by Sam Sisavath
“Is there?”
“If you look between the lines, yes.”
“I’m tired of looking between the lines. I want someone to just come out and tell me. Porter was supposed to do that, before he went and got himself caught. Now I don’t know if he’s dead or alive, but you apparently think differently.”
“I don’t have intimate knowledge of his history, but I do know he was never just another foot soldier. He was always more than that, otherwise they would have put a bullet in his brain the second they caught him.”
Quinn thought about the last time she was face to face with Porter and what he had said to her:
“We all have our secrets. Some of us just don’t know it.”
No shit, she thought now. You and your fucking secrets, Porter. It’s going to be the death of us all, just like it was the death of Xiao and Trevor.
Sarah’s phone vibrated, and she took it out of her pocket and answered it. She listened for a few seconds, then hung up. “He’s here.”
“Who?” Quinn asked.
“Our ride.”
“This is Owen,” Sarah said, nodding at a man as he climbed out of a van that had pulled into the building through the front garage. For about a minute, real honest to goodness sunlight was allowed to flood the building’s gloomy interior.
Owen was in his forties but looked to be in good shape. Gray covered most of his temple, and the first thing she noticed was the bandage over his nose.
“The nose?” Quinn said quietly to Sarah as they walked over.
“He’ll get over it,” Sarah said quietly back.
Owen may or may not eventually get over being elbowed in the face and getting a broken nose for his efforts, but the smirk he gave her when they locked eyes indicated it would be a while yet.
“Sorry about the nose,” Quinn said.
“Yeah, well, this’ll teach me to try to save someone’s life,” Owen said.
“She said she was sorry,” Sarah said.
Owen grunted but softened when Sarah slipped into his arms, and they kissed briefly, while Quinn did her best to hide her surprise. They were about fifteen years apart (maybe more) but looked comfortable together. She wondered how that happened but told herself it was none of her business.
“When are we leaving?” Owen asked when they untangled.
“As soon as we’re packed and ready,” Sarah said.
“I guess we’re all friends now, huh?”
We’re all something now, Quinn thought, but said, “I guess so.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Owen said.
“Something like that.”
“Are we even sure the kid’s still alive down there?”
“We won’t know until we get down there,” Sarah said. “But it’s worth the risk.”
Rick and Reiko came through another door, the big man hefting a large plastic box with computer equipment visible inside. The young woman had two large backpacks that probably weighed more than her.
“Too bad; I was starting to like this place,” Owen said.
“Bull chips, this place stinks,” Rick said. “And I mean that literally,” he added, sniffing the air for effect.
“That’s what gives it character.”
“If that’s character, give me bland any day.”
“You just don’t appreciate color, big guy,” Reiko said.
The two of them loaded the equipment into the back of the van, and Rick immediately headed back through the same door.
“How many more?” Sarah asked.
“Plenty more,” Reiko said. “I’d help big guy with them, but you know, lazy.”
“I heard that!” Rick shouted from the adjoining hallway.
“Dude’s got crazy ears,” Reiko said, grinning at Quinn.
“Are we taking everything?” Owen asked Sarah.
Sarah shook her head. “Just what we need, honey.”
“What about the rest?”
“We can’t take everything.”
“I don’t like the idea of ditching them. It took us a long time to build up that arsenal.”
“I know, but the van’s already going to be full as it is. There’s no point dragging along things we won’t need.”
“Who says we won’t need them?”
“Honey,” Sarah said, patting him on the cheek, “if we do end up needing everything that’s downstairs, we’re already in trouble.”
Owen grunted but let it go.
Sarah looked back at Quinn. “Are you ready to go back?”
Quinn shook her head. “No, but as a good friend liked to say, let’s do it anyway.”
Chapter 10
Zoe
Stacy Baker was twenty-six and two years removed from College Station, and the former Texas A&M Aggie’s hands were still shaking when Zoe handed her the tumbler. Small drops of liquid swooshed over the brim and onto the carpet.
“Oh, geez,” Stacy said.
“Just a drop,” Zoe smiled. “Or two.”
“Or a dozen.” Stacy held her cup with two hands and took a sip, paused, then took another one before nodding at Zoe. “This is pretty good.”
“I didn’t learn all that much in college, but making a killer Cuba Libre was definitely one of them.”
Stacy smiled and took another sip from the mixed drink. Zoe had been generous with the white rum and added half a squeeze of fresh lime juice instead of the usual one-third to make the addition just a little harder to detect.
“Your pantry’s pretty stocked,” Zoe said, tasting her own cocktail. It only had one-tenth of the alcohol as Stacy’s. “I didn’t know College Station was a party school.”
“We can get pretty rowdy. Have you ever seen a line dance where everyone’s buzzed?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Oh, trust me, it’s crazy.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
She sat down on a couch across from the younger woman, even though they weren’t that far apart in age. Stacy had scratches across her forehead and cheeks where debris had grazed her, but she wasn’t hurt enough to be at the hospital. Not for her physical injuries, anyway.
