The Gatekeeper

by Michelle Gagnon

  “He might even be considering New York or Chicago,” Leonard said.

  Kelly shook her head. “I don’t think so. If he’s trying to galvanize a base, he’d target people who are already concerned about immigration. Those other cities are at too much of a remove.”

  Leonard’s cell rang again. He picked up and listened to a stream of chatter on the other end. “He’s sure?” He asked after a moment. It was hard to tell whether it was good or bad news. “Fine. We’ll join them.” He snapped the phone shut. “A California state trooper recognized the photo we put out on the wire.”

  “Dante Parrish?”

  Leonard nodded. “Routine agriculture stop on Route 8. Dante was a passenger in a semi. Cop remembered because they checked their cargo. Said something seemed off.”

  “But they didn’t find anything?”

  Leonard shook his head. “That was someone from the San Diego field office. He got the sense they didn’t look very hard.”

  “So you think Dante headed to San Diego with one of the bombs?”

  Leonard eyed her. “It would jibe with your theory. San Diego’s got some serious border issues.”

  “Lots of bases there, too, which makes them an even better target,” Kelly said thoughtfully. “It would look like an attack on the military.”

  “If your theory is correct,” Leonard reminded her.

  “If it’s not, and you have something else to go on, by all means…” Kelly said.

  He examined her for a long moment. “Could be L.A., too.”

  “Could be, but then why wouldn’t he stay on Route 10 from Texas?” Kelly asked.

  She could see Leonard weighing it, not wanting to admit she was right but unable to come up with an alternative. “Fine,” he said after a minute. He shifted his attention to the other agent. “Tell the pilot to take us to San Diego.” He turned back to Kelly. “But I’m putting Los Angeles on high alert, too.”

  “Good, you should,” she said. “Along with every other major city in a border state.”

  As Leonard placed a series of calls, Kelly found herself remembering the confusion on 9/11. Rumors abounded: that more planes were hijacked, that the U.S. was retaliating against Afghanistan, that a land invasion was imminent. At the time she’d been stationed at the New York field office, which had been as bad as everywhere else. Maybe they were right about trying to avert panic by not telling people the truth. But Kelly hated the thought of letting everyone head to tomorrow’s parades, lawn chairs and umbrellas their only defense against a toxic bloodbath. “Now that one of the bombs has gone off, are they going to warn people?”

  “That’s above my pay grade,” Leonard said, looking out the window. “The president will decide.”

  The plane tilted sharply left as the pilot shifted course. The dusty desert landscape below looked apocalyptic. Kelly gazed blankly down as mountains rose and fell, chasing shadows cast by the setting sun until everything faded to black.

  They sat in silence for the remainder of the flight.

  It was hard for Jackson Burke to maintain his characteristic poise. He felt like a kid on Christmas. Everyone wanted to shake his hand and tell him how refreshing it was to have “new blood” around, although they hastily added that it was so sad about poor Duke. Jackson always agreed, the appropriate amount of sober reflection in his voice as he reiterated his dedication to upholding Duke’s legacy. They ate that up, and it always eased the awkward moment. Yes indeed, he had a bright future. And it was about to get a hell of a lot brighter.

  Of course, he’d been attending parties like this for years. But always as a donor, spending the bulk of the event engaged in what he referred to as “rich people small talk.” How Aspen was just not the same anymore, the disgraceful increased luxury tax on jets, which countries were currently best for offshore accounts. The usual.

  But tonight was a whole new experience. Even the rubber chicken dinner tasted better. Everyone in the room sought him out, pressing for their own pet earmark. Jackson nodded and made promises he never intended to keep, trusting that tomorrow’s events would sweep all that pettiness aside for the foreseeable future. It was his issue everyone would suddenly care about, his issue that Congress would devote itself to solving. And if the president refused to go along, sticking to his coddling policies in complete disregard of the will of the American people…well, a lot of things could happen then. The next presidential election was right around the corner.

