Messages

by John Michael Hileman

  Elation and fear surged through her chest. The thought of being so close to a bomb put twists in her stomach, but this kind of coverage could put her on the fast track to a larger market. This kind of story was what made the career of a national journalist. But Brad, he was the most important thing. There could be clues here about where he was being held. For all she knew, he could be here somewhere.

  “Andy says to gear up, then we’re gonna have to sign a waiver, you know, case we get vaporized.” Larry flipped the latch on the door and stepped back out. Karen followed, and together they walked across the dirt drive to a black van marked Bomb Squad, where Andy stood holding a clipboard. “Hey, Andy. This here’s Karen.”

  He held his hand out. “Good to meet you, Karen, I’m Agent Tanner.”

  She took his hand. “I can’t thank you enough for allowing us this opportunity.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, shaking his head. “This bomb has a nuclear component, we don’t know the extent of radioactive leakage, and we’re not sure we’ve secured all of the terrorists operating within the facility.”

  “I appreciate your candor.”

  “Here.” He handed her a clipboard.” You need to sign this, in case of––unforeseeable circumstances.”

  She read down the page. It was standard legal stuff. The town could not be held responsible for any injury resulting from access to the site. There was also a clause about severe penalties if she did not obey every instruction given by authorities. She scribbled her signature at the bottom and handed the clipboard to Larry.

  Agent Tanner held out a bomb vest. “You have to wear this, though it won’t do any good if this thing blows.” She gripped the heavy vest, and noticed it had the word PRESS written in white across the front. Agent Tanner helped her heft it over her head. The weight of it pressed heavily on her shoulders. “Here, let me get these for you.” He grabbed the tabs and velcroed them to the side of the vest. The fit was snug.

  “You ready for this?” Larry gave a dopey grin.

  “I have on my vest that won’t save me, and I have your endearing charm. What more could I want?” She blinked at him.

  Larry slapped her on the back. “Sounds like you got it all, little missy.”

  Chapter 28

  The front door of the barn was open. ATF and FBI littered the area, many of them in HAZMAT suits with the letters WMD written in bold on the back. Andy looked into the back seat of the Humvee at Karen and Larry. “You can stand at the entrance to the barn, but don’t go in. Understand?”

  “Yes,” said Karen, adjusting her vest.

  “Take footage of the extraction, but stay out of the way.”

  Karen nodded. “Understood.”

  The three exited the Humvee and cautiously strode toward the opened doors of the barn. Inside, floodlights glowed around a group of orange barrels. Men in white suits scoured the room with metal paddles.

  Larry pointed to the right side of the doors. “Over here, Karen?”

  She surveyed the spot then gave him the thumbs up. She turned to agent Tanner. “You have time for a couple of questions?”

  “I don’t know if I’ll have answers.” He gave a wry grin. “But I'll do my best.”

  “How many terrorists have been captured?”

  “Four.”

  “What is the radius of this bomb?”

  He thought for a moment. “This bomb is about four times the size of the one used at the base of the trade towers, and it includes a nuclear component. It isn’t capable of a nuclear detonation, but the blast would level this farmhouse, and the radioactive fallout would make,” he shook his head, “quite a mess.”

  Karen jotted down notes. “Wow.”

  “Thank God we caught it out here before they could move it to a populated area.”

  “How far would the fallout spread?”

  He shook his head. “There are many criteria involved in measuring that. FEMA is working up the numbers based on several pre-planned strategic models. At this time, we don’t have the figures.”

  “Will there be an evacuation of this area?” She continued to scribble.

  “There’s an evacuation going on as we speak.”

  “When you seized the farm, did you find any connection to the whereabouts of the Channel Seven journalist being held hostage by the terrorists?”

  “I can’t answer that. Let’s stick to the bomb extraction.” An agent came up behind Tanner and handed him a cellphone.

  Karen grabbed him by the sleeve. “Please. Off the record.”

