Déjà-BOOM!

by Wally Duff

  Whoa.

  Last Wednesday, I had to decide whether to save Kerry or thousands of people departing in planes from O’Hare. I chose my daughter. Later that day, I’d done the same thing with Hannah and her kids. They’d come first. I never considered doing it any other way.

  And I would do it again.

  But I couldn’t sleep because of what had happened at O’Hare and having been forced by the FBI to fudge a part of the content of the story afterward. I hoped Hannah might help me get past it.

  But she isn’t.

  My mouth took over my scrambled brains.

  “Let me get this straight. Micah did original research to find a cure for your multiple sclerosis.”

  “He did.”

  “And he was forced to do operations he didn’t want to do to keep you and your kids alive.”

  She nodded. “But during the surgeries, he also chose to perform secondary procedures to harvest the patients’ eggs to further his embryonic stem cell research.”

  “Come on, Hannah. That part of the operation didn’t hurt any of those girls.”

  “That is not the point. He did not have the patients’ consent to perform that procedure. In point of fact, he should have refused to perform any of the operations.”

  I thought about the abortion clinic bomber. “Some people, including several of my friends, think that when Micah sacrifices embryos in his lab, it is the moral equivalent to performing abortions.”

  Her eyes darkened. “That is ridiculous. The embryos my husband creates are for research. Nothing more.”

  I wanted to say those eggs could eventually develop into babies, but from the death glare she gave me, I decided there was nothing to be gained by debating this with her, especially since I still wasn’t sure where I stood on the subject of abortion.

  But there was something, as a mom, I needed to know.

  “Those men would have killed you and your kids if Micah hadn’t done what they wanted.” I took in a deep breath. “Was that okay with you?”

  “Israel is constantly at war. In any armed conflict there are always victims from collateral damage. The loss of a few people is acceptable to save thousands.”

  I flopped back against the couch. I’d never had a discussion like this before. I wanted to ask her if she really believed what she said, but from the intense look on her face she did.

  I decided to return to the reason I was there. “What about the remaining bad guy, Jamie?”

  “Who is Jamie?”

  Uh-oh.

  15

  “Jamie is an American who is one of the so-called ‘industrial spies’ and was working in a store at O’Hare during the uproar there, but the FBI let him go,” I said. “If he’s still in this area, I need to know where he is. I thought maybe the FBI gave Micah that information.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed together. “My husband neglected to mention anyone else to me.”

  Not good.

  “But Micah was involved with the bad guys. He has to know about Jamie.”

  Why wouldn’t your husband tell you about him?

  “Micah is a genius. He does not function on a level like normal people. That is the reason he followed their orders and did the operations even though he should not have. It was the easiest way to solve a problem that was keeping him from his work.”

  “You never knew there was a threat to you and your children?”

  “As I said, I was too sick to realize that was an issue.”

  “And you only figured it out after Micah told you the truth?”

  “Sadly, yes. I should have realized something was amiss when he mentioned the Hamlin Park Irregulars would save us, but then, I did not understand what he meant.”

  “The Hamlin Park Irregulars is Micah’s code name for me and my group of mommy friends who you now know — Cas, Linda, and Molly. As with you, I met them at Hamlin Park.”

  “I know that now. On July third, I told him about meeting you at the park and that you mentioned doing a story about me for your local column. He chose the name after the dinner party with your friends at your home. He had been emotionally stressed, but I assumed it was about his research. I thought he might enjoy meeting all of you and hoped it would help relieve his tension.”

  “But his stress was not from his work.”

  “Obviously not. I did not know it then, but those men controlled our lives. After he learned that you were a reporter, he hoped you and your friends would uncover the plot and save us.”

  I knew it!

  I’d felt an unseen force pushing me into the story about the men who had moved in across the street. It wasn’t just my burning desire to write a story to resurrect my writing career. It was also Micah’s hand on my back.

  “I’m worried Jamie will want to get even with me for uncovering their plot, which resulted in the members of his group being either shot or arrested,” I said.

  She slipped into her methodical doctor mode. I’d seen it before at Hamlin Park the day we met.

  “Let us assess this objectively.” She spoke again in a monotone voice. “How would Jamie know what happened if he is now unable to speak with his associates who, as you just said, are either dead or have been arrested?”

  “I guess he wouldn’t.”

