“What do you mean, they got what they wanted?”
“We’re all as good as dead. The entire city could be rubble for all we know. Radiation could be leaking down through the cracks as we speak.”
Elliot’s voice trembled. “A nuclear bomb?”
Could it be? Were they finally successful at setting off a nuclear bomb in Boston?
“No,” said David. “That doesn’t make sense. If they had the ability to set off a nuke they wouldn’t have been playing this cat-and-mouse trip with you. They don’t have that kind of power, they can’t even kill the one man capable of shutting their lab down. We’re going to get out of here. We just need to stay calm and wait for rescuers to come.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Karen tried Brad’s number again, with the same results. The cell network was overloaded. The sterile message asked her to be patient and try again later. She hit cancel and gripped the phone to her chest.
“What if he didn’t get on the flight?” said Collins. But his words did not comfort her.
“Can you take me back to the television station?” she said, stoically looking out the window at the police roadblocks and fury of blinking lights beyond. The plane had taken out an entire block of commercial buildings, and it seemed like every emergency vehicle in the state was flooding into Milford to help.
It was the largest news story in recent history—but she wanted to be as far away from it as possible.
“We’re penned in, Karen, and headquarters will want us to be involved with the rescue efforts.”
“I just can’t do this.”
“You’re safe here in the vehicle, and I’ll check on you. Okay?”
Her thoughts fell on David Chance. It was the first she had thought of him since getting the news about Brad. She’d been so caught up in her own loss that she had not considered how his family would be affected by this tragedy. His wife, Sharon, and his kids were sitting at home, waiting for him to return for a dinner he would never eat. Sharon would want to know. She deserved to know. Karen, more than anyone, understood this.
“May I use your satellite phone, Agent Collins?” she said in a flat, automated voice.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, fishing it out.
“Thank you.”
“I have to go,” he said, “but I’ll be back to check on you, all right?”
She nodded, then looked at her cell’s contact list and punched David’s number into the satellite phone. It rang on the other side as Collins climbed out.
Sharon’s voice answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, Sharon. This is Karen Knight.”
“Wow! Karen. Are you guys at the crash site? It’s all over the news. We’ve been glued to it since it started.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty bad,” she said weakly.
“I imagine you guys are scrambling like crazy. Don’t worry about us, we understand, keep him as long as you need to.”
“Sharon...” her voice broke off.
“Are you okay, Karen?”
A stillness filled the phone line.
“It’s about David,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I thought you would want to hear it from someone, who...”
Sharon must have heard the sadness in her slow words and measured tone, because she didn’t wait for her to finish. “Oh. No. Please, no,” she whimpered.
“I’m so sorry, Sharon.”
“Wh- what happened?” Her voice cracked.
“David was in the bank when the plane came down.”
The phone became like death in her hand, cold and silent.
“I have no words to express...”
She heard a sniff on the other side as Sharon tried to hold it together.
“If there is anything I can do. Anything.”
Sharon’s labored breaths broke her heart, like she was hearing her own grief reflecting off a canyon wall.
“Thank you,” Sharon said at last. It was short and controlled. She took in a shuddered breath. “I know this must have been hard for you.”
“I’m so sorry, Sharon.”
“I can’t,” she said, sniffing.
“I wish there was something I could do—something I could say.”
“It’s okay. Thank you. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“I understand.”
The phone went dead. Karen dropped her hand into her lap and looked out the window. The shell shock was protecting her from the intense pain that waited to stab her. So much had happened. How could she begin to process it? Two hours ago all she could think about was getting to the bottom of this mystery, and now—now it seemed trivial in light of the immeasurable loss.
She lifted the satellite phone and punched Brad’s number in. The system was still down, but she found a strange comfort in the message that promised that this was only a temporary problem, and that she would soon be able to connect with the man she loved.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Cindy Coulter organized the papers on the news desk as she waited apprehensively for the camera light to signal the return from commercial. The teleprompter was cued on the next story, but it would have to wait as the room flurried with the news of another breaking story.
The voice of Karen Knight buzzed in her earbud. It was not the voice of the young, confident woman who had wowed station executives and captured the heart of the greater Boston area only a few short years ago. It sounded tired and beaten. Needless to say, the loss of her husband was weighing heavily on her, as it was everyone at News Channel Seven. They were all grieving over Brad and David—but no one more than Karen. Yet she felt the need to press on, to pretend to be objective and strong. She wasn’t fooling anyone, though.
They had heard her crying in the bathroom, and could see the circles under her eyes. Her sorrow was evident in her inability to stay focused—and in the temper that erupted when anyone pointed this out to her. Cindy had never cared for Karen; she was far too overbearing and opinionated. But even she could not help feeling pity for her.
