by Jonas Saul
“I came to report that we had two casualties, sir.”
“Two?” Lee said.
“Two?” Sarah whispered to herself.
Parkman pushed off the wall.
“The driver of the vehicle, a John Hampton, identified by his girlfriend, Susan. And Officer Mary Stein with the Vancouver Bomb Squad.”
“How was she close enough to the van?” Lee asked.
The tension in the room thickened. An officer killed. That would not bode well for Sarah. She was here to save people. By blocking off the intersection, they had saved members of the public. But somehow, through Sarah’s actions, one of the authorities had been killed. A woman. That would instill deeper sympathies.
“After the first explosion, the minivan rolled until it rested against the B.C. Health Services building. Moments before the van arrived, two bomb squad members were sent into the building looking for a man in a black suit that apparently was not evacuated. According to Officer Stein’s partner, the man in the black suit was not found.” Officer Hallagan stared at Sarah. “The building was empty, sir. Officer Stein was exiting the building when the second bomb exploded five feet from her.” Hallagan turned his eyes back on Lee. “Even with all her gear, she didn’t make it, sir.”
Lee’s hands hung at his sides. He stared at the floor. Parkman watched him, then exchanged a glance with Sarah.
She had sent them into that building on a wild goose chase. But she had seen that man on the second floor. It wasn’t imagined. He’d motioned to her with his hand in an odd fashion.
Lee glanced over his shoulder to look at Sarah. She could almost read his mind. Not safe for Sarah in Kelowna anymore. She needed to leave. Not show her face on the street.
Lee turned back to Hallagan. “Anything else?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Shut the door, then.”
Hallagan stole another look at Sarah, paused a moment, then eased out of the room and closed the door. A second later, the latch clicked.
“What now?” Parkman asked.
Lee wiped his face with both hands. “I don’t know,” came the muffled reply. He shook his head and walked toward the door. “We have to deal with an officer’s death now. Think about where you want to go, what you’re going to do.”
“What?” Parkman frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lee stopped at the door. “They’re going to blame Sarah for Stein’s death. Say she sent those bomb squad officers into that building. They found nothing. If what Hallagan’s saying proves correct—shit man, they’re probably already doing that as we speak. She needs to leave Kelowna.”
“We just got here. You’ve got a real problem on your hands. Sarah can help.” Parkman faced her. “Right?”
“Help?” Sarah said. She started toward the two men at the door. “Not just help. I can fix this. I can stop it. I just don’t know how yet.”
“I think we’re too late for that,” Lee said. “We’ll have to rely on old-fashioned police work.”
He turned the knob and pulled on the door. It slammed shut half a second later as Parkman slapped his right hand on it, barring his exit.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lee barked.
“We’re not through here. If you’re throwing us out, then you get us out of town. This is on you.”
Vivian whispered in Sarah’s head. Sarah looked away from the two men, a blank stare on her face as she listened to her sister whisper the words she might have had to write on a piece of paper years ago when she was an automatic writer. Vivian got Sarah to understand what she needed to do and hated the thought of it at the same time.
“Is there any other way?” Sarah asked out loud. “Are you sure it has to be done like that?”
Both men looked at her as Vivian answered.
“Shit,” Sarah whispered under her breath. “Thought so.” She checked her watch, then met Lee’s eyes. “Sometimes I hate my job.”
She crossed the space between her and Lee in seconds, raised her leg and brought it down on the back of his knee. Lee dropped to the floor with a small yip. He fumbled with Sarah in an attempt to push her away from him, but she easily smacked his hands away. From his belt loop, she unclipped his car keys and relieved him of his weapon before he could grasp her, then stepped back out of his reach.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Lee shouted as he scrambled back to his feet. “You’ll end up in prison for this.”
Sarah had backed away, his keys already in her pocket, his gun held loosely at her side.
“Sarah?” Parkman asked, his voice soft, caring. “What is this?”
“Another bomb.” She looked at her watch. “Eight minutes. This time the bomber is delivering it himself.”
“Then tell me,” Lee pleaded. “We’ll go together.”
“There’s no time. I see it detonating. Coffee shop. Seventeen dead. I don’t want another cop close to this one. I can’t have that on my conscience.” She clicked the safety off on Lee’s weapon. “Now. Step aside.”
Lee moved in front of the door.
“I thought so,” Sarah muttered. “By blocking that door, you’re telling me that you’re more important than those people who will die in just over seven minutes. Your ego is bruised.” Sarah moved closer. Parkman edged back. “I’m here to save lives,” she shouted. “Get the fuck out of the way or you will be hurt. Is that what you want, a free trip to the hospital?”
“Sarah,” Parkman cautioned. “Go easy.”
