A line of black SUVs came down the road and filed into the parking lot of the towing company. One by one they took position. Behind them was a SWAT truck, and behind that, a dozen police cruisers.
Alex smiled. “Looks like the cavalry has arrived.”
Chapter 22
The glaring sun was nearing the horizon when David nudged his car up to the chain link fence across the street from Ace Wrecking and Repair. The industrial park was always busy, and today was no exception. There was activity up the street at the GE plant, and behind him in the large glassed face of the cable company. But on the other side of the road, in and around the garage, all was quiet.
To the left of the building sat a silent fleet of tow trucks, not a space empty. The bay doors facing the trucks were closed up tight. David didn’t know much about towing companies, but he was fairly certain they didn’t close up shop before seven on a Friday night.
David gripped the steering wheel. Was he late? Had they already moved the bomb? He’d expected at least some kind of activity, something he could observe. The message said, Danger at the West Downs Industrial Park, where the diesel flows. Go alone. So, here he was, at the park, against the more prudent course of heeding the terrorist’s threat and bugging out of the city. Once again he was stuck with no idea what his next move should be, walking around with a big fat target on his chest.
Rage boiled in his veins.
This is RIDICULOUS! I’m putting my LIFE in danger, the least you can do is give me what I need to get the job done! He looked around the interior of the car. There were words, but nothing spoke to him. He reached down and flipped the glove box open. Inside was a small stack of napkins, an old hide-a-key box, and the manual for the car. He pulled the manual out and opened it. “Please,” he spoke through clenched teeth, “a little more information would be helpful.” His eyes bounced around the page, but there was nothing. The next page was the same, and the next, and the next. All the way to the back of the book, nothing! Not one usable message in the entire manual. He gripped the book and threw it against the door.
So what are my choices? Stay here––or go over to the scary looking building and peek in through the windows? Yeah like THAT’S ever going to happen! Maybe I’m supposed to wait. Maybe I’m early. Maybe, maybe, maybe! It’d be nice to actually KNOW what I’m supposed to do next!
He folded his arms and settled in to watch the building––but as he waited, his imagination began to get the better of him. There were a hundred elaborate and graphic ways the terrorists could sneak up and kill him. His eyes moved continually from the rear view mirror to the side mirrors and back again. Fear rose inside him like a tide, building and building, until he could take it no longer. He jumped out of the car and crouched next to the door.
Behind him, three people walked in the direction of the cable building, to his right a man was getting into his car. Otherwise, the lot was quiet. David straightened, realizing how obvious he would look if he was the only one walking around crouched.
He followed the narrow pathway between the fence and the row of parked cars to the gate. The man inside the ticket booth noticed him and nodded. David gave the man a pressed smile and a robotic wave. A red car came up the road; David tracked it with his eyes. It slowed and pulled into the entrance. A bearded man rolled his window down and grabbed a ticket. Feeling self-conscious, David took a few steps back, to give the car plenty of room. The man stabbed the ticket into his visor and proceeded into the lot.
David looked again at the parking attendant, then back at the lot behind him. FLASH! Light from the setting sun reflected off the side mirror of a car, and the word flash jumped into his mind. The message from that morning suddenly came back, loud and clear, reciting itself with rhythmic automation. Flash, one, two, three, drop.
DROP!
His legs buckled, and his body hit the ground as a bullet ricocheted off the fence behind him. The sound echoed through the parking lot, and gravel bit into David’s forearms as he scrambled next to a car. Another shot glanced off the hood. His breath came in gasps. His heart pounded in his ears. He put his back to the car and looked up at the window of the ticket booth. The attendant had dropped out of sight. Only a coiled black wire could be seen wavering in the window.
Oh, God! Oh, GOD! What do I do! Panic threatened to overwhelm him. Do I stay? Where’s the shooter? Can he see me? God help me. Please! His head swam, and he felt like he might pass out. –Okay. Be calm. Be calm. Calm. Think, David. THINK! He squeezed his eyes shut. The shots couldn’t be coming from the cable company; the angle was wrong. They had to be coming from the right corner of the parking lot, from the old shoe plant.
