Trigger

by S. G. Redling

  Fold. Unfold.

  No. The uncertainty would work in her favor.

  Fold. Unfold.

  Uncertainty worked as a buffer, a margin of error, for their plan. Her plan. Not being able to answer every question, leaving a few blanks, kept the script fluid. Should elements of her plan fall apart, they could be reworked into the ongoing narrative to her favor.

  Only an idiot or a madman tried to control everything. The prize always went to those who expected the unexpected, who left room in their battle plan for chaos.

  The senator ended her call and handed the phone to an assistant who scurried off to complete whatever errands this current crisis had created. Meeks whispered with her father and mother, holding up her hands to silence and calm them. “They’re working on it, Dad. You know how things like this go. We have to trust them.”

  She shot Cara a look at that last line and Cara returned it with her best “Trust Me. I’m Paying Attention, I’m Capable, and I Care” look. It was a look she excelled at.

  It was Cara’s idea to check them into the Intercontinental as they evacuated the cathedral grounds. It was unexpected, she had explained to Jack Charbaneaux, who longed to return to her luxurious estate in Connecticut like a bunny racing for its warren. Cara explained the need to secure the family homes before everyone returned. While it might seem obvious, they could not safely assume that Senator Elizabeth Meeks had been the intended target of the attack.

  That won the war. That got Jack and Connie Charbaneaux to relax just a hair, especially once the radio relays began among the family rides. Who would have to stay in the city? Who could safely go home? As badly as anyone might want to get back to their own acreage, to do so with the blessing of security meant they were not quite important enough to be targeted by a madman.

  Cara laughed to herself at the conversations she imagined.

  What do you mean I couldn’t possibly be the target? Don’t they know who I am?

  Repeated ad nauseum. Hotel business in Manhattan would spike this afternoon, cousins and aunts and uncles deciding to ‘do what is best for the family.’

  Cara waved the last of the security detail away as Elizabeth Meeks approached her and settled onto the camel-colored leather sofa next to Cara.

  “I won’t bother asking you what happened,” the senator said with her trademark droll tone. “I suspect you have heard enough of that. My question is what now?”

  Cara sighed. “Now we wait. We let security sweep your family homes to be sure this wasn’t merely a distraction.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, this is worst-case scenario thinking. That’s what you pay me to consider. There is the possibility that the disruption after the funeral—”

  “The bomb.”

  Cara used a lifetime of training to keep from rolling her eyes. “Yes, the smoke bomb could have been used to create an urgency in our departure, the idea being that we would rush back to Connecticut willy-nilly and perhaps be lax in our detail in our haste to return you to the safety of your home. We might miss small changes in the environment – trucks that hadn’t been there earlier, staff changes, landscaping developments.”

  “Landscaping developments?” Meeks asked, finally laughing.

  Cara nodded. “You would be surprised how easy it can be to swap one planter out for another without anyone noticing. Could you honestly say you could identify the trucks from your family’s landscaping company? Do you know every member of the gardening team? Details like that are where the dangers lay.”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “It’s not your job to think of that.”

  The senator accepted a cup of tea from her flustered assistant who smiled at Cara gratefully when she waved off her offer to get another cup. Meeks sipped her tea, which had no doubt been brewed exactly to her specifications.

  “But it is my job to know that my mother will lose her mind if we don’t get that photo taken this year. I think I would rather lie on an actual bomb than endure the heartbreak and drama that would ensue if we don’t get our Nonze-gram.”

  Cara didn’t need to lie. “I swear on everything I hold dear that I will get you all home for that photo. How many years has it been? Ten years Antonia Nonze has been giving you all the exclusive on the Christmas photo? That’s impressive. I don’t want to be the one responsible for breaking that streak.”

  “No, you do not,” she said with a laugh. “Nobody does.”

  “It’s nice that your brother came home for it this year. I noticed he isn’t in all of them.”