She glanced at the monitor where Karen stood in front of emergency vehicles parked outside of the perimeter of the crash site. It must have been so hard for her, to be so close to where Brad’s life had been extinguished, yet her face remained stalwart. Cindy doubted she could have done it, stand there in front of the camera and report on the tragedy that had claimed her husband’s life. She honestly didn’t understand why the station manager had allowed her to cover the story in the first place. Maybe they felt she could handle it. Maybe, in some strange way, they thought it would help her to heal.
“We have enough to go with the story,” said Karen. “We’re waiting for them to bring the survivors out.”
Jim Coldfield’s voice buzzed in Cindy’s earpiece. “We’re coming back from commercial in ten. Get ready.”
Cindy straightened in her chair and looked into the camera.
The cameraman gave the countdown, then pointed.
“Welcome back. I’m Cindy Coulter. When tragedy hit Milford, Massachusetts ten days ago, the ripples of it were felt even here at News Channel Seven. We lost two comrades that day. But from the ashes comes a story of hope. We’ve just received word of a miraculous turn of events at the crash site of flight 304 where rescue crews had recently given up searching for survivors. We now go live to Karen Knight on the outskirts of the site.”
“Thank you, Cindy,” said Karen, looking up from her notes. Her plastic face showed no emotion as she ran through the facts that had emerged. “Rescue crews had been working around the clock for seven days when they announced there was no hope anyone else would be found alive in the wreckage left in the wake of the tragedy of flight 304. But at 3:15 this afternoon, construction crews heard a clanking noise coming from deep in the heart of the rubble that once used to be the center of commerce for the city of Milford. I’m told that a few minutes ago three men were recovered from a bank vault underneath the Norfolk County Savings and Loan.” Suddenly she paused, and a strange look twisted her features.
W
hat is she doing? thought Cindy as Karen stood motionless. Would she finally break? Would she come unglued on live television? Cindy could sense the tension in the newsroom building around her as everyone—especially those who had gone to bat for Karen to allow her to cover the story—sat frozen with her, wondering if they had made the wrong call.
“Come on Karen,” whispered Cindy.
Karen’s eyes flicked up to the camera, and there was a quizzical look on her face.
Come on, Karen. You can do this.
Karen continued. “Rescuers are calling it a miracle.” There was a noticeable release of tension in the newsroom as she seemed to recover from whatever emotion had taken hold of her. “Rescuers report,” she said, with renewed energy, “that the three men are healthy and in good spirits after being entombed ten days beneath the rubble of downtown Milford. They say that fresh air had made it in through a network of tunnels that run under the city center, and that...” Her voice cracked and she stopped again.
“What is she doing?” said one of the techs next to Cindy.
Karen brought her hand to her mouth. It looked like she was crying.
Jim Coldfield’s voice went out across the comm network. “Do you need a moment, Karen? You want us to go to commercial and let you regroup?”
Karen stiffened and looked back at the camera, wiping the tears on her cheeks with poise and dignity. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She took a breath. “We are being told that the three men could not possibly have survived if not for the fact that food and liquids had been left in the bank vault before the disaster occurred.”
Cindy was baffled. Karen now looked elated.
Suddenly a voice bounced off every wall of the studio. “David did that!” it screamed. “That’s David’s food!”
Cindy turned to see who was shouting. Through the master control window she saw Nerd standing at his station with both bony fists clenched in excitement, his eyes looking as though they might burst from his head. “He’s the one! He saved those people!”
From the monitor, a loud male voice shouted, “Hey! Where are you going?!”
Cindy turned her eyes back to it.
Karen had left her spot and was now being chased by her cameraman, Larry. The camera shifted to the right and attempted to focus on a woman with curly blond hair who had breached the police line and was now being chased by two officers.
The studio with all it’s cameras and lights seemed to vanish around Cindy Coulter as she stared at her flat panel monitor, forgetting her job and her role as news anchor of a major network affiliate. Without her knowledge or permission, she had been relegated to the role of viewer, unable to pull her eyes away from the drama unfolding in real time.
Karen twisted back toward the camera. “Are you getting this?”
Larry’s southern drawl picked up on the mic. “Does a one-legged duck swim in circles, darlin’?”
The camera tracked the woman as best it could as Karen and Larry reached the perimeter. Suddenly the background sound tripled as the microphone input was switched from Karen’s hand-held to the camera’s boom mic. Every noise around the camera fought for attention. A police officer screamed, “Stop!” Next to the camera, Karen pleaded to be allowed over the line, and in the distance the woman’s voice rose above it all. “DAVID!” she screamed. “DAVID!”
The camera jilted to the left, and a group of men could be seen escorting three dust-covered men with blankets draped over them.
“Please!” screamed Karen. “That’s his wife! I know them! Let me through!”
There was flash of yellow, then Karen and Larry were on the move again. Cindy could hardly breath. The camera trained on the three men as the blond woman ran to the man in the middle and wrapped her arms around him. She wiped at his face and kissed him furiously as the group of rescue workers circled around. The camera came in close.
“I can’t believe it,” said the woman over and over again.