  Jackson was almost at the door, headed home for an Ambien-induced good-night’s sleep so he’d be fresh for the morning’s events, when he was waylaid by one final glad-hander. He looked familiar, and Jackson tried to place him. Definitely a lobbyist, something to do with mining? He searched his brain, and a name materialized as the man extended his hand. “Jeffers! Great to see a friendly face in this jungle.”

  “Absolutely, absolutely. And congrats on the new job!” Jeffers leaned in without releasing Jackson’s hand. “You won’t be forgetting us little people now, will you?”

  Jackson clapped him hard on the shoulder, relieved to skip the Duke Morris mourning dance. “I could never forget you, Jeffers! And of course I appreciate your continuing support.”

  “Sure, sure. After all, you’re barely in and it’s time to start running again, right?” Jeffers said jovially.

  Jackson responded with gravitas, “Of course, I haven’t decided on running yet. This is just a favor I’m doing the governor, out of respect for Duke.”

  “Sure, sure,” Jeffers repeated, and Jackson was suddenly annoyed with him. The clod was acting as though he already had something on him. And there was simply no way that was true.

  “If you’ll excuse me, it really has been a long day.”

  “I’m sure it has.” Jeffers lowered his voice. “I was happy to see you left your bodyguard back in Arizona. Especially after the phone call I got earlier this evening.”

  Jackson frowned. He had taken Dante to a few events to impress him and gain his trust, passing him off as personal protection. But after the wooing he’d explained that they couldn’t appear publicly anymore, better to keep a low profile. Why would Jeffers remember him? “Sorry, what phone call?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

  Jeffers leaned in conspiratorially; Jackson could practically taste the bourbon on his breath. It smelled like he’d had an extra helping of the crab salad, too. “The one from the FBI. They said not to tell you, but after all these years of friendship I figured I owed you a heads-up. We Arizonans have to stick together, right?” He straightened and shook his head. “They had a picture of you and him, said he was a ‘person of interest.’ So sad, when you find out nasty things about employees. Even with background checks, you can’t be sure these days, can you?”

  “No, sadly, you can’t,” Jackson agreed stiffly. He hoped the shock wasn’t registering on his face. The FBI had somehow connected the dots, from the warehouse to Dante, and from Dante…to him? It wasn’t possible. He’d been so careful, set up so many intermediaries.

  Jeffers was still regarding him closely, a look of victory in his eyes. “Anyway, thought you should know. I’ll be in touch soon about that new copper mine.” And with a final wink he was gone.

  Jackson took a moment, waiting until his breathing steadied. He felt as though he’d been punched. This could ruin everything. If they proved a link…he wondered if they had tapped his phone. He’d only used a prepaid cell when calling Dante or the other captains, but he’d seen on television that they could even monitor those if they wanted to.

  He ran a hand across his forehead and it came away wet. He headed for the door, no longer in the mood to talk to anyone, but froze on the threshold. Where should he go? Would they be waiting for him outside the town house he’d rented? Would they haul a U.S. Senator past the cameras in handcuffs? Everything was crumbling, years’ worth of work and planning, all down the drain because he’d taken Dante to a few parties. The entire fragile coalition he’d devoted nearly a decade to buildi
ng, spawned as he watched the trial of Timothy McVeigh, thinking if only he’d been smarter, and had some money to back his vision up. Imagine what he could have accomplished, instead of looking like a nut job McVeigh could have galvanized people. And then Jackson set out to do just that, slowly, carefully. Always covering his tracks.

  The valet brought around his car as he pondered his options. He had a horse ranch in Virginia. Maybe that would be best. At the very least, it would take them longer to find him.

  Deciding, Jackson turned onto the Beltway and headed south. He had an hour’s drive ahead, plenty of time to come up with a strategy. And worst-case scenario, he had three bombs to bargain with.