He reached up, wrapped his fingers around the glass of the side mirror, and pulled. The mirror snapped from the socket, just as the sniper took two more shots. The windshield cracked and the driver’s side window exploded. He cupped his arms around his head as glass rained down.
Carefully, he leaned on his elbow and raised the mirror up to see over the hood. Shards of glass fell from his arm as the image in the mirror wobbled erratically. He could not stabilize his trembling hand. He squinted at the shifting reflection of the old shoe building. He had to be there. No other angle made sense. There! A pinpoint of light glinted from a fourth story window; was it the scope of the shooter? He repositioned and concentrated on the spot; the glimmer was still there.
He brought the mirror down and dug his shaking hand into his pocket for Cooper’s business card. Coins and car keys dumped out onto the pavement. As he fished around, a loud noise began to reverberate from the garage across the street. One of the bay doors was opening! A large diesel engine rumbled inside.
David slid under the car and craned his neck to see out around the tire. A large U-Haul truck was pulling out. Were they moving the bomb? Where would they go? Two men of Arab descent were in the U-Haul, but he didn’t recognize either one of them. The driver glanced in David’s direction as the truck came to a stop. David jerked his head aside and slammed it hard against the tire, causing a stab of pain to shoot down his neck. He ignored it and scrambled further under the car. His heart pounded harder. Do they know? It looked like he saw me. Will they come after me? He needed to be on the other side of the car. From there he could sprint back along the fence––and maybe outmaneuver the shooter. It was a slim chance, but it seemed to be his only option. The diesel gunned its engine and again began to move. David froze and waited breathlessly. The gears shifted as it pulled out of the lot, then it turned and lumbered off down the road.
Why didn’t they stop and finish the job? They saw me looking right at them! Were they rushed by an impending raid? Neither had looked nervous or rushed. David slid out from under the car and reached back into his pocket. His shaking fingers retrieved the card along with his cellphone. He had to let Agent Cooper know what he just... The license plate! “How STUPID am I?” His teeth ground in his mouth as he pushed the numbers with a frustrated finger and put the phone to his ear.
“Cooper here.”
“Agent Cooper this is David Chance. I spoke with you a little while ago.” The words came out fast and furious.
“Yes, David. What’s wrong?”
“I’m at the West Downs Industrial Park...”
“What? What are you doing there?”
“–Uh, following a lead.”
“A lead? You shouldn’t be there! We have a team on the...”
“They’re too late.”
“What? What’d you do?”
“I didn’t do anything! I came to watch the place and saw a U-Haul...”
“What place?”
“Ace Trucking and Repair. A U-Haul truck just left the building with two Arabs in it. I thought you might want to know.”
“Did you get the plate?”
David bit his lip. “No. –I was, kinda busy being shot at.”
“Shot... By who?”
“A sniper. I think he’s on the fourth floor of the old shoe factory.”
�
�Why on earth! Hold on.” Cooper spoke to someone in the room. “Have West Downs Bravo divert to the old shoe factory. Watch for a sniper exiting the building.” He spoke into the phone again, “Where are you now?”
“Hiding behind a car across the street from Ace. There’s a parking attendant hiding in the booth next to me.”
“Alright. Stay put. The team should be there any minute.”
“Thanks.” The call dropped and David shut the phone.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and the phone buzzed on his chest. David looked at the digital display––another text message. He gathered his courage, and flipped the phone open.
“Do you feel safe?”
His chest constricted. Had the sniper come closer? He could be anywhere. David rolled onto his belly as a car pulled up to the entrance of the parking lot. He slid his body over and tried to get a look at it. It was a blue mid-sized compact, but he couldn’t see the driver. Alright, David. Just because the car pulled in when the text message came, doesn’t mean it’s the sniper. Get a grip!
