation felt wrong to her. It was the kind of wrong that set off alarms in her brain. Right now, her mind was screaming so fast and loud that she could hardly separate out all her thoughts.
She heard Shelly’s voice in her head again.
Whoever put that bomb at the marathon knew that people were going to die. It was deliberate. It was murder.
The three of us happened to be the ones standing there. We were in the path.
Serena sat down by the bed again. She felt the pounding of her heartbeat. It was hard to get out the words. “I’m sorry, Shelly. I have just a couple more questions for you. Who exactly is Joni?”
Shelly looked at her in confusion. “What?”
“You mentioned Joni. She was one of the people killed in the bombing, wasn’t she? Did you know her?”
“Yeah, of course. Joni was Wade’s wife.”
“Wade?”
“Wade Ralston. He owns the business. Travis and I work for him.”
“And where was Joni at the time the bomb went off?”
“She was standing right next to me,” Shelly said. “Travis, me, and Joni were all together.”
Serena tried to collect her thoughts and take them one at a time. “I’m sorry to go over this again, but you said Lorena was annoyed when she called you about the mice. Why was that?”
“Because they have a contract with us to prevent things like that. We keep bait stations down. Poison. It doesn’t keep them out, but if they get inside, they don’t last long.”
“Except four days before the race, they found themselves with mice, and they had to call you,” Serena said.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“This is a weird time of year for mice to get inside, isn’t it?” Serena asked. “Don’t they usually try to get in when it’s cold out?”
“It happens, but you’re right, it’s not very common.”
“Who handled the call?”
“What?”
“Who went to the marathon office to deal with the mice?”
“Wade,” Shelly said.
“Wade is Joni’s husband?”
“Yes, that’s what I told you.”
“Where was Wade during the marathon?” Serena asked.
“What do you mean? He was in it. He ran it.”
“Wade ran the marathon? Do you know where he was when the bomb went off?”
“Like, twenty feet away? He was across the street from us. He got some shrapnel in him from the explosion.”
Serena stood up again. She turned her back on Shelly and went to the window. Thoughts bounced around her head like atoms colliding. She tried to isolate each fact, because, individually, the facts didn’t mean a thing. But when she put them together . . .
The marathon camera went down on Tuesday. Wade Ralston was in the marathon office on Tuesday. Coincidence.
Wade’s wife was one of the victims of the bombing. Coincidence.
Wade was twenty feet away when the bomb went off. Coincidence.
Put them all together.
Not a coincidence.
Serena spun around again. “Why were you guys standing there? Why were you, Joni, and Travis outside the Duluth Outdoor Company in that particular spot?”
“We wanted to see Wade finish,” Shelly said.
“Did he know you’d be there?”
“Of course. He told us where to stand. He said he wanted us there to see him cross the finish line.”
Serena dug her phone out of her pocket and scrolled to her photos. She found the picture she was looking for. “This is going to be a strange question,” she told Shelly, “but do you know this man?”
She could read the confusion on Shelly’s face. Confusion hadn’t become suspicion yet. Shelly studied the photo on Serena’s phone, and when she spoke, all the pieces began falling into place.
“Sure, that’s Eagle. What about him?”
“How do you know Eagle?” Serena practically shouted.
Shelly looked scared now. Confused and scared. “He’s just a homeless guy. Wade and Travis deal with them all the time. They handle extermination work under the downtown buildings. In the subbasements. It’s warm there, so homeless people break in during the winter, and Wade and Travis are the ones who have to roust them out.”
“So Wade knew Eagle?” Serena asked.
“Of course. Wade found him hiding in the tunnels all the time. What is this about, anyway?”
Serena didn’t answer. She was already running for the door.
She realized that if the bomb was in place on Tuesday in the Duluth Outdoor Company shop, then anyone could have triggered it.
Anyone at all.
Even a runner.
52
Maggie followed Wade Ralston down the steps of the Third Avenue building to the metal door that led underground. “You did the right thing by calling me, Mr. Ralston,” she said.
“I just don’t want Travis getting hurt,” he replied. “He’s met you. He’ll listen to you.”
Ralston opened the door and let her brush by him as she crossed the threshold and took the next set of steps into the subbasement. As she did, her phone buzzed, and when she grabbed it from her back pocket, she saw that Serena was calling. She answered the phone, but she was too late. She’d lost signal deep under the building.
“Where is he?” Maggie asked.
“He’s waiting for me in one of the inner rooms. I told him I was arranging for a car so he could get out of town.”
Maggie lit a flashlight. Pipes ran along the ceiling just over their heads. The brick walls felt like the inside of a crypt. She saw glue traps on the wet concrete floor, with dozens of dead cockroaches stuck in the adhesive. They were just bugs, and she was the first to admit that spiders never made it out of her condo alive, but she wasn’t crazy about what exterminators did. Seeing it up close made it feel like mass murder.
“You spend a lot of time down here?” she asked.
“This is my life.” Ralston had a smile on his face, which made him look like a grinning skeleton in the flashlight beam. “People don’t like thinking about how meat gets into those grocery store packages. They don’t like knowing how we keep critters out of their nice warm buildings, either. Kill them all, but don’t tell us how you do it.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Maggie replied, feeling a twinge of discomfort.
Ralston didn’t move. “So that Muslim guy Rashid blew himself up, huh? I’m not shedding any tears over him. Guess it
saves us taxpayers the cost of a trial. Sorry about your cops, though.”
Maggie said nothing.
“I should tell you,” Ralston went on, “I’m not defending what Travis did, but I know where he was coming from. People are angry about these Islamic terrorists, and they want to hit them back, you know? Especially when all they get from Washington is politically correct bullshit.”
“Let’s just get this done, okay, Mr. Ralston?”
“Yeah, okay. Come on.”
He led the way through the heat and darkness. Being down here, among the rough brick walls, was like going back in time. At street level, the world had changed, but down here, the decades peeled away. Men who were long dead had layered this mortar and brick in a deep hole in the earth.
Ahead of them, she saw light and heard static-filled rock music. They continued into a basement room lit by a flickering fluorescent tube and lined with metal shelves, bankers boxes, and filing cabinets. Rock dust littered the floor, making it slippery. The air baked. She was conscious of her gun in the holster, and she was ready to slip it into her hand if necessary.
“Hey, Travis, you here?” Ralston called.
“Yeah, glad you’re back, man. What took you so long?”
Maggie let Ralston walk ahead of her. From behind a wall of boxes stacked as high as the ceiling pipes, she saw Travis Baker bound into view. He wore a tank top that showed off his sweaty muscles and tattoos. His long, greasy brown hair hung loose.
Travis spotted Maggie, and his face screwed up in fury.
“What the hell, man,” he barked at Ralston. “What the hell. You called the cops on me?”
“I’m trying to keep you alive, kid.”
Travis twitched; he was ready to run. Maggie wondered if he’d taken any drugs while he was down here, because he looked wired. His eyes shot past Maggie to the dark tunnel behind her that led back to the world. Maggie stood between him and freedom, and they both knew it.
“Mr. Baker, turn around, get on your knees, and put your hands on your head,” she ordered him.
Travis didn’t move. He focused his anger on Ralston. “I thought we were friends, man.”
Ralston leaned casually against the open top drawer of one of the filing cabinets pushed against the wall. Old, yellow-streaked paint cans were perched atop the cabinet. The two men were ten feet apart, and Maggie worried that Travis might charge the smaller man. She could see Ralston keeping a wary eye on Travis for the same reason.
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