  “No, he’s not.” Meeks stared into her tea. “I can’t believe Grandfather got him to come home this year. I love Sin so much but he’s so difficult to pin down, you know? Contrary doesn’t seem to be the right word but it’s the closest one I can think of right now.”

  “He does march to his own beat, doesn’t he? Maybe this year will be different?”

  Cara tinged the question with a delicate balance of hope and doubt.

  “Maybe. I hate that it took a funeral and a threat to my life to get him back here. Is it awful of me that there’s a small, dark part of my heart that’s thankful for the incident today?” Meeks hurried to cover her tracks. “I mean, of course it’s terrible that someone endangered a crowd. That’s not what I’m implying at all.”

  Cara put a soft hand on her knee. “I think I know what you’re saying. That if nothing had happened, you’re worried your brother might have thought this was all a set-up to get him home. He’d think you manipulated him.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. He doesn’t like to be played. But then, who does?”

  Cara didn’t trust herself to answer that question without a laugh.

  “It’s a funny thing, though,” Meeks said, changing the subject. “I stay at this hotel quite often. I know the standard amenities and yet this suite, which we raced to in the chaos of the explosion, is fully stocked with all my favorite things – my tea, my aromatherapy candles, even the specialized linens I request for my bed.”

  “Hospitality is their business.”

  Meeks cocked an eyebrow while sipping. “How long have you had this reservation?”

  Cara laughed as if caught. “A week. Once I got the news about your uncle’s death.”

  “You just had a feeling we might need a half dozen rooms in the city?”

  Cara smiled sheepishly. “A half dozen at this hotel. A condo in Harlem. A brownstone on the East Side. Two apartments in your cousin’s building. I also have two helicopters and a boat on standby just in case.”

  “That couldn’t have been cheap.”

  “Neither is our fee.”

  “Between you and Nonze, we’re taking quite a financial hit this week.”

  “I promise you it will all be worth it.”

  Meeks breathed in the steam from the tea and Cara let the silence stretch out. The senator was good at controlling the tempo of any interaction. Cara was better. And Cara had a better view of the upcoming terrain so she didn’t fidget, she didn’t rush to fill the silence with reassurances or busy work. She didn’t even have a cup of tea to keep her hands busy. She didn’t need it. She ignored the desire to fold and refold her napkin and waited.

  “So, what do we do now?” Meeks broke first.

  Cara took the small win graciously. “We are waiting to hear back from the agents on the ground who are questioning witnesses, clearing the crowd, making absolutely certain there were no injuries. That’s a nightmare we don’t need.” The senator closed her eyes and nodded. “In all likelihood, this was just a weirdo who likes to create chaos, who can’t resist the allure of a crowd. He’s probably been sitting on that smoke cannister for weeks waiting for the next concert or protest or art exhibit in the neighborhood. Your uncle’s funeral might just have been an unfortunate coincidence.”

  “And if it wasn’t? If it was a targeted, political attack?”

  “Then we’ll deal with that too. We’re sw
eeping the most likely means of escape, checking security cameras. The Secret Service has avenues of investigation the city cops don’t have.” She left off the fact that whatever information the Secret Service might find wouldn’t do them much good in this situation since, unknown to almost everyone, this particular operation was being run by a much higher authority. “I am also going to personally interview certain members of your family in attendance.”

  “My family?” A small wave of tea crashed over the rim of the cup. “Why would you interview my family? We were behind the cordon.”

  Cara made a show of answering the question delicately. “Yes, they were behind the cordon. Most of them. As such, all of you had a unique view of the crowd before you. You might have witnessed something important without realizing it. I’m trained to—”

  “What do you mean, most of them? Who wasn’t behind the cordon?”

  “Not everyone stood in the center of the group. That’s all I’m saying. You were all stretched out across the steps. I think it might have been one of the Wrens who was trying to evaporate into the background.”

  “Probably Olivia. She hates crowds.”

