by Hawk, Nate
“Come in and sit down, Steven” she said, too irritated and exhausted to address ASAC Lynch with any level of formality.
Continuing, she unleashed a tirade of profanity and disgust that left Steven feeling paralyzed in the seat he had dumbly sat down in. She was standing now, just giving it to him.
“Two out of the last five days I’ve spent the entire day on a goddamn airplane,” she continued. “They finally pull my ass out of the backcountry, at which time I find out you’ve been flying your airplane around while terrorists are assaulting people, stalking them and blowing up the Boston Marathon! What the hell, Steven?” she seemed to ask rhetorically.
But what if it wasn’t rhetorical? He figured she was just lambasting him to make a point but maybe she expected an answer. He was good at analyzing Intel but he wasn’t good at analyzing a woman’s nuances. Maybe if he broke the silence he could calm her down a little bit.
“I just didn’t see it coming,” he stupidly admitted, not sure what to say.
His comment had the appearance that he hadn’t put enough thought anything he had been doing lately.
“Well, that’s pretty obvious, now isn’t it?” she scolded.
He knew he had messed up. He realized that he should have tried to identify the man but he also knew he had to keep gaining traction in the investigation, if he were ever to move forward out of this nightmare.
“Now I’ve got the CIA and the DoD telling me not to pursue this third suspect, this Niko Plotnikov character, because his dossier has been marked Top Secret, under the auspices of national security. I’ll never understand how you carelessly waded into this disaster, Steven. Care to go burn down some orphanages or run over old ladies crossing the street?”
“I’ve got a hold of it now,” he promised, “One suspect is dead and the other suspect’s interrogation has provided essential information for the intelligence community.”
“Well, obviously I’m back now and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that this wasn’t a good way to embark upon acting SAC. Your file will have to be noted and you’re going to have to pick it up if you have any expectation of maintaining your current position. The Bureau expects a hell of a lot more than this Steven.”
She was growing bored of reprimanding him so she finished the lopsided conversation with, “Leave the Niko Plotnikov angle alone and hope to God that the press doesn’t get a hold of the fact that one suspect targeted at least one of the victims. Not to mention the fact that the same man was a person of interest for other crimes. You know the media will run with this and burn you at the stake. It’ll be your career and your ass! Not mine!” she promised.
And just like that, as fast as the deluge of failures had been addressed, the ASAC was sent on his way, wondering how he was going to make up for this abysmal failure. He knew he was in deep shit. He’d had a rough patch or two in the past but this one took the prize. How could he get this situation turned around?
***
Chapter 23
Kelly’s mind was spinning in guilt from the information that he now had surrounding the terror event. Kelly and excruciating emotional pain were old acquaintances, seemingly reunited yet again. He knew that sometimes there was just nothing you could do to prevent death but he sure wasn’t convinced that this had been one of those times.
This attack brought back the familiar pain of survivor’s guilt to the forefront of his mind. He’d done a four-year stint in the Marine Corps, which he’d survived and other good Marines hadn’t. His experience with IEDs, and a near obsession with disarming explosives, had ultimately led to him to joining the police force in Boston. He’d had to deal with death there too but nothing that had felt like losing his family.
Looking back now, Kelly wasn’t sure if he pursued terrorists or if they pursued him. The two seemed like a fully complementary pair, one requiring the other for the universe to be in harmony. He never complained that fate had chosen him for the task, but why did those that he loved have to be the ones that paid the ultimate price? The answer to his question seemed to be bigger than he could comprehend; yet it was always on his mind. Kelly would happily have given his life in place of any of those that he had lost.
Kelly hadn’t seen Steven much in the last couple of days so he figured his friend was probably blaming himself. Maybe he was avoiding Kelly because he thought, surely after this, Kelly would attribute Jen’s death to Steven’s lack of help in the identification of the perpetrator of her assault. On the contrary, Kelly wasn’t upset with Steven. Kelly knew Steven didn’t have time for simple assaults in downtown Boston. That was a job for the city police. Besides, how could either one of them have known? Kelly still felt that he could have done more himself. He knew there was only so much time in each day but he now understood that he had managed his time poorly.
Meanwhile, Kelly was finally getting visitors. In the early days there were always a few officers in the waiting area, mostly as a symbolic gesture towards one of their fallen. They’d stand around sipping coffee and telling dry cop jokes while trying not to dwell too much on their mangled friend upstairs. Additionally, Lieutenant Randy Cross had stationed an officer directly outside Kelly’s door. He had insisted it was for Kelly’s safety but Kelly suspected it was more symbolic than necessary. Several police officers had dropped by his hospital room, now personally offering words of encouragement. They would all reassure him that he’d be out in no time and back at work. As they left, Kelly always wondered if they really believed the words that they had used. He wasn’t the type to obsess about such things but he was curious if his visitors were just being obligingly kind or if they truly understood his determination. Probably the former, he thought, but looking at himself he couldn’t blame them if they were only paying lip service.
