Helix of Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  “Thanks for coming. I got some news. The explosives techs just called. It seems Mr. Reed was the victim of a swindle,” Carter said with a wide grin.

  “How’s that?” Cole did not return the smile.

  “His two cylinders of plutonium necessary to create an atomic reaction? Seems they were just industrial-grade steel to which somebody had given a coating of radioactive material. Unless you used them as a pillow for years on end, they were pretty much harmless. So, we were actually in no threat of a nuclear explosion.”

  “What about the C-4?”

  “That was real enough. It would have made a real big crater of the Shopping Centre and probably taken out the BART station. We’ll never know how many lives you saved.” Carter reached out and slapped Cole on the shoulder.

  “So, no nuke. No nuke, no lie.”

  “Lie?”

  “Cover-up, deceit, whatever you want to call it. No nuke, no problem, right?”

  “I suppose you could look at it that way. You’ve been around long enough to know how things work.”

  “I was just never on the inside looking out before. I usually do the uncovering, not the covering-up.”

  Carter Washington studied Cole for a long while before he spoke again. “That thing you said to me, after it was all over, you remember? You said, ‘It seems this is how far I would go to protect those I love.’”

  “Whatever it took.” Cole couldn’t believe he was answering the same question he put to Ben just days before.

  “That must mean your country, too.”

  “I guess so.”

  “You see, whether or not there was a nuke is not the question—or at least shouldn’t be. The real question is, when it was necessary, you did what was needed. We of the Bureau are sworn to protect the laws and people of the United States. It’s not glamorous or pleasant most of the time. But we do it. Do the people always know we’ve done it? No. You see our willingness to not tell everything about this incident today as a cover-up or a lie. We see it as simply another example of protecting our country and its citizens not knowing just how much danger there was.” Carter smiled at Cole. “Cole, you did a courageous thing today. You saw your responsibility and you did it. I’m sorry you see it as less than the heroic thing it was.”

  “Agent Washington! It’s time to get started!” A man from the bank of microphones called to Washington.

  “That’s us. Say as much or as little as you want. Give me the high sign if you want to stop.”

  Cole reached out his hand to Carter Washington. “Thank you, Carter. This has been, I don’t know, more than I think I could have handled without…” Cole paused.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Washington pointed at the podium.

  Dozens of microphones clustered in front of it. What seemed like an equal number of news people crowded the podium and down the steps. Police kept hundreds of curious onlookers behind a line of blue at the bottom of the steps. The suits merged, and a separation by rank divided the group without a word being spoken. A thickly built man with a head of grey hair approached the podium. He stood like a rock and waited for the crowd to silence itself. He reached up, took off his sunglasses, slipped them into his olive green suit, and nodded to someone in the waiting crowd.

  “Good afternoon. I am Elliott Myer of the General’s Office, San Francisco. Today we were faced with an attempt to terrorize the people of San Francisco and the United States. Due to the diligent work of the FBI, San Francisco Police, and the heroic selflessness of a private citizen, the incident was brought to an end without loss of life or property. I’d like to introduce Special Agent Carter Washington of the FBI who will make a brief statement, introduce Mr. Cole Sage, and then they’ll take your questions. Thank you for coming. Agent Washington?”

  The crowd of reporters jockeyed for position, and the clacking of cameras broke the silence. As Carter Washington came to the podium, one reporter lost his footing and fell back, knocking another man to his knees on the steps. After a brief moment of jostling and regrouping, the group fell silent again.

  “Thank you, Mr. Myer. Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I want to make a brief statement and then introduce Mr. Sage. After his statement, we’ll take your questions.

  “At approximately 10:15 this morning, a man now identified as one Jason Weston Reed chained himself to the escalator at the San Francisco Shopping Centre on Market Street. Mr. Reed then told security personnel that he had a bomb.