  Thirty-Six

  Something intruded on her consciousness, an annoying repetitive noise that took a few seconds to identify. Car alarm, it was a car alarm. Jesus, why wasn’t anyone turning it off? She could really use more sleep…

  Syd groaned and opened her eyes, prepared to pull on her robe, run outside, track down the car’s owner, and kill them. Or at least make them understand how socially unacceptable it was to own a car with an alarm that didn’t shut off automatically. Especially since they weren’t an effective deterrent anyway.

  But she wasn’t in her bed. It was hard to see, the air was thick with dust and smoke. She was in an unfamiliar car, stuck in the well behind the front seat. The roof had been crushed nearly down to her head. Syd scrambled to process it. Tel Aviv? Karachi? She coughed reflexively, trying to get her bearings. Suddenly, it all came back. Phoenix. The bomb. The shock wave had sent the SUV tumbling end over end. There had been fire and searing heat and…

  Oh shit, she thought. Not just a bomb, a dirty bomb. Which meant she had to get the hell out of here. She knew the risks of contamination, and the longer she spent in the affected area, the greater the exposure.

  And where the hell was Maltz? Syd raised her head a few inches, didn’t see him. Okay, first things first. She shifted, working her right arm free from where it was pinned beneath the front seat. She wiggled the fingers, then bent the elbow-a little sore, but nothing appeared broken. Same with the left arm. Taking a deep breath, she eased her right knee up to her chest. It felt like her toes were wiggling, but it was hard to be sure. She pushed off the foot and winced-definitely bruised, but she didn’t see any protruding bones.

  It took nearly five minutes to complete the personal inventory. Scrapes from the broken glass, a gash on her right shin, and her ears were ringing. Other than that she seemed fine. Nothing she hadn’t gone through before. As long as she didn’t tear herself open trying to get out of the car, she should be able to hike out of the blast zone.

  She pulled herself to sitting, knees against her chest, in the small space where the roof pressed down to meet the floor. A few more inches, and a jagged piece of metal would have eviscerated her. Looked like she was still lucky.

  Unfortunately, the same didn’t appear true for Maltz. Syd shifted slowly, contorting until she was on her knees, and squinted into the front seat. Empty. The front of the car had been completely crushed, like some giant monster had chewed it to a messy metal pulp. On the side of the car she was on, the roof had only been compressed halfway down the window. A few shards of glass clung to the frame. Syd yanked free a piece of shredded leather seat cover, wrapped it around her hand, and knocked the rest of the glass free. The opening was about six inches high-tight, but she should be able to make it. The only danger was a section of the roof that had been punched downward, creating a nasty-looking spike. Syd took a deep breath. As long as she stayed to the right side she should be okay. It was either risk it, or allow more radioactive particles to infiltrate her as she waited for help. And she was never good at waiting.

  Syd took a deep breath before starting through the window. Her head cleared easily, the trouble came as she arched, trying to pull her upper body free. The cloud outside the car was thicker, hanging like a dust storm that was awaiting approval to proceed. Something caught her hip and Syd sucked in her breath at the flash of pain. Shit. She’d hit the spike. She tried to ease forward, but the sharp steel sliced deeper. She couldn’t crawl free without impaling herself. Carefully, she lowered herself back into the car and checked her side. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but the scrape didn’t look too bad. She pressed the piece of seat cover against it and frowned. What next? Night was falling, and the thought of sitting alone in the dark was almost unbearable. She would get through it, she’d been trained to handle anything, but still. It felt like she was the last person on earth.

  Worse yet, that fucking car alarm was still going off.

  No emergency crews yet, which wasn’t surprising. First responders had probably been ordered to wait until radiation levels were measured. It was odd, though, that she couldn’t hear anyone else. How long had she been knocked out?

  “Hello?” she called out tentatively, before yelling, “Anyone there?”

  Syd thought she heard grunting nearby, but her hearing was still out of whack from the explosion. She wrapped her free arm around her knees and hugged them to her chest, surprised by an overwhelming urge to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried, maybe when her mother died. It had been at least a decade.

  “Get a grip, Sydney,” she chastised herself.