Lee’s confidence wavered. He started to move, then didn’t.
She came in low, dropped her left fist into his sternum and elbowed his cheek with her right arm as he bent toward her from the impact of the first blow. As Lee grabbed for her, she kicked his feet out from under him.
She slid the gun into her waistband and wrenched the door open.
“Sarah?” Parkman shouted. “I’ll come.”
“Not this time,” she shouted back as she ran through the clothing store and out onto the sidewalk. “Keep him off me.”
Seven minutes …
“Too close,” she railed at Vivian.
A paramedic’s bag sat on the ground, blocking her exit. She jumped it and ran for Lee’s unmarked cruiser twenty feet away. She dropped inside, started it, and squealed away from the emergency vehicles lining the street.
In her rearview mirror, Lee came running out of the clothing store pointing at his car, his mouth open wide as he shouted something. Before she turned the next corner, it was clear other officers were running for their vehicles to give chase.
Sarah took the corner, the back tires screaming for purchase, then dropped the accelerator and gunned the engine. Before she hit the next streetlight, she’d flicked on the siren and the small rounded lights in the corners of the windows.
Maybe this time she would be able to grab the guy setting all these bombs around the city and end this thing before he killed more people.
Maybe.
Chapter 4
Sarah ran two red lights with the use of the siren. At one point, as she approached the intersection of Harvey and Spall, she had to drive in the opposing lane as traffic was too tight to squeeze through. As she neared the mall, she turned the siren and lights off to avoid warning the perp she was coming.
With a minute and a half to spare, she parked in front of a large drug store where she left the car, driver’s side door wide open. Three seconds were wasted in front of the automatic doors as they slid apart slowly. When she entered the mall, a rugged-looking guy leaving the mall almost collided with her. She spun off his shoulder and scanned faces in the immediate area. The perp was close. He was among the people at the entrance. The bomb was in a backpack to her right sitting in a chair in the coffee shop that was part of a large book store. Because it was common practice for patrons to leave a bag in a chair while in line for a coffee, the bomber felt his backpack would go unnoticed—at least until the bomb detonated. Then everyone would notice.
But the bomber—the unidentified subject, the perp—wasn’t in the line. He wasn’t even in the coffee shop anymore. He had left through the bookstore’s mall entrance and was just now leaving the building. She had no image to go on, no idea what he looked like. All she heard from the other side was the guy was dead already, which didn’t make any sense.
Dead already? How?
Vivian remained quiet.
Fifty-five seconds left.
Police sirens wailed outside the building, catching the attention of shoppers who slowed their pace and tried to catch a glimpse of what was happening on the other side of the entrance.
Sarah ignored the racket outside and entered the coffee shop attached to the bookstore. Just over half a minute left. She was shocked to see the place was nearly full. Half a dozen people lined up to order beverages. Five employees crowded behind the counter, busily running around preparing drinks while two girls worked the tills. Six people waited for coffees to be served at the far right. There were at least a dozen people sitting at tables. Some were on laptops, some reading, others chatting with one another.
Sarah walked into the center of the coffee shop and yelled one word.
“Bomb!”
Heads turned toward her, but no one reacted. No one got up to leave. She read their faces. Precious seconds ticked by. Their was obvious distrust of some lunatic among them, ranting in a coffee shop. It was like they expected a punchline to a joke. Punked came to mind. But nothing else happened. No one moved.
She scanned the chairs until her eyes locked on the black backpack sitting by itself on a wooden chair. It would explode in twenty seconds and the coffee shop patrons simply stared at her.
She lunged for the bag, withdrew Lee’s gun, raised it to the ceiling, and fired a round.
That got the patrons moving.
People ducked. A woman screamed. Someone spilled their coffee, then shot up from their seat, knocking the chair back a few feet. Another woman snatched her teenage daughters and ran for the aisles of the bookstore. The employees ducked behind the counter, but not far enough that they couldn’t peek above its edge. The coffee shop became a chaotic brew of spilled coffee, frantic moves, and exasperated grunts in the pandemonium.
While people ran away from her, Sarah clutched the top of the backpack gingerly and lifted it off the seat.
She faced the counter. “Get out of the back room,” she shouted. “All employees exit the building.” She started toward the counter. “Get out!” she shouted at the top of her voice.
Through the plate glass window to her right, a smattering of police officers entered the mall, running for the entrance to the bookstore. Sarah fired her weapon again. The employees weren’t leaving fast enough and she wanted to halt the officers’ approach.
After slipping behind the counter, she jostled past two baristas on her way to the back room.
Only a dozen seconds remained.
“Anyone left back there?” Sarah asked.
A dark-haired woman in a green apron, with a rather large piercing on her lower lip, shook her head violently back and forth.