  “Federal authorities, including the FBI, were aware of Mr. Reed and were making every effort to apprehend him in connection to three bombings in the Chicago area. As you know, Mr. Reed contacted the San Francisco Chronicle and demanded the printing of what we referred to as the Reed Manifesto. Based upon his actions in Chicago and the threats made here in San Francisco, it was recommended that his writings be published. After the incident in Golden Gate Park, it was apparent Mr. Reed was serious in his threats.

  “Since this morning, the full investigative resources of the FBI have been put to work researching the life and activities of Jason Reed. We have a printed statement you will be given with all the details we have so far. Obviously, this is only the beginning of what will be an ongoing investigation. Due to the sensitive nature of these investigations, I cannot comment on the specifics of each case. State and local authorities have been, and will continue to be, contacted regarding numerous unsolved cases we believe Mr. Reed was involved in, including, but not limited to, murder, assault, and arson.

  “Today’s incident ends Mr. Reed’s long career of radical anti-government, anti-military, and anti-American acts of violence, terror, and treason unparalleled in U.S. history.

  “I want you to know, but for the courageous efforts of Mr. Sage, this press conference would have a far different message, and the outcome of today’s events would have had a tragic and devastating end. Mr. Sage will now give a brief statement, after which time we will answer your questions. As you can imagine, this has been a difficult day for him, and I ask you to show restraint and compassion. Mr. Sage?” Washington stepped back from the podium and motioned Cole forward.

  Cole looked out at the sea of reporters, cameras, and microphones. Everything Washington said was true. The fire of anger that enflamed Cole cooled. There was a feeling of resignation to protect the public. As a writer, he always fought for the people’s right to know. He always fought for the rights of the little guy, fought to expose greed and dishonesty of those betraying the public trust. Now he found himself in the position where he could protect the people from information that could bring harm. Like a father protecting his children, Cole realized his words could heal and help or they could hurt.

  The job of a terrorist is to take away the peace of mind of his enemy. Jason Reed thought that bombing the Shopping Centre would bring on a revolution. The result would have been damaging the peace of mind of the people of America. If Cole did anything to plant the smallest seed of fear, then Jason Reed had won.

  Cole stepped to the podium. He took a deep breath and looked at the mural across the plaza—TRUTH. He would tell the truth, his truth.

  “My name is Cole Sage. I’m a writer. As a columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, it’s my job to look for the truth. Today, I discovered a new truth.” Cole paused.

  Carter Washington wondered if he made a mistake putting Cole in front of the cameras. He shifted his weight uneasily but did not change expressions.

  “Today, I was confronted with a very disturbed, angry, and confused person: Jason Reed. In his twisted vision of the world, he thought that destruction of San Francisco and the death of thousands would cause people to rise up in revolution.

  “In my world, people like Reed are so few that they can create only minor disturbances. I like to believe even those with strong agendas—radical, political, or social—still hold human life sacred. As Jason Reed’s story unfolds, look at the life of this troubled man and pause to reflect what our daily actions can bring. Our families, our friends
, and the people we come in contact with every day—we have an impact on their lives, and their lives can have a great impact on our world. Use your life as a positive in the life of someone like Jason Reed. There was a time when someone could have made a difference in his life.

  “In Exodus 20:13, it says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ Today, I did just that. That will be with me the rest of my time on this earth. It’s my hope that God will see my heart and forgive my taking a life. Please make this city and this planet a place that the Jason Reeds have no reason to hate. Jason Reed took my words—the words of a column I wrote almost 20 years ago—and turned them into a way to begin this nightmare.

  “Please take my words today and make a connection. Promise with me to be a positive force in this world and to never create a Jason Reed again. Thank you.”

  The questioning of Carter Washington went on for 10 or 15 minutes. Most questions centered on Jason Reed and his background, motivation, and access to high explosives. Numerous questions were answered with “No comment” or “We don’t have all the facts yet.” Cole was aware that he was in the position he’d put people in for years: He watched peers and colleagues jockey for position and fall into a pre-established pecking order. The questions for Cole mostly centered around Reed’s contacts with him, Cole’s thoughts on Reed’s politics, observations on FBI and local law enforcement and how they dealt with homegrown terrorists. One reporter raised the connection between Cole and the Chicago bombings. Washington was quick to derail the line of questioning: “That’s an ongoing investigation, and no comments will be made at this time about Chicago and any of Jason Reed’s activities there.”

