Karen grabbed her phone and put a call in to Jim Coldfield.
“Jim here.”
“Jim this is Karen.”
“I was just about to call you.”
“Were you now...” Sarcasm dripped off her lips.
“Don’t go near the house. The Feds heard us talking about sending a group of security, and Agent Cooper paid me a visit. “Karen, you can’t go near that house.”
“Why? What did they say?”
“I’m not at liberty to tell you.”
She sat with her mouth hanging open. “Then- maybe I’ll just go in and get him myself.”
“Karen. No. Where are you now?”
She looked in her rear view mirror. “–Let’s just say, I’m close.”
“Well, turn around.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“Karen, listen. Agent Cooper told me in strictest confidence that they have a mole in the house. Forcing him to reveal himself will jeopardize the recovery of the bomb. He would have told us before, but they were trying to protect the undercover agent, and Brad, by keeping a tight lid on it. He just left my office. Calling you was my next priority.”
“A mole? And you believe him?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Her mind reeled. “Now that we know where the house is, we’re just going to sit on it and wait?”
“Karen, Homeland Security is on top of things. Let them handle it!”
“I just think its...”
“Let them handle it, Karen!”
“Fine!” She pressed hard on the cancel button and threw the phone on the passenger’s seat. She knew Jim had a keen sense about things like this. He had years of experience dealing with crises, and the nose of a seasoned reporter. In all her years working at the station, she had never seen him make a mistake. He was right. She knew it––but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
So now what? She looked down at her torn nylons, then back out the window at the house. Her eyes narrowed. There was something eerily familiar about this place––but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The yellow house with its black shutters––the tire swing in the yard––the dirt driveway off a dead end street. She looked over at the mailbox with the number eighty-five marked in rusted lettering. Her eyes opened wide.
The scene from the book?! It can’t be! Her mind leaped about in confusion. How? She remembered her conversation with David. He admitted to putting the note on her desk. He must have known the story was connected to the hostage house! But he acted like he didn’t. Why would he put the book on her desk and pretend not to know what it was? And the photo? David was standing next to the man Ali claimed was the bomb maker. But he’s such a nice guy! This doesn’t make ANY sense at all! David Chance––a terrorist? She gripped the steering wheel and pressed her head against it. None of this made any sense!
Suddenly a strange sensation washed over her, and she looked up. –David said to do what the book said. He was very adamant about this. She tried to remember what she had read; it was––something about childhood sweethearts who were grown up. Apparently she still loved him, but for some reason she wasn’t allowed to see him. So––she would beep the horn to let him know she was there.
Karen looked out at the house and placed her hand firmly on the center of the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Three times she pressed firmly on the horn, then let her hand slide off and rest in her lap. She looked down at the horn symbol on the hard black plastic of the steering wheel. Her heart skipped a beat.
What did I just DO?!
Chapter 42
Three short beeps. They were faint, but he was sure he had heard them, and the message from the study flashed in his mind. Fear not, the distant horn sounds. It wasn’t fear not the distant horn, but fear not, and, the distant horn sounds. The horn wasn’t some scary sound in the distance. It was a signal! David got to his feet. What next? He brought his bound wrists to his face and pulled his sleeve back with his teeth. RUN!
He tried the door; it was unlocked! Did Hamid leave it unlocked on purpose? It didn’t matter. He opened the door––and froze. But Hamid said stay! Should I trust him? What if Brad really isn’t dead? What if I need to be here to distract the gunman? His heart raced. God help me! As quickly as he thought the words, he knew. The message was TRUE; he knew it in the very depths of his being. Even if Hamid was for real, David needed to obey the messages first. He burst out the door and ran down the hallway. Left! He took a left at the empty living room and ran through a door to a large open hallway with a set of stairs running down. Stairs! No wait! He looked at his arm. Bullet! There, at the top of the stairs, was an open duffel bag. Lying on top of a pile of gear was a box of bullets. He reached his taped hands in, fumbled out one of the bullets, and shoved it in his pocket.
Where were the terrorists? He looked back and saw shadows moving in the kitchen. There was no way he could check on Brad without getting caught. It didn’t matter; the messages were leading him out. He took the stairs three at a time and came to a door at the bottom. He opened it, ran across the porch, and leaped over the railing. His feet dug into a flower bed, his bound hands touched down in the soft dirt. In the distance a Channel Seven News car was turning around on the street. Are they leaving? He broke into a sprint and kept his eyes on the car as he dodged back and forth through a grove of pine trees. Was it the news car that sounded the horn?
He sprinted harder toward the road. Thoughts of what the terrorists might do if they caught him flooded his mind. His feet pounded the grass, and his upper body struggled against the wobble caused by his bound wrists. He wanted to call out, but he knew better. The car began to roll away, David waved his arms frantically. I’m HERE! LOOK!