Zoe was fully prepared to fight her way into Stacy’s apartment (not really fight, but be very convincing), but it turned out she didn’t have to. All it took was saying to Stacy, “I know there was a third guy inside the classroom.”
“So what happened?” Zoe asked now.
“Off the record?” Stacy said, looking up from her cup.
“If you want.”
Stacy nodded.
“Okay, off the record,” Zoe said, and turned off the tape recorder and pocketed it. “The police said there were two terrorists. A man and a woman. It’s a lie. There were three, weren’t there?”
Stacy nodded before taking another sip. She seemed much calmer now than when she first opened the door.
Thank you, white rum!
“They’re holding a press conference in a few hours, and they’re going to say there were only two terrorists,” Zoe said. “But we both know differently, don’t we?”
“There were three,” Stacy said. “I don’t know why the police keep saying there were only two. There were three of them. Three people came into my classroom. I wasn’t imagining that.”
“The third one was a teenager, right?”
“Yeah. At first I thought he was a student at the school, that they’d grabbed him and forced him into the class with them.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“No. He was one of them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure enough that it’s freaking me out the police and FBI keep insisting there were only two terrorists.” She gripped her tumbler tighter. “I mean, they were just so insistent. It was like they were telling me what I saw in there instead of asking me, you know?”
“They weren’t listening.”
“No. They weren’t. It sounded like…”
“What?”
“Orders. Like they were giving me orders. I
t really threw me off, and I wasn’t sure what to say, so I didn’t say anything at the time.” She paused, took another sip, then, “That’s why I let you in. You already knew about the third person. The kid.”
“What happened in the classroom, Stacy? What do you remember?”
“Just to be clear, if you use this on the news, you won’t say you got it from me, right?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t. I mean, I’m not sure. But if I don’t, you won’t?”
Zoe smiled and nodded. “If you decide you don’t want me to use your name, then I won’t. You’ll become an anonymous source.”
“What if the cops force you to tell them?”
“Stacy, every journalist dreams of the day when the cops try to force them to reveal a source. That’s how careers are made.” When Stacy didn’t look like she understood, Zoe said, “What I’m saying is: There’s nothing they can do or say to make me reveal that you told me any of this.”
“Oh,” Stacy said.
“So, what happened? Tell me everything you remember.”
“Before the explosion, they moved us all into the back of the class and then blindfolded us. Then there was all the shooting, and after what seemed like an eternity, the commandos came in and rushed us out. After that…” She took another sip. “It’s all still just a blur.”
Zoe reached over and put a comforting hand on the teacher’s shoulder. “It’s okay; you’re doing great. I’ve been around a lot of people who were caught up in dangerous situations, and it takes a while before they can remember all the details. And none of those people were ever held hostage in a school by people with automatic weapons. What you went through is a hundred times worse. So give yourself time; it’ll come back to you.”
“What about the kids?” Stacy asked. “Did any of them say anything?”
“You’re the first person I talked to, but I don’t think any of them knew what happened to the third terrorist. No one said anything to the cops, anyway.”
“What do you think happened? How did he get away with all those cops around?”
Zoe didn’t answer right away, even though it was a question she had been thinking about during the ride over here, playing the scenarios over and over in her head. She was hindered by limited information, but Craig had provided more than enough for her to get a feel for it.
Three hostage takers—two adults and one teenager. The adults were dead—killed during the escape attempt. That left a third—Mr. Ichabod P. Freely himself. Officers Howard and Jefferson had already confirmed that the missing hostage was a kid. Zoe had entertained a lot of elaborate possibilities, but in the end she defaulted to Occam’s Razor.
How would a teenager escape a classroom full of similarly aged people? He would become one of them.
That’s why your friends blindfolded Stacy and her class. By the time the FBI’s HRT stormed the room and rushed everyone out, you melted right into the group, didn’t you?
It didn’t surprise her at all that neither Stacy nor her students recognized (or in this case, didn’t recognize) the third terrorist. She hadn’t been lying when she told the teacher that most victims of violent crimes ended up traumatized and didn’t remember all the details until days, sometimes weeks later. And when you added automatic rifles and bombs into the equation…
“I don’t know,” Zoe said. “I have guesses, but I don’t really know how he got away.”
Stacy nodded, but she looked as if she had already moved on to another topic.
“What is it?” Zoe asked. “What’s on your mind?”
“The FBI,” Stacy said.
“What about them?”
“I don’t understand why they keep saying there were only two terrorists on the news.”
“Maybe they don’t know there was a third guy.”
“So I should tell them? The detectives told me I didn’t have to give my statement until tomorrow, but maybe I should call them now.” She picked up a business card lying on the table. “One of them gave me this.”