The car door opened, a set of shoes touched down on the ground, and David’s optimism flew right out the window. Frantically he started crawling toward the fence. He would stay low and keep moving. Not a great plan, but all he could come up with at the moment. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted full force. If he could just get to his car...
“David!”
It took several frantic steps before he recognized the voice. He dove between two cars. “Alex! Get down!”
“What’s going on?” Alex shouted.
“There’s a sniper in the old shoe factory.”
David watched Alex’s feet as he ran along the fence. He reached David and crouched down. “What? A sniper?”
“He shot at me from the old factory behind you.” Alex ducked down more. David crawled closer to him. “How’d you know where to find me?”
“I saw your car.”
“You scared me half to death! Why didn’t you call?”
“I did call!” Alex smacked him.
David rubbed the phone through the fabric of his pants. “I must not have felt it.”
A line of black SUVs came down the road and filed into the parking lot of the towing company. One by one they took position. Behind them was a SWAT truck, and behind that, a dozen police cruisers.
Alex smiled. “Looks like the cavalry has arrived.”
Chapter 23
The navigator in the news car chimed, a digital voice spoke. “Take exit twenty-three.” Larry flicked the blinker, looked past Karen into the side mirror, and pulled the news truck into the far right lane. “You’re quiet,” he said.
Karen continued to stare out the window at the passing trees. She had no interest in making small talk with Larry Turner. Jim could make her suffer the trip, but she didn’t have to suffer the conversation.
Larry sighed. “Ya don’t have to be a sour puss, darlin’. Everyone’s upset about Brad, but we gotta keep on keepin’ on. I know you two had a thing and all...”
Have! Karen’s mind screamed at Larry. Not HAD! You dumb oaf. He’s not dead! She wanted to bite his head off, but she knew better. Any response would put her right where he wanted her.
“You gotta keep your head clear, darlin’. Now- I know it looks like I’m not upset about Brad...”
Was she going to sit there listening to a lecture from a man who didn’t know the difference between a napkin and his sleeve? She had to speak up, she simply couldn’t bear one more second of listening to Larry wax nostalgic about his years of male bonding with Brad. “Look, Larry, give it a rest, okay?”
His eyebrows rose slowly. “I’m aimin’ to give you my two cents, ’cause I think you oughta know. I like the guy. I’m all broken up about it. Brad and I’ve been through a lot. But us guys don’t wear our hearts on our sleeves like you gals do.”
Why did men always have to play the sex card? Why did she have to continually prove herself over and over? She was every bit as strong as he was, in some ways stronger. Just because she didn’t feel like talking about Brad, didn’t mean she was fragile and overwhelmed by her femininity. She just didn’t want to talk about it! She turned to him, and leaned in. “Larry?”
“Yeah, sugar plumb?”
She painted a helpless look on her face. “Would you do something for me?”
He cocked his head. “I aim to please, darlin’.”
“Would you open that little ol’ door right there, and throw yourself out onto the rapidly passing pavement?” She batted her long lashes.
There was a momentary pause, before he erupted into laughter which ended with one of his repulsive signature hoots. “Girl, you got a tongue like a cactus quill.”
She shook her head in disgust. He was so dense. She wondered if he even knew he had been insulted.
“Like I was sayin’, me and Brad been through all kinds of stuff. Why that boy had me bunkin’ in a hotel room in New Orleans the night of Hurricane Katrina. I’m like, ‘We’re sittin’ in a bowl here! We’re gonna have to swim outta here in the mornin!’” But he knew right where we needed to be, and we were on the ground reportin’ through it all. That boy’s got guts is all I’m sayin’. So if you’re frettin’ your pretty little head about him, don’t. If anything, I’d be worried for the terrorists.”
An approaching road sign informed Karen of the distance to the town where the Gram Well Milk Farm was located. Twenty miles. Which meant about twenty minutes.
Nineteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds too long.
Chapter 24
David tapped the pad on the laptop and brought up the next set of mug shots. But with each passing page, the memory of the two men in the truck grew less distinct in his mind. If he didn’t take a break soon, he feared there would be nothing left of the image but the impression of a jumbled collage of eye colors and beard shapes. He put his head in his hands.