  He pulled his arm away gently. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

  Karen stepped back. Be patient. Don’t force things. She would just have to turn over the rocks one at a time and hope something moved. She turned back toward Larry. The camera was set on the tripod, and he was waiting for her. She walked toward him.

  “You get the scoop?”

  “Not as much as I’d like, but the night is young. Let’s go ahead and tape what we have.”

  “Ready when you are, darlin’”

  “On me in three, two, one. –I’m Karen Watson, reporting again from the site of the Gram Well Milk Farm, where authorities have apprehended four terrorists and are continuing their search. Behind me, officers from the Boston Bomb Squad, in conjunction with FBI, ATF, and FEMA personnel, are working furiously to dismantle what they believe is a dirty bomb, a bomb which contains nuclear waste as a component. If it detonates, it could pose a major threat to an undetermined radius around the farm. Law enforcement officials are engaged in an evacuation of the surrounding area. As you can see, the situation is tense, but first response units are working hard to bring the threat under control. It’s a story of bravery and selfless…”

  A shot rang out and something bit into Karen’s tricep. She yelped and fell to the ground, disoriented. She couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from, her whole left side hurt. She rolled onto her side and gripped her arm, something wet leaked between her fingers.

  Officers scrambled in a flurry of chaos as a figure appeared over her. His strong arms gripped her gently, pulling her up. Another shot rang out, and he drew her legs and head in, shielding her with his crouched body. Her cheek pressed against the front of his flak jacket as the deafening sound of returning fire exploded around them. She looked up at the face above. Was she losing her mind? Larry Turner was offering himself as a human shield to protect her?

  More shots rang out from the farmhouse, and Larry pulled her closer. As he stood, her head fell back so she could see the broken window. It was tattered from gunfire, and looked empty. Police held their positions.

  Her grip on him tightened as he carried her down to a parked van. He set her down against a tire and as he did so, her arm brushed against it. Pain shot through her side. Had the bullet pierced the side of the vest? She wasn’t ready to know. –All that mattered was the story, and as long as she was able to concentrate, she would deliver coverage. She looked back toward the barn. “The camera!”

  “You’re hurt, Karen.”

  “Please!” She clasped her fingers on the neck of his vest. “Get the camera!”

  He looked at the blood soaking her arm. “Honey, both your paddles ain’t touchin’ the water. You’re hurt bad, and you want the camera?”

  “Larry. Please!”

  “Alright. I’ll get it. But you stay put. Understand?”

  She pulled in a labored breath and nodded.

  Larry scooted across to the nose of the van and looked up at the farmhouse. Still no activity. He took off in a crouched run, keeping his eyes on the broken window. The scuffing of his own feet and a police radio in the distance were the only sounds to break the silence.

  Karen’s breath was labored as she watched Larry approach the camera. But when he reached it, he didn’t pick it up; something in the barn had his attention. He stood motionless in the middle of the driveway.

  What are you DOING, Larry? Just GRAB it and come back!

  Finally, his hand clu
tched the grip on the camera, and he brought it up and aimed it into the barn. Whatever was going on, he was willing to risk his life to get a shot of it.

  Karen tried to get up so she could see the window, but the pain in her arm was too much. She closed her eyes and took in shallow breaths. Quick footsteps approached. It was Larry, and he was limping. He slid in behind the van and turned with his back to the edge of the fender.

  “What’s going on up there?”

  “SWAT was forming up. They’re gettin’ ready to take the farm.”

  “You got it?”

  “The light’s pretty bad, but I got a shot.” He looked around excitedly.

  “Okay. Let’s do a piece here and get that tape to Nerd.”

  “You sure? You got hit pretty bad.”

  “Are you kidding? Some reporters wait their whole lives for a story like this.” She straightened up, and winced. “On me in three.”

  He scooted around and brought the camera up. The red light came on. “Your wish is my command, little darlin’.”

