His unbelief sat like a weight on his chest.
Immovable.
Unshakable.
He wanted to call Frank again. Talking to Frank had planted a seed in his mind, a seed of trust, a seed which gave him the hope to believe that it was God speaking––and the more he believed, the more his burden lifted. He didn’t need to have all the answers, if he could just have the faith to believe. Frank’s unwavering confidence in God had somehow rubbed off on him, but now it was slowly fading, being replaced with the all-too-familiar doubt and cynicism. David rubbed his hands through his hair and stooped over the table.
“You okay?” asked Alex.
“I really wish I knew, but I don’t. I just have to see where it takes me.”
Alex’s voice softened. “Why don’t you just go somewhere safe, grab a bunch of books, and explore to your heart’s content. You don’t have to be in the middle of a combat zone to find out what these messages are.”
“I think the messages are only coming to me because of this crisis. They’re warning me so I can stop what’s about to happen.”
“If you keep pressing this,” Alex’s voice grew intense, “those terrorists are going to put a bullet in your head, or worse.”
The familiar pit was forming in David’s stomach, and was intensified by returning doubts about the source of the messages. “I know, Alex. Can we just drop it? I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“I’m just trying to be a good friend.”
“I know. And you are. I just need to think things through on my own.”
Alex stared at his friend. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, David. Just... With everything going on, I guess I’m- a little scared.”
David looked up. The comment took him completely by surprise. Alex was a lot of things, but scared was not one of them. This was the guy who broke his arm trying to skateboard down a staircase railing at school, then broke the other arm a week later, doing the same trick, on the same railing. He was an adrenaline junkie. For him, fear was something to overcome. David squinted at him. “When have you ever been scared?”
“Scared, worried, whatever you want to call it. All I know is, when I think about Emily being in danger, it makes me crazy inside. These terrorists do ugly things to people, David, and it’s only a matter of time before they find out where your family is. I’ve seen what monsters do to innocent children, and my gut burns to think of such things happening to that precious girl of yours.”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
“You and your family are all I have. My family is a bunch of nut cases.”
David suppressed a smile. A truer statement had never been made. As families went, Alex’s was the worst.
“Emily is safe,” said David. “The terrorists couldn’t possibly know where she is.”
“They don’t have to, all they need is a bomb. And oh yeah! That’s right. They have one!”
“The terrorists said in two days they were going to do their big thing. Until then, we’re probably okay. But if it will make you feel better, I’ll pack the family up in the morning and send them out of the city.
“You promise? Tomorrow morning you’ll get them out of here.”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Even if you get some message that says to keep them in the city?”
“As unlikely as that would be, yes. I promise, no matter what happens, I’ll send them to my cousin’s house in Worcester.”
“Alright. I’m holding you to it.”
David stood up. “I’m going to go back and stare at more criminals.”
“Wait.”
David stopped.
“Are you going to Claire’s tonight?”
“No. I’m gonna stay at a hotel. I don’t want to cause any more inconvenience for Claire, and I don’t want to lead the terrorists to her doorstep. Tomorrow, I’ll make sure I’m not followed, double back around, and pack up the family.”
“You planning anymore mischief tonight?”
“I’m going to help the FBI identify these two men, then I’m going to go put my head on a pillow.”
“Alright, then I’m going to go get some stuff done. There’s not much I can do here.” Alex got up from the bench and walked in close to David. “I put a hand gun in your glove box,” he said under his breath. “If you get in trouble, use it.”
David looked up. “Okay.”
“And call me before you go doing anything else stupid. I don’t have any more meetings planned, so my schedule is open. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll meet you at Claire’s tomorrow. How does eight sound?”
David nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine.”
“Good. Eight it is.”
Chapter 25
Karen saw the flashing lights of law enforcement long before the run-down wooden sign for the Gram Well Milk Farm. Larry turned the news truck into the farm’s dirt driveway, and skidded to an abrupt stop. An officer motioned for them to pull onto the grass. Larry acknowledged with a wave, and pulled up next to a car belonging to News Channel Five.
The area was alive with activity. Up the driveway, a barricade of six black SUVs sat, and beyond them, on the other side of the police line, were several cruisers. Flashing beams cut through the dark in erratic sweeps, causing the sparse woods near the driveway to pulse and shift.
Karen’s heels sank into the muddy grass as she stepped out of the truck and walked back to where Nerd was already standing. “Are you feeling up to this?” she said, placing a gentle hand on his back.
Nerd’s fists were shoved firmly in the pockets of his spring jacket, his body rigid against the chill of the night air. “Yeah,” he said, his jaw tight. “I like knowing all these officers are around.”
“I’ll bet.” She smiled.