“Anyone stick out to you?” asked the FBI agent next to him.
“No. Not yet.”
“It may not feel like it, but when one of the faces comes up on the screen, you’ll know it. Trust me. I’ve seen it a hundred times. You think you can’t remember, and then bam, there it is.”
“Do you mind if I take a quick break?” David looked up, bleary eyed.
“Sure. Why don’t you go grab a cup of coffee from the break room. Your friend’s in there.”
David slid the stool back from the table and got up. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
The break room was a little hut in the middle of the bay. Cardboard boxes and black plastic hoses were piled high on its aluminum roof. The inside was much like the rest of the towing company, archaic and covered in a greasy film of dust. The vending machine said the coffee was thirty-five cents, but the taped-on note below said one dollar.
Alex was nursing a cup at the only table. “Any luck identifying the terrorists?”
“Not so much as you’d notice,” David said, punching the hard plastic button on the coffee machine.
“The last eight hours feel surreal,” said Alex. “You always expect this kind of thing to happen to someone else, but here it is, in our own backyard.”
“I haven’t had time to slow down and think about it.”
“We’ve been through some crazy stuff haven’t we?”
David nodded. “Yes we have. It’s amazing we’re still alive.”
Alex grinned.
“But, bar none, this takes the cake,” David said, grabbing four packs of sugar.
“I still think you’re crazy for not leaving the city.”
“We’re not going to go through this again, are we?”
“Look. All I’m saying is, there are terrorists with bombs in the city, and you don’t seem to care that you and your family are at risk. Not to mention me––‘cause I’m just dumb enough to stick by your side.”
“You’re used to danger.”
“That doesn’t mean I invite it.”
“I’m not inviting it. I just...” he co
nsidered his words carefully. “I believe the messages will tell me when it’s time to go.”
Alex rolled his eyes.
“Come on, Alex. Every one of the messages has been right. You can’t call it chance or––random luck.”
“I’m not questioning whether or not they’re right. I’m questioning whether or not you’re sane for listening to them. For crying out loud, you don’t even know who or what is sending them! Sure they’re accurate, and they saved your life once, but you don’t know anything about the sender. What if you’re being set up? You wouldn’t know it until it was too late.”
David took a sip of coffee and sat down across from Alex. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. For all I know, this has never happened to anyone. If this was happening to you, wouldn’t you want to know what is was? Wouldn’t you want to follow the messages to the end?”
“Not if it meant my doom.”
David let out a deep sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t understand. If only I could explain the experience, how it feels when the messages come.”
“Try me.”
David thought for a second, then let out a breath. “It’s like I get this sense when I put the words together. Something deep inside me confirms the message as true, as if some part of me has the capability of knowing what is truth, and what is not.” He stopped to think, then continued. “I know I’m doing a horrible job of explaining, but it’s like a truth that is so true it could never be doubted. It’s immovable––unchangeable. How could the author of such things be anything but truth as well?”
“Sounds like euphoria to me. Like when you jar your brain and you feel a sense of peace wash over you for no reason. The brain is a complex organ, David. When you prod it, you can get all kinds of sensations.”
David examined his friend. He was right. The brain was a complex organ, with functions and capabilities far beyond human understanding. It received and sent out millions of tactile impulses every minute. Was it unreasonable to think that his subconscious mind was producing the phenomena, and then issuing the feelings to confirm the validity of the extrasensory input it was receiving? Would he even know if such a thing was occurring? Did he take notice when his brain told his lungs to draw in a breath, or his heart to pump? Could his desire to have some kind of verifiable communication with God be overshadowing his reasoning? He had longed for proof of God’s existence since childhood. Whenever the opportunity arose to speak with someone who claimed a faith in God, he had leapt at the opportunity. Hours upon hours had been spent in debate, but his questions remained, questions which would have easily been answered if only God would speak!
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