Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel

by Miller, Randall H

  Fatima shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yeah. Sort of. I’m waiting for something.”

  “Ma’am, everyone in the waiting room needs to check in with reception, and you’ve been here for over an hour without doing so. May I see your ID, please? Not a big deal. Just procedure.”

  Fatima appeared startled by the request. “My ID? Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I know that, ma’am. It’s just standard procedure. Everyone in this area needs to show ID, and all bags are subject to search.”

  She unconsciously squeezed the backpack a little tighter but nodded in agreement. Sweat began to pour down her face and her voice cracked.

  “My ID is in my bag. I’ll get it for you.”

  She unzipped the top of her backpack and fished around inside with a sweaty hand as she recalled the instructions from her facilitator: If you think you will be compromised, detonate the bomb immediately. Do not be taken into custody.

  “I know it’s in here somewhere. Okay, here it is.”

  Fatima took one final deep breath, exhaled slowly, and bowed her head. Then she closed her eyes, smiled, and detonated the bomb.

  Ninety-five

  Mark was on the floor in the back seat of a police cruiser, his hands cuffed behind his back, when he regained consciousness. His head throbbed, his vision was blurry, and the nausea was overwhelming. He vomited what little he had eaten that morning. When the driver’s side door slammed shut and the vehicle started moving, he struggled to his knees and eventually to a sitting position on the back seat.

  Mark immediately recognized the female officer driving the cruiser. They had met at the Witch Hunt shortly after he returned to town. He recalled her thick Massachusetts accent.

  “Hey … hey … your boy Charlie made a big mistake.”

  She ignored him and continued driving at high speed with the lights and siren blaring.

  “Listen to me, Wendy. You know who I am. Look at me. I’m Mark Landry. I’m Luci’s boyfriend.”

  She looked at him closely in the rear-view mirror for a moment before returning her attention to the road.

  “You know I’m not a criminal. Your boy back there made a big mistake. He thought I was one of the shooters. I wasn’t. And the sooner you help me get this worked out, the sooner we can get the guys who did this.”

  No response.

  “Listen, I took out one of the shooters and was going after another when your guy decided to tase me. He screwed up. And I’m not faulting him for that. You guys don’t know me. But listen, Wendy. I’m a counterterrorism operator for the U.S. government, okay? And I need your help.”

  She glanced at him again in the mirror but said nothing.

  “You gotta believe me, Wendy. You think Luci would be with a terrorist? Listen, I’m going to give you a phone number. Just call it, say my name and location. That’s it. Can you do that for me?”

  No response.

  “Wendy, I can promise you right now this will never come back to bite you. I’ll personally make sure of that. But the sooner you call and I get this straightened out, the sooner we can find the assholes who just shot up our town and keep them from hurting more people. Look at me, Wendy. Look at me!”

  The officer looked at him again in the mirror.

  “I’ve been doing this a long time, and I promise you, if we don’t move quickly they’ll get away with this. The guy I was chasing is getting away as we speak. Fix Charlie’s mistake, Wendy. I’m not asking you to let me go. All I’m asking you to do is call the number, say my name and location. Then text Luci so she doesn’t worry and you’re done.”

  Wendy looked at Mark long and hard through the mirror. Then she took a deep breath, nodded her head, and pulled a metallic pen from her uniform pocket.

  “What’s the numbah?”

  Ninety-six

  “Senator, our planners think this will be the biggest march in Washington history—well over one million strong. We know you have other people to meet with today, but do you have any questions that we can answer right now?”

  Senator McDermott finished scribbling a note on the legal pad she had balanced on her lap and removed her glasses.

  “No questions right now, but I might have some later. This is a lot to digest. Thank you for coming. I’ll be in touch when I can.”

  Meghan ushered the visitors out of the apartment and returned with a bright smile on her face. “Well, what do you think? It’s an amazing opportunity.”

  McDermott sat behind the antique secretary desk in the family room, quickly reviewing the agenda for her next appointment. “It’s a little pie-in-the-sky, isn’t it?”

  Meghan frowned. “If successful, it would mean the complete abolition of guns in America. It’s exactly what we want, Mom. We’ve dreamed about this, and for the first time there’s a good chance enough Americans might actually support it. ”

  “Meg, they’re asking me to propose a constitutional amendment. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to amend the constitution? We’re not talking about naming a Post Office.”

  “Yeah, all you have to do is get two-thirds of the House and Senate to vote for the proposal. Then you get three-fourths of the states to go along.”

  “Much easier said than done. Let’s choose our battles a bit more wisely.”

  Meghan sat on the sofa and turned on cable news with the volume down.

  “Mom, you’ve been asked to be the featured speaker for the biggest public demonstration in D.C. history, at which you would get to make the big announcement about the single most important issue of your career. It’s political gold.”

  McDermott looked up from her briefing papers with her reading glasses perched at the tip of her nose and stared at her daughter. “Political gold? It’s a big crowd, Meghan. But the centerpiece of the movement is doomed. Listen, we have to prioritize and choose our battles. This one is unrealistic. Let’s try to stick to things we can accomplish, okay? Enough of this for now.”