Larry meandered around the truck, and immediately Karen was back in a foul mood. What was it about him? Even the way he carried himself rubbed her wrong. Is it me? I’m not difficult to get along with. Am I? It’s got to be him. Was it the arrogance, or the smug look of confidence on his dopey face? Does he take anything seriously? Here we are at the entrance of a terrorist encampment, and he looks like he’s going in to film a bar mitzvah. She glared at him. Maybe he’s emotionally stunted. Maybe he has brain damage or something. The thought brought a tinge of comfort. Perhaps if she could think of him as mentally disabled, she would feel pity for him, instead of loathing.
“Want me to put some sticks down next to the truck here, dumplin’?”
“Please afford me the professional courtesy of not reducing my name to a redneck term of endearment.” She scrunched her nose at him. “I’d appreciate it.” She headed off toward the flashing lights, then stopped and turned. “And, yes, please set up by the truck. I’ll be back in five.”
Larry spoke low, and Nerd laughed. But Karen didn’t want to know what Larry had said, she needed to clear her mind. This story had a direct connection to her heart, and, if there was any possible way, she was going to get into that farm. At the yellow police line she flashed her press badge at one of the officers standing guard. His eyes glanced at her badge briefly, then resumed their scan of the flashing darkness. “Sorry ma’am. No one’s allowed past this line except authorized law enforcement. I’m surprised they let you by the exterior perimeter.”
Actually, they hadn’t. They’d just made it in before the roadblock was set up. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Can you tell me what you’ve learned so far? Have you entered the farm yet?”
“No ma’am. We’re still setting up a perimeter.”
“Do you have a time table for entry?”
“I can’t tell you,” he said shortly.
“Do you suspect the bomb is inside?”
“If you want information, talk to the POC.” That was police jargon for Point of Contact.
“Can you direct me to the POC assigned...”
“Ma’am. Please!”
She brought her hands up in surrender and stepped back. She didn’t want to risk being put b
ack behind the six-hundred meter perimeter. “Okay. Sorry, officer.”
His eyes continued to scan as though she were invisible. This was a new experience for Karen. Most men couldn’t keep their eyes off her, which usually worked to her advantage. She looked back towards the truck at Nerd and Larry. Nerd was fumbling with their light kit, but Channel Five had theirs up already, and Karen’s counterpart was in front of the camera prepping for her piece.
In the old days she would have considered all the angles, weighing out how long it would take Channel Five to get the recorded tape back to the studio to be prepped, compared to her advantage of having the live truck. Even five years ago the scoop was still king, but not now. In these days of twenty-four hour news coverage and lightning speed blogging, it was more about nuance and less about getting the scoop. –And at the moment, she had zero nuance.
She looked up at the night sky, hoping the news helicopter would arrive soon. There were two choppers hovering near the farmhouse. Their spotlights sliced through the darkness, but they had to be law enforcement. News helicopters would have been ordered to stay back.
“Ma’am?” Karen turned back to the officer behind the line. “You need to move out of the way.”
An FBI agent leaped from a black SUV and started waving his arms. “Move the line back! Set the perimeter back behind marker B! And get those reporters out of here! Now!”
She snapped back to the officer. “What’s going on?”
Before the man could answer, the speaker on his shoulder came alive. “All units 40a, pull back. Repeat. 40a. All units pull back!”
40a? That was a bomb threat! They found a bomb! She started running. “Pack it up, guys!”
Larry and Nerd were quickly loading gear back into the truck. Karen stepped off the road into the grass to let the Bomb Squad truck pass. She pulled her cellphone out of her jacket and flipped it open. “Station!”
“Station.” The phone repeated. Karen put the phone to her ear.
“Jim here.”
“Jim! They found a bomb. The whole place is going crazy!”
An officer approached her. “GET that truck out of here! Ma’am you need to get off that phone and get out of here!”
“Hold on, Jim.” She pulled the phone away and leaned in toward the officer. “Is the bomb irradiated?”
“Get in your vehicle NOW!”
“Okay. Okay!” She turned and brought the phone back up. “We’re going live in less than a minute.”
“We’re on it,” said Jim.
She flipped the phone closed and walked to the back of the truck. The gear was packed, but she reached in and pulled out a mic from one of the boxes. “On me in twenty, Larry.”
Larry smiled. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
She looked over her shoulder as Larry grabbed the camera. The police officer had walked to the other side of the road.
“Nerd. Get the mobile uplink ready. We won’t have long before they kick us out.”
“It’s already warmed up, I just have to switch it back on.” He ran along the truck and disappeared into the side.
Larry put the camera on his shoulder. The light came on.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.”
“Ready, Nerd?”
“Ready!”
“On me in three, two, one. Hello, I’m Karen Watson at the site of the Gram Well Milk Farm where it appears a bomb has just been found. As you can see behind me, the police line is being moved back. We don’t know yet if the building has been secured, but the Bomb Squad is going in. This site is believed to be the location of a terrorist cell operating in the Boston area, which is connected to local area businessmen filtering money in from Saudi Arabia.”