The brake lights flashed, and the vehicle slowed. David skidded to a stop at the driver’s side door. Karen’s face came into view. She looked as startled to see him as he was to see her. He bolted around to the passenger side and fumbled with the handle. The window slid down a crack. “Are you one of them?”
“Am I––What! Open the door!”
“Are you working with the terrorists?
“No! Do I look like I’m working with the terrorists?” He held up his bound hands. “Open the door!”
She probed him with her eyes.
“Karen, please!”
She unlocked the door and pushed the dirty box onto the floor. He jumped in.
The door slammed by itself as the car accelerated.
“What is going on! Why are you bound?”
“They grabbed me when I went to stop the bomb.” He breathed heavily.
“Stop the...? What are you...?” She snapped him a look. “You are connected to the terrorists!”
“Connec...? No! I was following a lead and they grabbed me!”
“But you tried to stop the bomb? You know where it is?”
“Well. Y- yes, but, no. Not exactly.”
“Then why...” She shot him a glare, then squinted. “Was Brad in there?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Is he okay?”
“Ye––um, I don’t know. Yes, I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I thought he was dead.” The words poured out. “It was done behind closed doors. I could only hear what was going on, but then the man who I thought killed him came and told me he was an undercover agent, and that Brad wasn’t really dead!”
Karen’s mouth hung open.
“Supposedly it was all an act, but I don’t know what to believe.”
Karen thought for a moment. “Wh––why would he pretend to kill Brad?”
“To buy time so they could find the bomb. That’s what he said.”
She squinted at him. “Wouldn’t he know where the bomb is?”
“Apparently not.”
“You said you know where it is, why didn’t you tell him?”
“I just found out he’s an undercover agent! And, HELLO! I was in shock!”
She gripped the steering wheel harder.
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to piece this thing together.” She looked at him again. “It’s been a LONG coupla days.”
As she spoke, he noticed for the first time what a wreck she was. Her hair was tangled, her suit coat and skirt were smeared with dirt, her nylons torn to shreds. “What happened to you?” he asked.
“What? -Oh. It’s a long story.”
He looked at the dirty box next to his feet. “Does this have anything to do with it?” He reached his bound hands down and picked it up.
“Yes. It has everything to do with it. That box is how I found you. It has information about alternate hostage sites.”
David fumbled through the contents. “Why is it covered with dirt”
“It was buried.”
“Buried?”
“Yeah, we ah, found some information about the terrorists, and Nerd figured out how to find this box. It’s some kind of GPS cache.”
He looked at her. “And you found it?”
“Yeah! I found it! I wasn’t going to wait around for the Feds, who were doing nothing to find Brad!”
David continued to paw through the contents.
“Basically it’s all Plan B stuff,” Karen offered. “Alternate locations, targets, routes. That sort of thing.”
“And alternate bomb sites?” David stared at one of the pages. “This stuff is creepy.”
“I figured since Homeland Security had raided Ace Wrecking and the farmhouse, that the terrorists would have Brad at an alternate site. And I was right, but now Jim says...”
“Wait a minute.” David looked closely at the sheet. “There’s nothing in here about Quincy Market.”
Karen looked at him. “What?”
“That’s where the bomb...”
The car slowed. “Where the bomb is? Are you sure?”
“Ah––no?” He really didn’t know. “–Maybe they moved it by now.”
She put her blinker on and shifted to the right lane. “Maybe they didn’t.”
“What are you doing?”
“According to the Feds, Brad is safe because they have a mole in the house. You confirmed that. So we should go to the bomb sight.”
“I don’t want to go to the bomb site.”
“Why not? You were just there.”
“Well maybe it’s not there anymore. Listen. Let the Bomb Squad deal with it! I’ve had all I can handle of bombs and terrorists.” And messages from God.
She gave him an examining stare.
He scowled back at her. “What?”
“I’m trying to figure out what your role is in all of this. Clearly you have inside knowledge, you’re connected somehow, yet they kidnapped you. –Did you have a falling out?”
“What? No! I told you I’m not connected to them!”
“How do you know so much about the bomb and the location of the hostage house?”
“I never said I knew where the hostage house was.”
“But the book you left on my desk. Page forty-nine? It exactly described the hostage house. Did you write that book?”
“No.” He looked away and stared out the window.
“Do you know the person who wrote it?”
“No. –I, ah, don’t even know what the book is.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “Then how on earth did you know I was supposed to go to the house on page forty-nine?!”
He continued to stare out the window. Oh, man. Here it comes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me!”
He sat silent.
“How do you know the bomb maker?”
He looked at her. “–What?”
“How do you know the bomb maker?”
“I- don’t!”
“David, I saw a picture of you next to the bomb maker.”
David’s mouth hung open. “What? What picture?”
“Just answer the question, David.”
David’s mind raced. Was it true? Did he know the bomb maker? That would explain how his family had been tracked so easily, and why there was a bomb in Claire’s backyard.