“Can I see that?”
Stacy handed it over, and Zoe took a look at the card: Detective Craig Mansfield.
“Should I call him?” Stacy asked. She sounded anxious and scared at the same time.
“You should probably wait until tomorrow,” Zoe said, handing the card back. “Until you can remember more details. You said right now things are still mostly a blur?”
“Mostly, yeah.”
“So wait until tomorrow when you can be absolutely sure about what you saw, because they’re going to ask you a lot of follow-up questions, and you want to have the answers ready for them.”
“I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. Remember everything, I mean.”
“Make sure, then,” Zoe said.
She gave the younger woman another reassuring smile, and thought, Don’t call Craig yet. I need to run with this. As soon as Craig knows, everyone will know. Give me at least twenty-four hours to get ahead of everyone.
“But he’s out there right now,” Stacy said. “What if he does something between now and then? What if he hurts someone else?”
“That’s assuming the feds don’t already know and are just keeping it a secret.”
“Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because they don’t want to spook him? As far as we know, revealing the third man’s existence might jeopardize an ongoing investigation.”
“I don’t wanna do that,” Stacy said, looking suddenly very uncertain.
Of course you don’t, Stacy, Zoe thought, and said, “One thing I know about the feds since doing this job, it’s that they don’t always tell us everything.”
“Maybe I should call them anyway. Just in case, you know? I don’t wanna be responsible if he attacks again.”
Zoe could see it in Stacy’s eyes, as bloodshot as they were. The woman was determined.
Shit, she’s not going to let it go.
“Okay. I know that guy,” Zoe said, nodding at the business card. “I’ll call him myself and we’ll both tell him what we know, and he can let the feds know. If they do have some kind of operation going on, then we won’t mess it up.”
“You’ll stay?” Stacy asked, hopeful.
“Of course I will.” She glanced at her watch for effect. “But we don’t have to do it right this moment. You should get some rest first, maybe take a shower and gather your thoughts.”
“Why, do I look that bad?” Stacy asked with a forced smile.
“I won’t lie; you look like a dog chewed you up and spit you back out.”
“I feel like it, too.” She put down her cup and leaned back against her couch and let out a loud sigh.
Zoe picked up Stacy’s tumbler. It was empty. “Refill?”
“God, yes.”
“Until then, what else do you remember? I think we should go over as much as we can before I make the call. Get on the same page.”
“Like I said, it was all a blur…” She kneaded her forehead. “Maybe I should go easy on the drinky drink.”
Zoe pretended she didn’t hear that last part and opened the fridge and took out the can of cola. She put just enough for color and added the rum—just a little more this time.
She talked as she worked. “Did he say anything? The third person? To the others?”
“They talked through the whole thing, but I can’t remember what they said. Some of the times they whispered, like they knew I was listening.”
“Focus on the third guy. The teenager. Did you overhear him say anything? Or anything the other two might have said to him? It could be anything. You never know what might be important.”
Stacy thought about it. Or tried to. She mostly just squinted and rubbed her forehead with her knuckles some more.
“How did they treat him?” Zoe asked.
“Treat him?”
“He was much younger than the other two. So did they treat him like he was their son? Brother? That sort of t
hing.”
“The woman…”
“What about her?”
“I got the impression he was important to her. Like he was her kid brother or something.”
“Was he?”
“I don’t see how.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she was Asian, and he was black.”
“You sure?”
“It’s kind of hard not to notice.”
“What about the man?”
“He was Caucasian. That’s one thing that really struck me. The three of them. A white guy, an Asian woman, and a black kid…”
Walk into a school with automatic rifles, Zoe thought with a smile, but bit her tongue. Stacy probably wouldn’t think it was very funny.
She stirred the drink while at the same time running this new information through her head. What were the chances it was the same Asian woman who had hit Barney’s Eats earlier in the day? It was a long shot, but the two locations were just close enough to be possible.
She returned to the living room with the drink. “What else do you remember about the teenager? Did he say anything? What was he wearing?”
“Carrying,” Stacy said as she took the glass from Zoe.
“He was carrying something?”
The teacher nodded. “I don’t remember if he was ever actually armed like the other two—I think she might have given him a gun at one point, then taken it back. He acted like my sister, back when I was in high school.”
“How so?”
“You know, he was tagging along with them. The two adults were in control, and he was just sort of there.”
“And you’re sure he was unarmed through most of it?”
“I think so, yes.”
Then Stacy smiled.
“What is it?” Zoe asked.
“I’m not sure he could have fired a gun. Because of, you know, the recoil?”
“He didn’t look strong enough?”
“That, and he was pretty skinny, even in his clothes.”
“You said he was carrying something?”
“A backpack.”
Stacy took a sip from her glass and winced, and Zoe thought, Damn, did I put in too much rum this time?
But it didn’t stop Stacy from taking another one, and Zoe breathed easier.