  Meghan walked across the office to the television and turned the screen toward her mother. “Enough of this? You don’t get to make that decision, Senator. They do,” she said, pointing to the breaking news headline: TERROR IN MASSACHUSETTS.

  “Hold on, Meg.”

  McDermott finished jotting a note in the margin of the next meeting’s agenda and then looked up. The past week had brought over a dozen incidents of domestic terrorism across the country. Each morning it was not a question of whether but where another shooting or bombing would take place. Her formerly sharp, emotional reactions to the events had become dull and detached. She bit her bottom lip, shook her head, and returned to the stacks of information on her desk.

  “Where’s this one?” she asked.

  “Somewhere in Mass,” Meghan replied as she reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

  “Terror in Massachusetts,” said the broadcaster. “Another day, another bloody attack on American soil—this time during a small town’s veteran recognition ceremony. The story is still unfolding, but preliminary reports tell us there was some sort of explosion followed by several gunmen opening fire on the crowd. Warning: the images you are about to see may be disturbing.”

  Live footage from a news drone showed explicit images of the chaotic scene.

  “Might be disturbing? Jesus Christ, lady. Look at the carnage. This one will end up being worse than Billings, Cleveland, and Miami put together.”

  Meghan stood up and approached Senator McDermott’s desk.

  “Listen, I know you care, but lately it’s like you’ve become desensitized to all of this. Look at this, Mom. Then explain again why you’re against leading the charge to stop this insanity!”

  McDermott stood and removed her glasses.

  “Give me a break, Meghan. You’re not framing this fairly and you know it. I’m doing everything I can to fight the good fight and keep other mothers from ending up like me. But I can’t waste time or resources chasing after unicorns. We need to be pragmatic and—�
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  The live drone footage now shared a split screen with stock photos and specific data on the targeted town. The images seemed vaguely familiar to McDermott.

  “Where was this one, Meghan?” she asked.

  “Massachusetts.”

  “I know that, but which town?”

  Before Meghan could answer, the broadcast returned to a full-screen, live shot from the drone, with the town name spelled out in bright red letters at the bottom of the screen. McDermott’s heart rate soared and her legs weakened.

  “Mom, are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”

  McDermott reached for the glass of cold water on her desk and tried to shake it off.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Do me a favor, Meg. Hop on the phone and get all the information you can on this one, okay?”

  “Okay. I think we’re the only two people in D.C. working on the Fourth, but I’ll try. Can I ask why this one is so important?”

  “Just do it, please.”

  Ninety-seven

  Luci got as close as she could to Founders Field and then ditched her car on the side of the road, threw the first-aid backpack on her back, and jogged the rest of the way.

  The text from Wendy—“Mark is fine, don’t worry about him” —hadn’t made sense until she heard the breaking news. She had thrown on her uniform and was out the door within minutes.

  Throngs of emergency vehicles were still converging on the site, including multiple police departments, ambulances and fire engines from surrounding towns, sheriff’s deputies, and Massachusetts state troopers. Quick-reaction elements of the Boston JTTF were already on the ground as unmarked aircraft crisscrossed in the cloudless sky above the kill zone.

  Authorities struggled to isolate the area so that they could cover the dead, treat the wounded, and begin the painstaking process of investigating. Their arduous task was made much more difficult by the hundreds of despondent, swarming townspeople seeking information on loved ones. Luci pushed her way through the growing crowd, entered the perimeter, and froze in horror at the smoldering scene.

  Ninety-eight

  “What the hell are you doing here, Luci?”

  Sergeant Cromwell grabbed her by the elbow.

  “You’re on mandatory leave, but we could use the help if you’re up for it. Can you handle this? If not, I need you to go home right now. Do you understand me?”

  Cromwell tightened his grip and shook her arm firmly.

  “Hey, are you listening to me?”

  Luci shook off the initial shock of seeing such unfettered bloodshed and pulled her arm away.

  “Yes, I’m fine, Sarge. Where do you need me?”

  “There are a shitload of wounded on the other end of the field who need help. Work with the medics. Stop any bleeding you can. Comfort survivors. These people need us, Luci. Put aside the emotions and get the job done. We can grieve later. Do you understand me?”

  “Got it.”

  Luci scanned from left to right as she jogged toward the far end of the field.

  Keep it together. Breathe deeply. Focus.

  Off to her right, firemen spread blankets over a row of bodies. To the left, paramedics worked furiously on a father and his ten-year-old son, both with gunshot wounds to the chest. As she neared the blast area, the grass turned slippery. The smells intensified. She glanced down at her bloodstained boots and tried not to vomit.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Luci!” screamed Charlie Worth as he grabbed her from behind.

  “Not now, Charlie. And get your hands off me!”

  Worth grabbed both of her biceps and pulled her in tight.

  “You shouldn’t be here. You’re on leave and way too close to this!”

  Luci pulled her arms back, then pushed Worth in the chest with both hands.

  “Back off, Charlie!”

  He stumbled backwards, stunned. Quickly recovering himself, he sprang forward, grabbing Luci by the front of her white uniform with his gloved bloody hands.

  “Your boyfriend was part of this! He killed an unarmed man in the middle of the field and went after another before I stopped him.”