“Why is there a picture of you standing next to the bomb maker?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb, David. How did you know where the bomb was if you didn’t find out from the one who made it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“David. It’s going to come out. Last time I checked, the FBI won’t take, ’I can’t tell you,’ for an answer.”
“They won’t know I’m involved if you don’t tell them.”
“They have the picture!”
David gripped his head in his hands. “Listen, Karen. You have to believe me. I am not a part of this terrorist thing. I’m trying to stop it. That’s why they keep targeting me.”
She examined him again.
“Please, Karen. Ask Nerd. He’ll tell you. I’m going through some really strange stuff. And because of it, I’m stumbling onto things. I have no idea who the bomb maker is. I just wanted to stop this bomb and end this nightmare!”
She pursed her lips. “Okay. I’ll except that, for now, but I’m not done questioning you.”
“Thank you.”
“All I care about is getting the FBI to this bomb, so they’ll release Brad. Hand me my phone, it’s under your butt.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“That I have a credible source who claims the bomb is in Quincy Market.”
“But I don’t know where in Quincy Market, and if Homeland Security swarms the place, they’re likely to set it off early.”
“Then we need to find out exactly where it is.”
David didn’t bother to argue. He’d seen that look before. There was no reasoning with Karen Watson once she made up her mind.
He was going to have to follow the messages further, but he was not happy about it.
Not happy at all.
Chapter 43
A comedy troupe interacted with a small crowd in front of a white pillared building. Above them the golden letters of “Quincy Market” gleamed in the afternoon sun.
David, still rubbing the stickiness from the duct tape off his wrists, passed through and down the colonnade with Karen in tow. She had removed her torn nylons and tried to clean up a bit, but she was still a mess. She called out to him over the noise of the crowd. “What are you looking for?”
“I’ll know when I see it.” He felt bad for being short with her, but whatever had fueled his faith in the messages before, was now fully depleted. He felt utterly vulnerable. Sure they had rescued him from the hostage house, but they had allowed him to be captured in the first place! What else would they allow to happen to him? Was a little protection too much to ask for, while he ran his butt off trying to save innocent people from being blown to bits? David bounced his eyes back and forth, from signs to banners to clothing, and a message formed. Moved to second site. Go alone.
What? WHY! Why me? Aren’t there more qualified people, or more FAITHFUL people to lay this burden on? David crouched down and put his head in his hands.
“David?”
He shook with desperation. “This is never going to end.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but we have to keep going. Look around. These people need you.”
“I didn’t ask to be anyone’s savior. I’m just an intern.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re going through, but you need to pull it together. If you can stop this thing, David, stop it!”
He smeared the wetness across his cheeks and looked up at her. “The bomb’s not here.”
“What? H- How do you know?” The phone chimed in her jacket pocket. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” She pulled it out. “It’s Jim. I have to take this. Maybe he can help us.” She flipped the phone open and turned her back to him.
David remained crouched. Her voice was distant in the swirling fog the drugs had left in his head
. –The message said go alone. If he was going to go at all, this was the time to get away from Karen. He studied her, waiting for the right moment. She twisted further away and began speaking in a low voice.
David stood silently and slipped into the crowd.
By the time Karen noticed he was gone, he had melted into the sea of moving bodies. In the distance, he heard her shout his name above the noise of the crowd, but he didn’t look back. He left the colonnade, out through South Market, to the parking garage, where he had left his car earlier. It was still there, in the same shadowy corner, untouched. David pulled his keys out of his pocket.
He got in and put the key in the ignition, but he couldn’t bring himself to start the car. He was free to pursue the messages to the second bomb site, but doubts ate at him like a cancer. Doubts about himself, doubts about the messages. He felt like a rat in a maze. WHY is God putting me through this? –Was it God? Would a loving God do such a thing? I’m going to live the rest of my life permanently scarred from this whole stupid mess! Is that your so-called perfect plan? David saw his phone sitting in the passenger seat. He took in a deep breath and exhaled. There was only one person he knew who might be able to give him some peace of mind. He snatched the phone and dialed.
The gurgling ring on the other end seemed to go on forever.
“Hello?”
“Frank?”
“David! I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
“I didn’t expect to call again. Hey look. I have another God question. You in the mood to field it?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Why does God let bad stuff happen to good people, even people who are trying to do what he wants them to do?”
“You’re assuming there are good people.”
David thought about that for a second. “Why do I even call you?” he stated flatly.
“Do you want my answer?”
David held his tongue.
“You’re caught up in relativism. You think because you’re not as bad as the next guy, that makes you good. If a thief stood before a judge and said, ‘I know I took all that money from the bank, but I’m not as bad as that other guy who kills people and likes it,’ do you think the judge is going to say, ‘You know, you’re right. You’re a pretty good guy. I’ll let you go.’? Of course not!”
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