Enigma

by Dee Davis

  “We’re going to evacuate the children,” Sam whispered, nodding toward the hole in the ceiling. “I want one of you to go up first and the other to stay here and help me. We’ll boost the kids up and then they can crawl out.”

  The teacher nodded, her eyes glued to the box with the bomb. “What about you?”

  “As soon as everyone is out of here, then I’m going to disarm the thing.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to just do that now?” The woman asked, eyeing the crawl space with trepidation.

  “Don’t want to take any unnecessary chances,” Sam said, already focusing on the task at hand. “Look, I’d take them out myself, but I don’t want to risk trying to come back in here. I’m not certain how sensitive these things are.” She shot a look at first one trigger and then the other. “So you’ll go. All right?”

  The woman nodded, her emotions back in control. “How do you want me to get up there?”

  Sam eyeballed the woman, she was taller and a little heavier than Sam, but not by too much. “I think I can boost you up, if you can pull yourself into the crawl space.”

  “Fine.” The woman nodded, removed her sweater, and then pulled the back of her skirt through her legs to tuck into her waistband, creating an improvised set of culottes.

  Sam crouched, braced her hands on the woman’s thighs, whispered a count of three, and lifted. The first attempt failed, and the light near the door flickered ominously, but nothing happened, and Sam sucked in a breath and repeated the lift. This time the woman managed to pull herself up and into the crawl space, the trigger light remaining steady.

  After that is was short work to boost the eight children up and into the space. They weighed next to nothing and Sam’s heart lightened as the last one went through the opening. The second teacher had been standing near the center of the room, eyes glued to the two triggers. Now Sam motioned her over to the opening.

  Unlike the first teacher, this woman was much bigger. Sam guessed she outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, and she had a good six inches on her. The woman looked up at the hole and her colleague’s worried face, then back at Sam, her expression resolute.

  “I’m not going to be able to do this. At least not without making enough vibrations to bring the building down. Angela,” she called to the woman in the crawl space, “take the children and get out of here. I’ll stay with her.”

  Angela opened her mouth to protest, then evidently thought better of the idea, instead nodding at her friend. Sam hated the idea of having a civilian in the room, but had to agree that there was real danger in trying to get the woman out via the crawl space.

  There was a faint scraping noise as the children filed away, and Sam turned toward the window and Nigel’s anxious face. She signaled that the children were on their way, and he nodded, showing her the face of his watch and then holding up five fingers.

  Five minutes.

  She nodded in return, and he disappeared.

  “They’ll be all right?” The older teacher was standing by her elbow, her face shadowed with concern.

  “Absolutely. If something was going to happen it already would have.” She gave the woman a smile. “We’ve just got to wait here until I get the signal that they’re clear.”

  The woman nodded, wrapping her arms around her ample middle.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Melanie Johnson. But everyone calls me Mel.” The woman offered a weak smile.

  “I’m Sam Waters.” Sam held out a hand, and they solemnly shook. “What I’m going to be doing in a minute is X-ray the bomb to see what’s inside, and then, using this disrupter, I’ll disarm it.”

  “Disrupter?” Melanie looked at the machine in confusion.

  “It’s like a really powerful water pistol. Only it shoots at something like five hundred feet per second. I’m going to use it to take out the bomb’s power source.”

  “Sounds very sci-fi.” Melanie’s curiosity was obviously piqued, the distraction working.

  Nigel’s face reappeared in the window, a thumbs-up indicating that everything had gone smoothly. Score one for the home team.

  “All right, Melanie—Mel,” Sam said. “I want you to go over there in the corner, and cover yourself with those pillows.”

  The woman’s fear returned.

  “Everything is going to be fine,” Sam soothed. “I do this all the time. But better safe than sorry. Okay?”

  Melanie nodded, and dutifully headed for the corner, gathering pillows on the way. Sam blocked the woman from her mind and turned her concentration to the bomb. Gingerly, she placed the X-ray film behind the bomb encasement, and then moved back to the base unit to take the picture. Then she grabbed the film, slid it into the appropriate slot and a few minutes later a grainy black-and-white image appeared on the monitor.

  The key now was to interpret the thing correctly. She could see the explosive and blasting cap in the upper right hand corner, and the power source in the upper left. The wires were there, too, clearly attached to the battery and explosives as well as the triggers.

  Something at the lower left was too fuzzy to make out, but she’d seen all the pertinent parts. It should be an easy target.

  Too easy.

  She studied the X-ray again, trying to see something that she’d missed, something that would bring this bomb up to the level of expertise she’d seen in Riker’s other bombs. This was an amateur effort at best. Effective if triggered, but easy to disarm if someone with even minimal expertise was called in.

  Riker didn’t seem the type to take the easy way out, and he certainly always seemed to have method in his madness.

  Which meant there was something here.

  She looked at the image, her intellect assuring her that her assessment was correct. Maybe there was a secondary device. She stood up and carefully followed the wires extending out of the box. The first led straight to the black box attached to the door. The second wire followed the course of the south wall, making the corner to hook into the second box attached to the window frame.