  She looked down at her blood covered left hand, the microphone was still in her grip. It surprised her to see it there. She let go of the wound with her right hand and took the microphone from her left. “Close up on me.” She winced. “And don’t get a shot of my arm or the microphone, we don’t want the gore. Okay. On three, two, one. –Continuing our coverage of the terrorist situation at the Gram Well Milk Farm. It’s clear there are more terrorists yet to be apprehended. What was already a tense situation has become more volatile as shots have been fired from the farmhouse at the first response units who are working on disarming the bomb. In the barn, SWAT teams have positioned themselves to take the house. As we learn more, we will keep you updated. I’m Karen Watson, reporting from the Gram Well Milk Farm.”

  The light went dead. Larry let the camera drop from his shoulder. “You’re not gonna tell ‘em you got shot?”

  “They saw me get shot! What more is there to say? I report the news. I don’t care to be the news.” She winced again as she lowered the mic.

  “I’m just sayin’. People are gonna wanna know.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “I’ll think about it, okay? We have more important things to worry about, like getting this tape to Nerd. If we send tapes back every ten minutes or so, it’ll give the appearance of live coverage. Right now, we’re the only ones getting it.”

  “Right. I’ll get the tape to Nerd, but we’re not done talkin’ about this.”

  Karen dropped the mic in her lap and gripped her arm again. It was really throbbing now.

  “I’m gonna get someone to look at that arm before you bleed to death.”

  She looked down at the pool of blood forming on her left side, soaking into her leg. She had lost a lot of blood. Left unchecked, the wound could prevent her from continuing––and she had to continue.

  “Stay put.” Larry moved toward the back of the van. “I’ll be right back.” He started for the truck in a crouch but slid to the ground as dozens of gunshots went off inside the farmhouse. The noise, like popcorn in a microwave, seemed like it would never end.

  Once again, all was quiet.

  Larry checked to make sure it was clear before resuming his course to the black Humvee. Karen watched as the vehicle backed down the driveway and disappeared.

  When he returned with an EMT, Karen had a hard time focusing on them. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. The EMT quickly went to work, gently cutting away the cloth of her suit jacket. He examined the wound and her blood soaked clothing, then looked her in the eye. “Young lady,” he said, “it looks like you’ve torn an artery. You need a transfusion.”

  She gazed up at him, trying to focus on his words. “N- No. I can’t lea…”

  “Oh, yes you can.” He pressed a bandage on the seeping wound. “You have no choice.”

  There was so much at stake. This was the story of a lifetime––and her chance to dig for clues. No. She wouldn’t leave. She wouldn’t let them take her. “N- No. I- I have to… have to…”

  They strapped her onto a gurney, carried her to the ambulance, and started an IV. She fought to stay conscious. “Larry.” Her mouth felt dry.

  “Right here, Karen.”

  She tried to bring his face into focus. “Larry.”

  “Yes, darlin’.”

  “Find the clues. Don’t—don’t let ‘em miss it. –Larry?” She squeezed her eyes tightly. Then opened them again. “Find...” She took a labored breath.

  “Yes, Karen.”

  “Brad.”

  “I’m on it.” He squeezed her hand.

  “Our story. –Get it––for both of us.”

  “I will. You relax. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  A sentence formed in her mind, and before she could stop it, it came out. “I was wrong about you.”

  There. He had it, her drug induced confession. She tried again to focus on him. Well, he had gotten them into the farm and selflessly protected her from getting shot again. And she had to admit, there weren’t many like him who shared the same passion for the job. She smiled up at him through closing eyelids. Sure he was a crude chauvinistic arrogant meat head who liked to listen to his own voice, but now she saw him in a different light. He had something more, a noble quality. He had saved her—even after she’d treated him so badly.

  “Well I was right about you.” Larry smiled. “You’re the toughest, classiest gal I ever had the good graces to meet.”

  She reached over and tapped his hand with rubbery fingertips. “Jus- when I was- startin’ to truly,” she took a breath, “enjoy hating you.”