Jen’s family had come by, seemingly friendly, but understandably with a much different demeanor than their previous few get-togethers. It seemed to Kelly that there were a lot of unspoken words between them. Jen’s mother had been the one that had done most of the talking while her father produced an intense glare directed towards Kelly. Kelly quietly learned that Jen and Brady were to be put to rest the next day, side by side, in a quiet corner of the Massachusetts countryside. Of course, Kelly knew he should have been present at the ceremony but the nurses and doctors wouldn’t possibly permit that. With a thickening layer of guilt on his conscience, he found himself preferring it that way. He didn’t really want to be there in a twisted physical and mental state. And besides, a man was supposed to protect his family. Kelly knew this and Jen’s dad’s eyes had reassured him of it. Additionally, he knew the mourners would be eyeballing him and asking absurd questions about how he was doing. How the hell did they think he was doing?
They would tell him everything would be OK. They would tell him Jen and Brady were with God and were at peace. Kelly would be sitting there wondering what kind of God would take a seven-year-old boy and his mother from the earth in that manner. In pieces.
He’d rather grieve in private and visit the gravesites on his own, in his own way. Besides, what was he supposed to do, escape from the hospital? The whole situation was a horrible ending to such a tragic and senseless event. Kelly told himself that their demeanor was solely due to the fact that they had lost their daughter and grandson. But deep down, he knew better. Too many other thoughts plagued his mind. Did they blame him? He was the Bomb Squad expert, after all. Why was he participating in the marathon that day instead of performing a duty to his city and its residents that he was sworn to protect? Some job he had done. Could he ever escape the guilt and blame? He wasn’t sure.
Just then, an officer that had graduated in the same academy class as Kelly, poked her head in as she knocked on the door. Brooke Moore had a medium frame, at that moment dressed in her street uniform with her blond hair pinned up. She was holding two items in her hands. The first was her hat, both out of respect for being indoors and because she knew that she looked more attractive and personal without it. If Kelly wa
s in any condition to care, he would have agreed. The second looked like a magazine of some sort.
“You look like shit, Kelly,” she said in a truthful but playful way.
He gave her a half smile for her effort.
“You should see the other guy,” he said humorlessly.
She smiled at him as he curiously eyed the magazine that she was holding.
“I thought you would want to know that you made the cover of Newsweek,” she said flatly.
Kelly glanced down at the magazine in her hands. She didn’t hold the cover up for him to see. She just wanted him to know and figured that he would look at it later. She certainly hadn’t come to upset him. On the contrary, she cared for him deeply. Perhaps too much for her own good. If he would have looked, he would have seen himself on the cover. He was crawling on all fours yelling something in the direction of the finish line. One hand was stretched out as if he was reaching for something. It was a photo that he’d already heard about. She laid the magazine down on the hospital table with the back cover facing up.
“When are they going to let you out of here?”
“I’m beginning to wonder myself. Any day now, I’m sure,” he said sarcastically.
“Everyone at work misses you, Kelly,” she said, emphasizing her statement with a sincere expression.
He hesitated while he studied her body language out of habit (this time an unnecessary reaction) to see if she truly believed what she was saying. It was clear to him that she did. Before he could reply, Nurse Megan rapped on the doorframe softly as she rolled Kelly’s dinner in to him. Then the strangest thing happened. For a split second, Kelly thought the two women had made a careful assessment of each other. Had they just sized each other up?
Kelly shook it off, convincing himself that he was imagining things. However, at a minimum, both minds were calculating proper etiquette as nurses and visitors often do. That’s probably all that it was, Kelly admitted. The glances and assessments took but a millisecond so the atmosphere continued on without any noticeable uncomfortableness.
“Hi. I’ll just be a few minutes,” Megan promised.
The nurse picked up a stethoscope and quickly grabbed Kelly’s wrist, promising a full meal just as soon as she took his vitals.
“Don’t bother,” he joked, in some subconscious desire to entertain his guest. “The hospital food might finish me off.”
Officer Moore appreciated Kelly’s will to attempt humor in such a time. She knew he must get past the awful event, implementing useful defense mechanisms when he needed. In fact, she had used humor herself during her own difficult times. Two years previous, Kelly had been able to help Brooke with a family situation back in her home state of Arkansas. After becoming close with Brooke, Kelly had taken some personal time off and helped what was left of the Moore family regain control of their lives. And their dignity.
Brooke excused herself as the nurse prepared the food cart for her patient. Megan was happy to see that Kelly had come around and was making an effort to be conversational again.
As she removed the lid she offered some words of encouragement, “The food is warm, at least,” looking as if his joke about the food may have hurt her feelings, ever so slightly.
She picked up his chart continuing with her usual procedure including her typical written notations.
Kelly purposefully broke the silence and asked, “I’ve had enough of this bed. How much longer am I going to be here?”
“Well, we were sure you’d be asking. The doctor wants to speak with you once he is finished with his current patient.”
That sounded fine to Kelly. He might as well hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. Just then Doctor Gerard entered without so much as a knock.