  Sam searched the rest of the room, Melanie’s eyes, just visible above the pile of pillows, following her every move. There was nothing visible. No trip wires, no hidden apparatus, nothing that she could see that could be a threat.

  She considered the possibility of a copy cat, and then dismissed the idea as too coincidental. So why would Riker set this up? He’d gone to great lengths trying to get her attention, hurting the people she loved—

  Sam stopped, her heart dropping to her stomach.

  Payton. This was about Payton. Riker’s bomb here had been meant as a distraction. Something to keep her busy while he…

  She grabbed the disrupter, and using the laser site centered on the upper left corner of the bomb. The power source. Praying that she was right and not simply reacting on emotion, she shot, the water knocking the box over, the lid flipping off.

  Nothing happening.

  On an exhale of breath, she counted to three and then looked at the triggers. They were black. The red lights gone. Her heart was pounding now, beating off seconds and minutes. Time wasted. Time lost.

  Payton.

  She walked over to the door and forcing focus, turned the handle and slowly opened it.

  Again nothing.

  “Melanie, go,” she ordered, her voice hoarse with emotion.

  The woman shot out of the pillows like a cannon, running through the door and down the hallway. Sam followed, sprinting out the door, skidding to a momentary halt beside Nigel. “Everything is fine. I disarmed it. But it was a ploy. I think Payton’s in danger. Stay here and finish up. I’ve got to find him.” She didn’t wait for Nigel’s agreement, just ran for her car and her cell phone.

  Her fingers were shaking so hard it took two times to dial headquarters, but Madison answered on the first ring.

  “Madison, it’s Sam. Is Payton there?”

  “No. He’s supposed to be with you.” Sam could hear the frown in her voice. “I just go
t off the phone with Gabe, and he’s on his way, as well.”

  “They’re not here.” Her heart was threatening to break free of her chest.

  “Gabe wouldn’t be, he was just leaving the press conference and it’s clear across town, but Payton should have been there a while ago.”

  “Well he’s not here.” Sam swallowed a wave of panic. It wouldn’t do to lose it now.

  “Hold on. Harrison didn’t give me your location, so I asked Gabe for it. Maybe they got it wrong somehow.” Sam could hear paper rattling and then Madison was back on the phone. “End of Orchard Street, just off Fifth, right?”

  “No.” Sam’s breathing was coming in gasps. “I’m at Enfield and West Lynn.”

  “What’s happening, Sam?”

  “I think Riker pulled a fast one. He suckered me into believing this was the finale, but it’s not. There’s still one more distraction. One more person I love.”

  “Payton.” Madison’s voice echoed Sam’s horror. “I’m pulling up a map now.”

  “Never mind. I know where it is,” Sam said, already turning onto Fifteenth. “Call Gabe and tell him I’m on my way.”

  “I’ve got it on the computer now. You’re much closer than he is. So you’ll be there first. Do you want me to call for backup?”

  “Not yet. Just call Gabe. He’s already on the way, and for all I know this is just another of Riker’s tricks. I’ll try Payton’s phone, and see what’s what. If I can’t reach him, or if Gabe isn’t there when I get there, I’ll call and you can send in the troops.”

  “Okay, sounds like a plan. But call me the minute you know anything. And be careful.”

  “Will do.” Sam disconnected the phone, and stepped on the accelerator, her panic dissipating with the action.

  The game wasn’t over until it was over. And she’d be damned if she was going to lose Payton now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ORCHARD WAS a short little road that dead-ended into the railroad. Payton was supposed to have been able to access it from Fifth, but had somehow managed to miss the turnoff twice, finally reaching it via Walsh and Fourth.

  He pulled the car to a stop, his heart pounding at the sight of the charred remains of a warehouse sitting adjacent to the tracks at the end of the street. Images of Sam trapped in a blast slammed through his brain with 3D intensity, threatening to rob him of breath.

  He was out of the car in less than three seconds, running across an empty lot and into the warehouse, and then reality slammed into place. There was no sulfur in the air and no debris. Nothing to indicate a recent explosion. In addition, he’d passed no cars. No people. The warehouse was, in fact, eerily silent.

  If Sam had been here, she was long gone.

  Payton walked farther into the gloom of the building, searching for something to give him a clue. The floor groaned under his weight, parts of it misshapen and missing. He bent down and picked up a burnt cinder. It was cold. Damp, actually. Rotting like the floor.

  Whatever had happened here, it had obviously happened a long time ago.

  Something in the back of the warehouse rattled, and then was still. Payton froze, starting forward, then stopping again, his mind trying to sort through various options. Two stood out as primary candidates for the truth. Either the tip had been a bad one and there hadn’t been any bomb. Or the person who’d called him—Rob Mathis—in reality had nothing whatsoever to do with Cullen Pulaski.

  He remembered the private number notation on his caller ID. He’d thought at the time that it suited Cullen to have an unlisted number. But what if it had been someone else calling. What if it had been Riker?

  Something moved again against the far wall, and Payton took another step forward, straining to see through the gloom. Off to his left, something shifted, rattled, and beady eyes peered at him from under a pile of burned boards.

  A rat.

  Apropos. If Riker had lured him here, it was obviously a diversion. Something to keep him away from Sam. Unless of course Payton was the target.