  A sound outside sent her hand to her hip before she remembered taking her holster off to look like a newspaper reporter. Syd hated being unarmed. She scoured the interior, groping under the seats before giving up. She’d have to trust that looters would be dissuaded by fear of contamination. And that she wasn’t too messed up to fight if she had to.

  A light shone through the window, and she squinted, turning her face away.

  “Boss?” a voice asked.

  “Fribush?” She could barely believe it. “How the hell did you find me?”

  He held up a small device. “GPS. Sorry it took a while, we had to find alternate transportation.”

  Syd could have cried from relief. This was precisely why she’d put Maltz in charge: he could assemble a team so blindly loyal they’d march into a radioactive haze to find him. “I’m stuck in here. Can you get the door open?”

  Fribush examined it, probing the frame with his flashlight before stepping back. She heard low voices, then he reappeared. “Hold tight, boss. We got something back in the truck.”

  A few minutes passed. She heard the sound of jogging feet. A section of the door eased away, protesting the treatment with a groan. After a minute, the lower panel popped out. Fribush extended a hand to help her. Syd carefully extricated herself, feet first, watchful of the jagged edges. Once free, she stretched her arms above her head. “Can’t remember the last time I was this happy to be upright,” she commented. “Thanks.”

  Fribush pointed toward the front seat with his crowbar. “Maltz in there, too?”

  “No. Let’s do a quick search of the area.” Syd didn’t state the obvious, that since he’d been ejected they would probably be collecting parts of Maltz to take with them.

  Fribush got a look in his eye. He nodded and handed her a spare flashlight.

  Syd pulled her shirt over her mouth to filter out the silt. It was impossible to see more than a foot in any direction. The flashlight beam was refracted by the sand in the air, which almost made the cloud more impenetrable. They’d landed well off the highway-thank God Maltz had gotten away from the bridge before the explosion, otherwise they would have hurtled down a forty-foot drop. The area they’d landed in was flat. Her beam picked out a saguaro rising like a ghostly sentinel, spikes collecting grimy flakes of dust. Brush dotted the landscape, grasping at her feet as she shuffled through it. Pieces of metal were scattered across the ground, some from their car, some from others. She came across another twisted metal frame, bent almost beyond recognition. Syd panned her light inside, but it was too late for the driver.

  She heard a yell and hurried toward it. Kane was kneeling on the ground next to the highway blacktop. In front of him lay the mangled body of Michael Mal
tz.

  “Is he…” Syd suddenly realized this was going to affect her more than she’d anticipated. She had initially met Maltz in Syria, and they had worked together a few times since then. The sad truth was that more than anyone else in the world, including Jake, he had probably been her best friend.

  His leg was bent at a strange angle and his face was a mass of road burn.

  “He’s breathing,” Kane said, checking his pulse. “But we need to get him in. Now.”

  She nodded. “Where’s the car?”

  Kane didn’t answer. He and Fribush had already lifted Maltz. They moved at a full trot, Maltz bouncing slightly as Syd struggled to keep up. A green SUV was parked in the lot of a deserted office park. The steely facade was startlingly incongruous in the haze.

  They drove fast, weaving around mangled cars that lay on their sides and roofs as if tossed by a giant tide that had receded. People stood at the side of the road looking bewildered. One raised an arm to flag them down, but they sped past.

  “Jesus,” Syd said, taking in the destruction. “How far does this go?”

  “About a click,” Fribush answered. “They’re setting up a perimeter now. Probably take them a few hours to help these folks. They care more about containing the damage.”

  “How did you get through?”

  Fribush didn’t answer, but for the first time since he’d found her managed a small smile.

  The haze was starting to dissipate and Syd gulped deep drafts of air, trying to clear her lungs.

  “We heard on the scanner that they’re setting up a decontam center at the state hospital. It’s not far. We’ll head there, get you checked out, too.” Fribush shook his head. “All that talk after 9/11 about preparedness. They didn’t prepare jack-shit.”