Karen jumped as a siren went off beside her. An officer stepped out of the car. “Ma’am! You need to evacuate!”
“We will keep you up to date as this story unfolds, I’m Karen Watson at the site of the Gram Well Milk Farm.”
The camera light went black.
“I should throw your butt in the back of my cruiser!”
“We’re leaving, officer.” She backed up awkwardly. “Larry, get in the truck.”
Larry had a mischievous grin stretching from ear to ear as he let the camera fall from his shoulder. He replaced the camera in the back and, with a smirk, nearly danced around the corner of the truck.
They had one thing in common, she and Larry, they both loved the thrill of the hunt, and the danger of pushing the envelope. When things started to stir up, Karen was in her element, and as it turned out, so was Larry.
For a split second, she almost liked him.
–Almost.
Chapter 26
David tossed the to-go bag in the trash, and the damp towel onto a chair in the corner of the double occupancy room. The hot shower had made him feel a little more human, but it could not even begin to wash away the uneasiness which pressed in on him in waves. He bent a few slats in the front window blind to check the parking lot again. He had driven as wild a pattern as he could, and parked in an open lot down the street before sneaking into the motel for the night. But the message from his phone still haunted him.
Do you feel safe?
No. He did not. And there was nowhere he could hide from the fear––fear that crawled under his skin like a stalking creature. There was no way to push back the encroaching darkness or remove the feeling of suffocation pressing in on his face and lungs. No matter how deeply he breathed, it didn’t relieve the heaviness in his chest. It lingered like a grim cloud, filling every corner. Hiding from terrorists was easy, but how could he hide from his own fear?
The slats snapped back in place, and David checked the door lock for the sixteenth time before plopping down on one of the beds. He flicked the television on and navigated through the news channels. Every one of them was carrying the story.
On one channel, the newscaster spoke about the increase in homegrown terrorist cells and of the increasing unrest in American Muslims. He bridged to the hostage situation, then returned live to the Gram Well Milk Farm. Finally they flashed back to the raid on the towing garage. Those were the top pieces of the current news block. Every bit of what was going on had made the national news.
Before the hour was over, he knew they would show Brad in his orange jumpsuit, and the mob of FBI vehicles outside of Ace Wrecking, thirty times over.
He turned the volume down and picked up the phone; he needed to talk to Sharon. The phone rang three times. Claire’s husband answered with a hearty, “Hello?”
“Hi, Stan, it’s David. Can I speak with my wife?”
“David! We’re all watching the news. Are you okay?”
“A little frazzled, but none the worse for wear.”
“Hold on. Here she is.”
Sharon came on. “David? Where are you?”
“I checked into a motel.”
“A motel? Why?”
“I didn’t want to take the chance of leading the terrorists to Claire’s house. I figure if I hole up here for the night, it will be safe to circle around to where you are in the morning.”
“I’ve been worried sick.”
“About me?”
“Who else would I be worried about?”
“Sorry. That didn’t come out right. I meant to ask if it was me you were worried about, or the terrorists finding you.”
“Oh. No, honey, we’re fine. What we’re seeing on the news is a bit disconcerting, to say the least. But it looks as though Homeland Security is on top of it.”
“Well, they said this morning that they have some strong credible leads, and that they would find the bombs before they get set off in the city. I hope they’re right.”
“Yeah, me too. I guess I don’t like being so close.”
“I really don’t believe there is anything to worry about yet. The terrorists said that Allah was going to give a gift to the people of America in two days. We should be safe until at least sometime tomorrow night.”
>
She whispered into the phone. “Two days? That’s when you said the President is going to be assassinated.”
“I know. I think they’re going to use the bombs to try to kill the President.”
She paused. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“According to the news, the President just canceled a trip to Maine because of the terrorist activity here in Boston.”
“Why was he going to Maine?”
“I think he was scheduled to speak at the airbase there.”
“So, if they knew he was going to be speaking in Maine, why raise the threat level?”
“Exactly.” Sharon whispered. “Something doesn’t add up. You’re sure one of the terrorists is the assassin?”
“All I know is, someone is going to kill the President in two days, and that the killer was near when we all met at the house.”
“And the terrorists are the only suspects you can think of?”
“At the moment. But you made a good point, Sharon. If their plan is to kill the President, it doesn’t seem like a very good move.” He paused. “Unless it’s a feint.”
“A what?”
“You know, like in boxing, or chess, when you make your opponent believe you are going to go one way, but then you go the other. Let’s say the President is the king piece. On the surface it looks like a bad move, because the king is now safe behind the pawns. But a trained chess player knows that, in this position, the king’s movement is limited, so it is sometimes easier to put him in check mate.”
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