  Carter Washington checked his watch and stepped beside Cole. “We have time for four or five more questions.”

  “How was he actually killed, Mr. Sage?” a man in the second row shouted.

  “We don’t need to get into that now. It will be in the official report; you’ll all get a copy. Next question,” Washington said without hesitation.

  “What did he want to tell you, Mr. Sage? What was his main objective?”

  “He said that there were thousands, maybe millions who wanted to bring down the governments of the world and were waiting for him, the savior of the world, to sacrifice himself to start the revolution. Then they would rise up, and the governments of the world would be destroyed.”

  “Was Reed connected with any known terrorist groups?” “Not that we know of at this time.”

  “Mr. Sage! What was the last thing Reed said to you?”

  “He told me I had one hour to get out of harm’s way and write the story of our meeting. He said I would become part of history.” Cole looked directly at the young man who asked the question. “I don’t think that will happen.”

  A tall, thin woman near the edge of the crowd cried out with a thin reedy voice, “Agent Washington! Does the FBI condone this type of vigilante murder?”

  “Name and paper,” Washington said in a steely tone.

  “Tina Birmin. Berkeley Daily Planet,” she shouted back.

  “Ms. Birmin, Mr. Sage’s actions were neither murderous nor vigilante. In the face of great personal danger, Cole Sage went into the building to meet Jason Reed with the full knowledge of Reed’s vow to detonate the bomb. To protect innocent lives, Mr. Sage removed the threat of the bomb. There was no preplanning or time to map a strategy in dealing with this situation. Reed demanded to meet with Mr. Sage. Mr. Sage was told of Reed’s demands and stepped forward to assist and, at the time, entering that building had only one conclusion. Mr. Sage saw an opportunity and used lethal force to eliminate what was an eminent threat of tremendous destruction. In this case, we not only condone Mr. Sage’s actions but applaud them. Last question.”

  A reporter from CNN whom Cole knew in Chicago stepped closer to the podium. “Cole, will you write the story?”

  “Nice to see you, Alan. The FBI has asked me to not divulge certain aspects of what happened this morning. I will respect that. In the future, I’ll write of this incident, but not in the way Jason Reed would have wanted.”

  Carter Washington leaned forward and said, “Thank you, no more questions.” He grabbed Cole by the shoulder, turning him from the reporters and toward the front of the Federal Building.

  The group of FBI agents, Justice Department personnel, and representatives of local law enforcement moved quickly into the lobby of the Federal Building. Washington turned to Cole and nodded his head. “Nice job.”

  “So, now what?”

  “I’m off to Washington. The night I picked you up at your hotel in D.C., I had just come from a meeting at the Director’s office. Yours truly has been kicked upstairs. I’ve been chosen to be No. 2 to the Executive Assistant Director for Counter-Terrorism and Counter-Intelligence. Is that a mouthful or what?”

  “Will it all fit on a card?” Cole smiled.

  “Hope so. This thing with Reed sort of sidetracked larger programs the Bureau is trying to get online. It’s a good news/bad news kind of position. Good news: If I succeed and the programs make the Director look good, I’ll have a place in the Hoover Building for the next 15 years or so until I retire. Bad news: If it doesn’t fly, you can send my Christmas card to Biloxi. For now, I have the momentum and attention of everyone in the Bureau to get the job done.”

  “So, that’s why all the doors you knocked on flew open so quickly. If you’re this new big shot, why did you pick me up? Why didn’t they use a field agent or some flunky; how’d I rate?”