  He laughed. “Girl you could heckle a mountain lion from your death bed.”

  She let her heavy head lay back on the crinkly gurney pillow. Unconsciousness crept over her like a warm blanket, she had no strength left to fight it. The hum of the ambulance engine mingled with the buzz of electronic medical gear as she drifted away.

  The last sound she heard was Larry’s voice, distant and shallow. “I’ll find him darlin’. We’ll get him back. I promise.”

  Chapter 29

  David knocked on Claire’s door and checked again up the street. No one could have followed him without him noticing. He’d been careful to take long barren roads, stopping several times to examine his rear-view mirror closely.

  The door creaked open, and Claire’s plump concerned face appeared in the crack. “David! Oh, David. Come in. Come in.” She stepped aside to let him pass, then quickly shut the door behind him. “We were worried about you.”

  David looked beyond the doorway to Sharon standing in the middle of the living room, staring at the news on TV. Stan sat on the left side of the room, opposite the couch, in a barcalounger.

  Sharon’s face welled with emotion as she turned and started toward her husband. She looked like she had been through the ringer. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “We saw what happened to Karen on the news. Is she okay?”

  David hugged his wife close. “I called the station this morning, she’s supposed to be released from the hospital a little later.”

  “Oh thank God.”

  Stan stood up slowly, his age and weight impeded his mobility, but he was a rugged old man and bore through it. “Can I get you something to drink, David?”

  “No thanks, Stan. We’ve been enough of a burden on you.”

  Claire scowled. “Oh, you’re no burden. It’s a blessing to open our house to your family.”

  “Our casa is your casa,” said Stan with a smile.

  David looked around. “Where’s Jerry?”

  Sharon pulled away and wiped her eyes. “He dropped us off yesterday and left right out. We haven’t seen him since.”

  “He’s at the University,” said Claire.

  Sharon gave her a surprised look.

  “He called last night. I’m sorry, honey, I forgot to tell you. One of the other profess
ors needed him to help with something. I guess they’ve been working on it for quite awhile, and there was a breakthrough last night.”

  “Well, if it keeps his mind off the terrorists, that’s fine with me. I was expecting a long night of paranoia and political ranting, so, honestly, I’m glad he’s found something to keep him occupied.”

  Stan waved his hand toward the couch. “If you won’t let me get you anything, at least come in and have a seat.”

  David looked out the living room window on his way to the couch. “I suppose I can stay for a moment. But I really want to get the family further away from Boston. You and Claire should go too. It’s not safe here.”

  They all sat in the living room, Sharon and David next to each other on the couch, and Claire in a loveseat next to Stan’s stately barcalounger. Claire was brimming with questions. “Sharon said you believe the terrorists plan to do something on Sunday. I had to rattle her bones to get it out of her.”

  Sharon gave him a look of apology, as if to say, she was very persuasive.

  “So they found a bomb at the Gram Well Milk Farm. Do you think that was the bomb they were planning to use on Sunday?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “The Bomb Squad said the terrorists didn’t have time to finish the bomb. If that’s true, wouldn’t they have found other bomb material there, if they were making another bomb?”

  “Yeah,” said David, “that makes sense. Maybe it’s all over.”

  Stan spoke up. “There was an analyst on this morning. He said someone he knows on the Bomb Squad said the bomb was set up like the terrorists never planned to put a detonator on it.”

  David shifted in his chair. “You mean, it was a decoy?”

  “All I know is what the analyst said. The bomb wasn’t created to be blown up.”

  “Why would terrorists make a bomb if they weren’t going to blow it up?”

  “I don’t know.” Stan put his hand to his chin. “But I’d be willing to bet they have a fully functioning bomb somewhere else, and that the one in the barn was meant to be found.”

  “Detonators don’t cost much to install though. Do they? If they wanted the authorities to find the bomb, and feel like they had stopped a real threat, why not put a detonator on it? It would add to the realism.” He squinted at Stan. “I don’t know. It just seems weird.”