  It wasn’t likely. But not impossible. If Riker knew about his relationship with Sam, then he might see Payton as a rival. There was validity in that line of thinking, but Payton’s gut said this was about diversion, and he’d fallen neatly into the trap. But there was no way to know for certain without talking to someone.

  He flipped open his cell phone, started to turn it on, but closed it again instead, remembering Sam’s warning about radio waves in Riker’s workshop. No sense in taking chances.

  He strode across the floor and out of the warehouse, squinting in the bright light of the sun. If there were a bomb and they were setting a perimeter, he figured he needed to be at least five hundred feet from the bomb before using his phone. The quickest way to achieve the distance and still keep the warehouse in sight was across the railroad tracks.

  So he sprinted across the warehouse yard, through an open gate and across the tracks to the field on the other side. The wind had picked up, the sky turning a murky gray, the heat-laden air heavy with moisture. Thunder rolled in the distance, and if Payton had been a man of faith, he’d have taken it all as sign.

  But he was pragmatic, and his only concern at the moment was for Sam.

  He pulled out the phone, and flipped it open, waiting as the device searched for service and fed into the network. Finally, the signal was established, but before he could place his call, the hollow moan of a train whistle split the silence. He looked up with a frown, the first cars of a freight train already rolling past. He’d obviously missed it coming in his haste to get far enough away from the bomb site to call.

  It was moving slowly, and seemed to stretch on forever. The noise was deafening, and he immediately headed toward the far side of the field where he hoped he’d be able to hear. It was only when he had moved another twenty yards or so that he realized his access to the warehouse had also been cut off.

  If he was right about either of his theories then his being cut off wouldn’t matter. Sam, along with other experts, was working on a bomb somewhere else, and he was out of harm’s way. But the hairs on the back of his neck refused to take comfort in the thought. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was in play. The question was, what?

  Flipping open his phone again, he dialed.

  J.T. SAT IN the little room in back of the warehouse watching the train go rattling by. His finger was still on the detonator. A flick of the switch and he’d have been able to take Payton out. Instead, they were separated by the rusted metal cars of a fucking freight train.

  He’d watched Payton come into the building, his triumph almost complete. He waited as the man moved forward, inch by agonizing inch. Just a few feet more and it would have all gone according to plan, but then the rats had startled the prick, and his head had obviously cleared. J.T. had been counting on Reynolds’s possessive nature, and his oversexed need for Samantha, to color his judgment, the hero riding to rescue the damsel in distress and all that bullshit.

  Only Payton Reynolds was no hero, and Samantha was not in distress. In fact, if he had to call it, he’d say she was just now figuring out that she could use the crawl space to access the room and evacuate the children.

  He’d planned it all to a T. His diversion complex enough to take time, but obvious enough for her to eventually put it all together. Too late.

  Or at least that had been the plan.

  He released the trigger, and slammed his hand down on the table, the violence of the action surprising him. He was not usually given to fits of anger, but he hated it when his plans went awry, and this one was turning into a comedy of errors.

  And now the bastard was across the way, no doubt using his cell phone to verify the call. There was no way it could be traced, of course, he’d seen to that. And Rob Mathis really did exist. But the administrative assistant was off for the afternoon. A doctor’s appointment. These people were really too damn free with information. Especially considering their boss was someone like Cullen Pulaski.


  J.T. smiled. It would take at least an hour just to track the kid down and get his story, but that didn’t mean that Payton would be back. He’d find out that Sam wasn’t here, and if he acted true to form, he’d be off to make sure she was all right.

  As if she needed his help. Anger washed through J.T. again, and he repeated his mantra under his breath, trying to find his center. Nothing was ever accomplished in the heat of anger.

  Nothing.

  While J.T.’ d obviously predicted Reynolds’s Neanderthal reaction to hearing that Sam needed him, he had also apparently underestimated the man’s intelligence. The idea sat bitterly in his throat. But there was no way to avoid the truth of it. It had only taken moments for Reynolds to figure out that something was off, and he hadn’t made it far enough into the warehouse for J.T. to be certain that detonation would have taken him out.

  He tipped back his head, trying to figure out what to do next, calling on the gods to help him find the true path. His union with Samantha was so close he could smell it, but Reynolds seemed to present an insurmountable barrier.

  He fingered the bomb’s control again. He’d rigged it to a timer. Once Reynolds had been in place, J.T. had planned to detonate, the timed delay giving him the precious minutes he needed to escape.

  But he’d failed. Again.

  All his careful planning had come to nothing. Sam would disarm the bomb at the day care, and Payton would be there to hold her in his arms. The train rattled by, the cars still stretching back as far as J.T. could see.

  His vision ran red, his mind filled with images of Payton and Sam—naked, writhing. It wasn’t fair. She belonged to him. The gods had deemed it so. Fate had foretold it. And he was following the path that would bring it all to fruition. He had done his part, and still he had failed, thus making a mockery of all that he believed.

  A sound in the warehouse caught his attention. A voice he recognized. Chills raced down his spine, and he sent a prayer winging off to the east.

  Samantha was here.