“Hey, Kelly! How are we feeling?”
Kelly thought it was interesting how he used the word ‘we’. Was that some kind of psychological wording designed to generate a rapport?
“I’m OK. I’ve got plenty of reading,” he said sarcastically, as he pointed to the magazine on the table.
Doctor Gerrard assessed Kelly’s demeanor. He was encouraged to see his patient attempting humor. The doctor realized that Kelly was the type of man that liked the news straight up. So that’s how he gave it to him.
“There are two injuries that are currently requiring your continued treatment as an inpatient. The first and most serious is your cranial injury, which, as you know, needs to continue fusing itself back together. So far we are very optimistic with your progress. The second injury that we are keeping a close eye on is your foot. I expect both injuries will require you to stay as an inpatient for two or three more weeks. You will still have to take it slow and let your body heal for the next several months. You’ve been through a lot Kelly.”
“Several months, eh?” Kelly asked dryly.
Kelly thought about this suggested time frame. I don’t think ‘taking it slow’ is going to happen, he didn’t need to say. Doctor Gerrard picked up on Kelly’s apprehension of the recommended time frame. He saw that Kelly wasn’t the type to take such advice under much consideration.
***
Chapter 24
Kelly was now resuming a somewhat regular sleep schedule. That was good with him because he didn’t like the mystery of being unsure if it was day or night. He was growing restless as his brain and body continued their slow process of healing. He was mostly thinking about his upcoming discharge from the hospital. There were many things to do and lying around sure wasn’t getting anything accomplished.
Kelly of course had heavy thoughts running through his mind. He was well aware that there had been a funeral service that morning for Jen and Brady. He never would have thought that they would be buried before he was. Kelly was allowing himself to be angry because he felt that was better than the alternative. The alternative was breaking down completely. He thought it was best that the anger hid the deeper emotional pitfalls, which lay just under the surface. He felt like anger was all that he had at the moment. He longed for a shot or two of Kentucky bourbon.
ASAC Steven Lynch walked in Kelly’s new room with a potted flower and placed it on the windowsill.
“It’s from the ceremony,” he said, with some rawness to his voice.
No shit, Kelly thought, angered at himself that he preferred not being at the ceremony.
Steven was dressed in his usual outfit, a jacket and dress slacks, the only difference being the lack of a colorful tie. His was black.
“Yeah,” Kelly managed to say.
He pointed with his head towards the windowsill. It looks nice, he thought he should say. He didn’t add anything to his simple comment, but instead switched his mind to the topic that Steven had been dreading.
“I hate myself for not doing more,” Kelly said.
“Kelly, listen, I feel the same way. But I have run the last couple of weeks through my head and I just don’t see what we could have done differently.”
“I don’t mean you. We both know this was a BPD case. I mean me! This motherfucker that the police killed pursued my family and destroyed them. I could have done more Steven! I should have been pursuing him instead of taking off personal days!”
Steven knew the feelings of guilt but he thought that Kelly was unfairly placing too much of the blame on himself. How could Kelly have known what was going to happen after what seemed to be a relatively simple assault on Jen and Kristin? Besides, what could Kelly have done?
“Look Kelly, this guy Bekhan didn’t have a criminal record so we wouldn’t have found a mug shot. Maybe if I had shown the sketch to more people, someone would have recognized him,” Steven said.
Both men knew the chances of a positive ID before the bombings simply didn’t exist for a man with no criminal background residing in a city with a population of a million. Plus, they didn’t even know if the man actually lived in Boston. But that knowledge didn’t seem to ease any of their guilt though.
“It sounds like this guy heard Jen and her friend talking abou
t the race. I’m sure the Chechen brothers had already planned on perpetrating the bombing,” Steven said. “After the incident at the café , Bekhan just trained his crosshairs on Jen. It is all so hard to digest. So unbelievable.”
Was it really that simple, though? Kelly had similar thoughts but he suspected there were additional players that had taken part in the bombing. Kelly wasn’t seeing straight but what he did see was revenge. He wasn’t about to let this go unpunished. He had thought he had gotten his fill of killing in Iraq. Now that his family was gone he felt overwhelmed with a desire to kill those responsible. Kelly was sure that the plot didn’t stop with just the two brothers.
“There had to be more to this terror cell. What has the Bureau put together so far?”
Kelly was hoping Steven would level with him. He was studying his friend like a cop, watching Steven’s body language for signs of half-truths and omissions. Steven knew he would have to level with his friend sooner or later. He might as well do it then while he still had some trust left from Kelly.
“Well, here is the thing, Kelly,” Steven began reluctantly. “The FBI tracked the brothers’ known associates and came up with a local boxing coach: one Niko Plotnikov. Of course, he was gone by the time we got there, which was only a few hours after the incident. Our suspicions were later confirmed by the interrogation of the surviving brother that the Bureau picked up. So Plotnikov stole his landlord’s SUV and took off to parts unknown, likely disappearing somewhere within the Jamaat Al Fuqra organization.”