  “Tell you the truth, I was going anyway. Sort of a perk of the job, and the president wanted to congratulate me—at least, that was the Director’s story. I think they just wanted to get some PR legs out of the photo op. You didn’t see that part of the evening.” Washington shrugged. “It was nice, a real honor. I didn’t mean to belittle it.”

  “Carter, it has been a real eye-opener, this whole thing. I’ve met and worked with the Bureau over the years, but it was always at arm’s length. I have a new respect for what you guys do. I’ve always had an image of this cloak-and-dagger, G-Man snoop group. I was wrong, at least partially. I still think you guys were all wet on the John Lennon thing.” Cole grinned. “I met two very special people through this, though. If you’re in the city, you need to see the Giants play in the new stadium, and we never got to Tommy’s Joint for buffalo stew, either. Next time you see Sarah, please say ‘hello.’”

  “Will do. You know something? Without sounding too sappy, you would have made one hell of an FBI agent.”

  Cole raised his eyebrows and grinned, then turned and started toward the side entrance.

  “Better use the garage exit. Gets you past the mess out front. You know how newspaper people are.” Washington smiled and went to join the group of agents on the far side of the lobby.

  “Until next time, then.” Cole waved and walked to the elevator.

  Cole drove toward the Chronicle, but after a few blocks, turned, and headed for home. There would be time enough to tell and retell the story of “The Great San Francisco Shopping Center Bomber.” Right now, he needed home and some peace and quiet. He drove in silence; this was not the time for music, the latest news, or talk radio. As he drove, he hummed quietly and took in the sights around him. Most of the people he saw were blissfully ignorant of the morning’s events. Jason Reed died unaware of the futility of his grand scheme. Just like the old song, “Time and tide will just keep rolling along,” Cole just hummed and rolled along home.

  Once inside the big oak door, Cole walked to the couch and plopped into its cool leather embrace. He grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV. Hugh Romney was frozen on the screen. The Woodstock DVD had been on pause ever since Kelly Mitchell called about the dinner invitation. Wavy Gravy, the hippie clown alter ego of Hugh Romney, was on the stage. Cole pushed play.

  “Some hamburger guy had his stand burned down last night…” Cole laughed out loud and hit the power button. “Enough already.” Cole stood and walked to the phone. He pushed the recent
calls button.

  “Hello,” came a cheerful female voice.

  “Would you mind if I came and saw your boat today? There’s still about three of hours of daylight left.” Cole waited, holding his breath.

  “I think that would be wonderful!” Kelly Mitchell responded happily.

  PLEASE CONSIDER THIS

  If you have enjoyed Helix of Cole, please take a moment now and leave a review on Amazon. Readers like you are the best advertisement in the world!

  CONTINUE READING FOR AN EXCERPT OF THE NEXT COLE SAGE MYSTERY, COLE DUST:

  CHAPTER 1

  The crisp white paper of the examination table crunched under Cole’s elbows. He stood in the chilly examination room, briefs around his ankles, bent over at a right angle. Once a year as much as he hated it, Cole made the appointment and went to the doctor for his annual physical. His father was a doctor-hater, but Cole’s mother always made him go. Even though he had no caring wife willing to fight tooth and nail like his mother used to do assuring the appointment was kept, the tradition was so ingrained in Cole he kept it like Christmas, Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July. Once a year he suffered through the twenty-five minutes of prods, pokes, coughs and “say ahhs” for the assurance he just might make it through another year.

  “OK let’s have a look here.” Cole heard a latex glove snap around a wrist as the man behind him spoke.

  Cole grimaced and stared at the pastoral print above him of two boys with fishing poles walking across a grassy field down toward a river. How he wished he was going fishing. The feel of the doctor grabbing Cole’s left buttocks, and inserting his KY jellied fingers deep into his backside, interrupted Cole’s thoughts.

  “Everything feels OK up there. Prostrate is normal size. No problems.” Cole heard the gloves snap again. “Here you go.” The doctor handed him a tissue. “You can clean yourself with that. Then get dressed.”