  Cara nodded. “And your brother’s friend. She didn’t stick around for the photo opportunities. She seems pretty shy.”

  “Dani.” Senator Meeks possessed that impeccable memory for names that all successful politicians shared. “She didn’t sit with the family. Was that your decision?”

  “No,” Cara lied. “I think she wanted to give you all some space. Let it be family.”

  Meeks directed her thoughts into her tea. Cara didn’t push. She didn’t want to openly cast suspicion on anyone. All she needed to do was plant a few seeds and pretend she saw nothing growing.

  The senator came to her own conclusion. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s absurd to think that Dani would have detonated that bomb. From what my mom tells me, she hardly packed anything with her for this trip. She had to borrow a dress for the funeral. I doubt she had room to smuggle in an explosive.”

  “And why would she?” Cara loved questions like that. They sounded innocent. On the surface they spoke in defense of the subject but she knew that, on a deeper level, they opened up a subconscious chain of questions that could grow in volume and intensity under the proper circumstances.

  “Why would she?” Meeks echoed.

  These certainly seemed like the proper circumstances.

  Before the senator could fully run the probabilities – and come to the inevitable conclusion that they were patently absurd – Cara switched gears.

  “You know what? I’m going to call an audible. Your family does not have to spend the night here. The team in Connecticut is probably done with the sweep of the grounds. My agents are doing what they do. Why don’t I tell your assistant to start packing up? At least get your parents back home so they can oversee the preparation for the photo. I know it has to be a complicated undertaking.”

  Meeks shot her a comical look of gratitude. “You have no idea. The buffet alone comes with ten pages of instructions. They’ll be glad to get out of here. I think I’m going to stay in the city for the night. I can get some work done. CNN is wearing me out wanting a statement. It’s just as easy to do that here, give my family some privacy. Are you staying?”

  Cara held her arms out wide. “Wither thou goest, so shall I follow. In other words, you’re stuck with me.”

  The senator laughed. In that laugh, Cara saw the young woman she used to be before she had sharpened the knives of her political aspirations. Meeks trusted her.

  And why shouldn’t she?

  “Well then, I will leave you to do whatever witchcraft you do. I’m going to put on fresh warpaint and face the media. Then I’m going to kick all nonessential personnel out of the suite and indulge in some of these delightful amenities you so thoughtfully arranged.”

  “Sounds good,” Cara said, standing with Meeks and gathering her bags and papers. “You don’t need my help handling the press. I’m just going to tie up a few loose ends. Check in with my team for updates. I’ll keep you informed of what we find out.” Meeks was halfway to the bathroom when Cara tossed out her last bit.

  “I’m going to go uptown and interview your cousin and your brother and his friend. See if I can’t clear up a few things.”

  “What things?” Meeks had an excellent poker face.

  “I’m just going to find out what, if anything, they saw. I’m very good at getting inside people’s heads and helping them remember details they didn’t even realize they had noticed. Memories are funny things. Sometimes they need a little help. That’s where I come in.”

  Meeks nodded; the young girl she had shown earlier now deeply buried. She considered Cara for a moment.

  “I bet you are good at that. I bet people tell you all kinds of things.”

  Cara smiled and shrugged. “It’s a gift.” With a little wave, she turned her back on the senator and headed for the door.

  Seeds planted.

  Alone at last. Cara leaned back against the soft leather seat, ignoring the stop and start traffic of Manhattan. These moments of solitude would become rarer the closer they got to the trigger and of course once the trigger was pulled, pandemonium would rule for the foreseeable future. Her fingertips tingled at the thought, the napkin folding and unfolding along well-creased lines. For all her love of order and control, Cara enjoyed an almost fetish-level love for chaos, provided it was chaos she provoked and didn’t have to suffer through.

  A great part of her soul longed to watch the world burn.