Cindy could now make out David through the dust and the grime, and emotion welled in her own heart. It was true. It was all true. How could it not be? The messages were real.
David hugged his wife, and the crowd hushed.
“I was so scared,” whispered his wife.
David pulled back slightly and looked at her. His voice sounded hoarse and dry. “How did you...”
“How did I know to be here at exactly 2:15 at the corner of Westwood and Center?”
The tightening of his face made the crust of dirt crack. “Yeah.”
She smiled. “You don’t think you’re the only one getting messages, do you?”
WHAT NEXT?
Why not read the third book in the David Chances Series?
LIES by John Michael Hileman
Enjoy the first three chapters of Lies FREE.
Chapter 1
Jon Blake took his eyes off the traffic outside of the West Side Diner and focused on the napkin in front of him. He turned it slightly and wrote, "What could do that?" The words fit neatly in the space between two other lines he had written. "They knew about the buried money," and, "They knew about the hidden evidence." His eyes brushed across other words he had written: "Precognition, ESP, mind control." He drew a line under mind control. Control was a factor, of this he was certain. Someone, or something, was sending messages to him and David Chance for the purpose of controlling them. But who could do that? He patently rejected the belief that the messages were from God, as David believed, but the other options were just as crazy, if not more so. He looked at the left corner of the napkin and drew a line through the word "CRAZY" and wrote "NOT CRAZY" below it. It was certainly crazy for a person to hear voices in their head. But his voices were different. His voices knew things—things they couldn't possibly know.
A familiar buzz started to grow in the back of his head, but he squeezed his eyes shut and forced its influence back. He didn't want to hear what they had to say. They’d used him—lied to him.
He wrote "LIARS" under "What could do that?" and traced it several times—until it was the blackest word on the napkin. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that they could not be trusted.
As the waitress came to the table he covered the napkin and pulled it in.
"Want your coffee topped off, honey?"
He looked at his half-empty cup and gave a quick nod.
"You okay?" Her forehead tightened.
"Yeah," he said, without looking up. "Thanks."
"Well, if you need a friendly ear, go ahead and flag me down, 'kay sweetie?"
"Thanks," he said, again, lifting the mug to his lips.
She took a couple chews of her gum, then continued on her rounds.
A phrase formed in the back of his head, so faint he might have mistaken it for his own thoughts, if he didn't know better.
"We have the answers you seek," it said, weakly.
He growled at himself for letting the waitress distract him. Go away, I don't want to hear your lies.
"You have questions." This had an urgent sound to it. Probably because they could feel him pushing them away.
Jon lifted his hand from the napkin and studied the words numbly. There were so many questions, questions maybe only they could answer. But how would he ever know if they were telling him the truth?
"Lies are necessary," said a sultry female voice.
You used me.
"Yes."
I can't trust a word you say!
"Lying and trust are separate concepts. We did lie, but you are safe and you are better off than when we found you."
His chest tightened. Are you KIDDING?! Everything you gave me is gone!
"Not everything."
No thanks to anything YOU did!
"You think we are unable to give you more?"
I want to know why you took back what you gave already.
"That was not our intention; we didn't cause the plane to crash."
But you could have warned me. Now the money is gone, buried under a pile of rubble.
/>
"Money is of no consequence. There is always more."
I went through HELL to get that money! I earned it!
"There are other sources. Easier sources."
Why am I even having this discussion with you? The money doesn't matter. I can't trust you.
"How have we lost your trust?"
For one, you tried to make me KILL an innocent man!
"Elliot James is not innocent." There was venom in their words.
You said he was responsible for Sandra's death. You said his men were chasing me. All lies! And the guards at the bank, they weren't behind me on the stairs, you just wanted to herd me into that basement to do your dirty little deed.
"It was necessary."
Breath burst from his lips. Why did I think you would give me a straight answer?! He squeezed his eyes and pushed with his mind.
"If we hadn't lied to you, you would have given in to your weakness. But look at you now. You're stronger than you have ever been."
The truth of their words caused him to slow his push.
"The lies were for your good. To make you strong. To give you a passion to do what was needed."
For his good? How had anything turned out for his good?
"You are better with us, Jon. Stronger."
It was true. They had led him to do things he had never had the courage to do before, and there was no denying how it had made him feel, powerful, indestructible.
"We make you stronger. With us you are the person you were meant to be. Do you remember what you were before us?"
His defenses were beginning to erode as their words struck deep in the tempest of his soul. With their help he was stronger—and for the past ten days he’d gotten a taste of what it would be like to live without them again. At first, the news agencies couldn't get enough of him. But now, only ten days after the biggest news story in local history, he was all but forgotten. Their love affair with David Chance had relegated him to page-five news.
"With us, nothing is out of your reach."
But I can't trust you, he thought again, weakly.
The voice of a little girl filled his head. "Ask your waitress where her daughter is."
VOICES: Book 2 in the David Chance series (Suspense, Mystery, Thriller) Page 22