  “What? Are you crazy, Charlie? Mark’s not a terrorist—he hunts them! Now get your fucking hands off me!”

  Luci struggled to free herself from Worth’s grip, but he pulled her in closer and squeezed.

  “Charlie, let go of me right now.”

  “No. We don’t need you, Luci. Nobody wants you here.”

  She kicked him in his shin as hard as she could with the sole of her right tactical boot. When he let go she reached far back with her right arm and struck him in the temple with the palm of her hand. Worth’s knees buckled and he staggered backwards.

  “Stay the fuck out of my way, Charlie! I don’t have time for your bullshit!”

  As Charlie shook off the blow, his eyes widened. His face turned purple and the engorged veins in his neck and forehead pulsated with each beat of his racing heart. He snarled like a rabid dog and lunged forward with outstretched hands.

  Sergeant Cromwell’s muscular arms enveloped Officer Worth around the waist from behind and dragged him backwards.

  “At ease, Charlie! What the hell is wrong with you? Get a hold of yourself,” he said as he dragged his officer from the scene.

  “She shouldn’t be here, Sarge!”

  Cromwell released his bear hug, spun Charlie around, and pulled him close.

  “I don’t want to hear any more from you, Charlie. We’ve got the worst disaster in town history on our hands and I need every one of you to do your fucking job.”

  Worth began to protest, but Cromwell tightened his grip and cut him off.

  “No! No, Charlie! Don’t say a word. Not a fucking word. Listen to me. There was an explosion at the hospital. Did you hear me? Someone may have bombed the hospital, Charlie. I need you to get your cruiser and escort Engine Two to the hospital right now. Go!”

  Cromwell pointed Worth in the direction of his cruiser and pushed him on the back. “Go! Now!” When he turned back to face Luci, she was already comforting two blood-spattered cheerleaders.

  Ninety-nine

  “How fast can you get us there?” Doc asked.

  “About twenty minutes,” replied the Family pilot.

  “I’ll get you a week of vacation for every minute you shave off.”

  The former U.S. Army Task Force 160th aviator nodded his head calmly and turned around to verify that the other passengers were strapping in. Once the DOJ attorney and three plainclothes operators had fastened their harnesses and given him a thumbs-up, he spoke into the intercom.

  “Hold on tight, Gentlemen.”

  The modified Bell 407 helicopter sprung into the city skyline, banked hard left over Boston Harbor, and headed north at full speed.

  One hundred

  James Woodbridge was overwhelmed when he entered the police station. A lifelong resident and former deputy mayor, he had happily accepted the title of acting chief of police. The sixty-five-year-old retired accountant had been assured that the search committee would quickly vet suitable candidates and recommend three finalists for consideration, and that a permanent chief would be in place in fewer than thirty days. The lieutenants and sergeants would run the day-to-day operations. He would simply be a figurehead with little to worry about.

  All of that changed the moment terrorists attacked the town.

  “Slow down and explain it to me again, Lieutenant? What’s NEMLEC?”

  The department’s ranking lieutenant put his arm on Woodbridge’s shoulder, ushered him into the chief’s barren office, and motioned for him to sit behind the empty desk.

  “It’s the Northeastern Massachusetts Law Enforcement Council. They have SWAT assets on site, along with a whole host of other organizations. From this point forward, things will likely become even more confusing than they already are.”

  The lieutenant opened the small refrigerator on the floor next to the desk, opened a bottle of cold water, and put it on the desk in front o
f Woodbridge.

  “All these organizations know what they’re doing, but they are going to need time to sort things out. The Governor’s Office has already called and offered to help in any way they can. All we have to do is ask. Up at Founders Field, people are being questioned and scrutinized. One man is currently in custody, but it’s still unclear whether he was one of the shooters or a civilian who got involved. He is being questioned right now. I have already recommended that from this point forward any detainees be handed over to the county. They have more appropriate facilities and more manpower than us.”

  “What about casualties? What do we know?” asked Woodbridge.

  “It’s bad. We’re still not entirely clear, but we’re looking at a minimum of thirty dead and over a hundred injured. That doesn’t include the attack at the emergency room, which was apparently a less powerful charge. There we have another three or four dead and several more wounded. Surrounding area hospitals are picking up the slack and have raised their security postures. The most critical patients are being airlifted to Boston Medical Center and Mass General Hospital. They’ll get the best trauma care in the world if we can just get them there quickly enough. The biggest challenge with that is …”

  Another officer abruptly entered the office and interrupted.

  “Sir, the Governor is on line three for you.”

  “Can you give us a minute, Smitty? I’m almost done here and I’ve already spoken to the Governor’s Office, okay?” answered the lieutenant.

  “It’s not the Governor’s Office. It’s the Governor himself. Said he needed to speak to Mr. Woodbridge ASAP. Told me to interrupt him no matter what. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

  The lieutenant nodded his head and pointed at the phone on the desk. All the lines were lit.

  “Press the third button from the left and pick up the receiver. I’ll stay right here in case you need me.”

  Woodbridge depressed the button for line three, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and lifted the receiver to the ear.