“Empty,” she said, her voice broken with nerves.
Sarah opened the door to the back room, saw it was empty, then set the backpack down to rest against a large silver fridge.
Five seconds.
In panic mode, barely able to catch her breath, she turned around and leaped over the counter, then ran toward the waiting line of police officers hoping she would get enough room between her and the bomb.
“Run,” she shouted at the men blocking her way.
Her words got through to the assembled men. Their line wavered, then broke. But it was too late.
The explosion sent a shockwave outward. Sarah was thrust forward just as she was about to enter the mall. Knocked off her feet for the second time that day, she was thrust into a discount rack of books, making contact with her already sore right shoulder. The rack shook with the impact, but didn’t move out of the way. Instead, it knocked Sarah to the carpet where she covered her head to avoid flying debris.
The magazine rack was the closest to the explosion, which sent hundreds of shredded magazines into the air. Ripped and torn pieces of glossy paper slowly dropped from above.
Sarah sprawled on the floor, exhausted, eyes closed as she tried to reach her sister. It was over for now. No more bombs in the near future. She thought she understood something Vivian had said earlier about the bomber having one more bomb, something like a landmine, but it wasn’t set to be detonated for days. Vivian kept mentioning that the guy was dead already but she wasn’t clarifying what that meant.
If the guy was dead, then who delivered this bomb twenty minutes ago?
Sarah received no answer.
In her mind’s eye, the area where Vivian offered her picture clues as well as voice instructions, Sarah saw the international symbol for poison. A skull with two bones crossed below it, centered in a triangle.
What’s that, Vivian?
She perceived that Vivian would tell her soon.
My future’s looking great, she thought.
Another image fluttered into her consciousness. One word.
Sharpshooter.
Sarah opened her eyes and stared at the bookstore’s ceiling.
Explain some of this, Vivian. I’m dealing with a sharpshooter now? A sniper?
Someone grabbed her arms and flipped her onto her stomach. Pain flared in her right arm. She groaned as someone jammed a knee into the small of her back.
“Hey,” she shouted, but the word was muffled by the carpet. “Take it the fuck easy.”
“You’re under arrest, Sarah Roberts. Stop squirming, bitch.”
“Get the fuck off me,” she shouted when she could turn her head enough that she wasn’t eating the carpet.
Cold metal clamped over her wrists painfully, wrenching her sore arm back even farther.
Strong hands gripped her, then lifted her upright. She was half carried, half dragged out into the mall where a large crowd had gathered to watch the drama unfold.
She studied the crowd in search of a sharpshooter. Was she a target now? Was the perp watching her as the police dragged her to their cruiser?
Several people were being tended to as the glass separating the coffee shop from the mall had blown outward, cutting passersby. Other than minor wounds, the bomb caused significant damage to the back of the coffee shop and little damage to the front.
Two men with their girlfriends clapped by the doors as Sarah was taken outside. They had seen what Sarah had done.
“Thanks,” one of the men said. “That was brave.”
Sarah nodded their way.
As always, it was the authorities who got in her way. It was the authorities who misunderstood her. If she had taken the time to talk to Lee, convince him to come along and try to save the people at the coffee shop, they wouldn’t have made it. According to Vivian, the only method to successfully saving people from the coffee shop explosion was exactly what Sarah had done. But why hadn’t Vivian given her more warning, more time?
There were two bombs after all. Not just in the minivan. That was one, the other was in the coffee shop. Half an hour earlier, both bombs were en route to their location. Vivian must’ve simply misread or misunderstood that there were two bombs in the van and that was it. Once the van exploded, she’d seen the other device still on the move.
It made sense, but Sarah didn’t like it. There had to be a better way to communicate, a better way to stop the guy. Weren’t they closer, more in tune with each other, since the pact they’d made in Denmark?
Just tell me who he is, Sarah said as she was shoved into the backseat of a cruiser. We’ll pick the guy up and be done with it. I want to get back to Toronto.
Can’t, Vivian whispered. Because he’s dead.
So I’m looking for a ghost?
No …
You’re not making any sense, Vivian.
Because. Vivian paused. I’m being blocked.
<
br /> Blocked? Sarah stared out the cruiser’s window, seeing nothing. Blocked how?
The police car pulled away from the curb, headed back toward downtown.
Vivian? What do you mean by blocked?
A minute passed without an answer.
Vivian? Sarah waited. Then shouted, Vivian!
She received no answer.
Chapter 5
Thirio watched the police officers attack the girl. They held her down, then slapped cuffs on her. He watched as they hauled her to her feet and led her outside to a waiting cruiser. The RCMP doing their job. The RCMP always got their man, or in this case, their woman.