  Releasing the tortured fabric, Cara pulled out the tablet encased in her trademark red pebbled leather. She tapped in her password and brought up the tracking app. Everyone was where they were supposed to be. The red and yellow dots blinked together slowly. The blue dot sat solid and stable. The blinking signified significant movement within the hour. A solid color told her that the subject had stayed put.

  Cara tapped through the app, pulling up the mobility reports. Although unnecessary, she checked the progress of the red dot over the past three hours. Connecticut, into Manhattan, up to Cathedral Parkway. No significant movement for an hour or so and then a rapid trajectory west to Riverside Drive. She knew exactly where Sinclair Charbaneaux had been and would be. She had had eyes on him all day. Still, it was nice to ensure the program worked efficiently. Bio trackers could and did go offline periodically, especially in a city as dense with electronic noise as New York City.

  With time to kill on her drive, Cara pulled up the details of the blue dot. Solid as a rock. No movement at all. Good boy, Tom Booker, staying put and waiting for orders like the good psychopath you are.

  It was the yellow dot that concerned her. Cara enlarged the map graphic, zeroing in both for area and time lapse. Dani leaving Connecticut. Dani joining the Charbaneaux kid at the Cathedral, although Cara knew if she could zoom in tight enough she would never see the yellow and red dots adjacent. You never could get close enough, could you Dani?

  It was the span of moments immediately after the funeral that interested Cara. Where had Dani gone? It didn’t take a great deal of psychological training to predict that the girl would not have enjoyed the tightly packed crowd. That was one of the reasons Cara had subtly manipulated security to keep Dani on the wrong side of the cordon. Chaos brought its own rewards.

  She stayed within the perimeter of the cathedral for quite a while. These trackers had their limitations. Under the circumstances in which they were implanted, certain state of the art features had to be sacrificed for time and physical limitations. It wasn’t like ISOC was able to call the three subjects in for an upgrade, so Cara had to work with what she had. The trackers occasionally blinked out. They couldn’t pinpoint location any closer than ten feet and they didn’t supply any biometric information like heart rate or body temperature, although they would send an alert if the server detected an absence of bio presence for any period longer than twenty minutes.
>
  In other words, if Tom Booker put two and two together and figured out that he too had a tracker, he couldn’t just dig it out and toss it away without her knowing. Especially since it was implanted up his nose and in his sinuses. She shuddered at the gory image of that nut job rooting around within his own skull. Revolting.

  Shortcomings aside, the trackers worked well enough for their purposes. The odds of Dani finding some way to levitate and escape the scene vertically were comically small and so all Cara needed to worry about was where she could run.

  West. She ran west, which jibed with where they had found her upon evacuation of the smoke bomb scene. Cara replayed the motion sequence of the yellow dot. The slight blurring of the graph told her that Dani had probably zigzagged through the crowd, no doubt being jostled and shoved at armpit level to the taller members of the general population – which was most of them. How Dani hated being shoved and manipulated through crowds. That resentment had risen to the top of many of her drug-induced revelations. She didn’t mind being short. She loathed the world’s dismissal of her bodily autonomy and personal space.

  Cara wished she had access to satellite photography of the crowd. She wished she could zoom in on that precious look of rage and frustration on Dani’s tan little face. Then again, her face probably wouldn’t be visible, buried as it would be below shoulder level.

  A low chuckle slipped out. The driver made the mistake of looking back in the rearview mirror, only to receive a withering scowl from Cara.

  Did nobody on this planet respect a woman’s privacy anymore?

  Back to the tablet. Dani had made decent time from the cathedral to Riverside Park. She had become quite the runner, hadn’t she? That was a new development since moving to Redemption Key. When Cara had had her, Dani hadn’t been much of a fitness nut. She’d been more of a mouse, a hider, a curl up with a book kind of girl. Cara had enjoyed following her running progress, tracking the ever-lengthening jaunts around the small island, displayed in blinking yellow dots across her tablet. The first time Dani had run a mile in one go, Cara had actually cheered. It couldn’t have been easy for her, running with that painful bullet wound in her thigh.