  “Even though he was inside a store at O’Hare, if he was working, he would not have witnessed your part in the events on the concourse. He would have to assume the female FBI agent was responsible for the shooting because that is what the security videos showed.”

  “But they were doctored.”

  “He would not know that.”

  “You’re saying that I don’t need to worry about him.”

  “I am. If Micah didn’t mention Jamie to me, you should not be concerned.”

  Hope you’re right.

  16

  Suddenly, Hannah’s methodical doctor-face morphed into one of all-consuming terror.

  What the heck?

  She blinked several times, and then tears began cascading down her cheeks.

  Dr. Hannah Eisenberg was the last person in the world I would ever expect to cry about anything. And now she was. The sterile doctor persona was gone. I didn’t know what to do, so I waited.

  She took in a breath, and her crying slowed down. “There is only one logical conclusion. If Jamie is still in this area, he will try and kill Micah, and possibly me and the children, in retribution.”

  “What?”

  “Micah confessed to me that Jamie’s associates threatened to torture and then murder me and our children if my husband told the authorities about their plans. Obviously, someone did.”

  I finished the thought for her. “The FBI foiled the plot. Jamie has to assume it was Micah who blew the whistle on them, and now you’re afraid he’ll go after Micah for payback.”

  She nodded again. “And they might not stop with him. These people have a scorched earth policy for their Jewish enemies.”

  “Jamie might try to kill all of you?”

  “That is what they would do in Israel. I am afraid that will be the case here.”

  I took her hand in mine. “My friends and I are here for you.”

  The tears stopped. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

  “What I mean is, we’ll help you. I literally could not have survived last week if it weren’t for the rest of the Hamlin Park Irregulars. I realize how important my female friends are to me, and now we can be that to you.”

  “I cannot ask you to risk your lives for us again.”

  “We’re in this together. We’re not superheroes, but we’ll figure out a way to stop Jamie before he can hurt you and your kids.”

  Or any of us and our kids.

  “What should we do?” she asked.

  Darn good question.

  “Can you hire people to help guard you and the kids?”

  “I do not know anyone in Chicago. I would not know where to begin.”

  “I have a friend who is a detective on the Chicago PD. He shoul
d know security firms in this area. If it’s okay with you, I’ll call him.”

  “Please do.”

  “And cost won’t be a problem?”

  For the first time during our conversation, a smile appeared on her face. “That is one area that won’t present a problem. Since my parents died and left me a large inheritance, money has never been an issue for me.”

  Like my friend and fellow Hamlin Park Irregular, Linda Misle, Hannah is a member of the lucky sperm club. Her parents left her oodles of Berkshire Hathaway stock. When we researched Hannah online after meeting her, it was worth four hundred forty million dollars.

  “I’ll call him on the way home, but what about Micah’s lab?” I asked. “Does he have security there?”

  “The only times I have been there were to be treated, and it never occurred to me to evaluate that.”

  “I’ll drive by the lab this afternoon and check it out, but you might also have to set up a meeting there so I can get inside.”

  “I will arrange it immediately.”

  I stood up.

  “I better get going and finish my run. I’ll call or text you later.”

  “Please be careful.”

  She stood up and gave me a hug.

  Once I was back outside, I stretched until my muscles loosened up. With the Chicago heat and humidity, it didn’t take long. Sweat began pouring down my back. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the security cameras on the eves of their house were rotating again.

  Hannah was taking this threat seriously.

  But will Micah?

  17

  Later that morning, I left Kerry with Alicia while I drove to Micah’s lab to assess his security. It took me forty minutes to get there.

  The lab was a windowless, one-story gray cement building. A ten-foot-tall chain-link fence surrounded the lot, which was about the size of a typical Chicago city block. There were no signs to indicate what type of business was inside.

  An empty guard shack stood next to a gate with a horizontal barrier bar blocking a single lane. The parking lot was full of cars and SUVs, but no one manned the gate. Apparently, the only way for the employees to drive in was by using a remote control device to raise and lower the barrier.

  I scanned the premises for cameras or any other signs of security.

  Nothing.

  After parking my mommy van on the street, I grabbed my backpack and walked up to the guard shack. I peeked inside. It was empty. There wasn’t even a chair for a guard to sit on, suggesting the small building wasn’t being used.

  I stopped.

  Let’s see if anyone comes.

  After four minutes, no one did.

  I ducked underneath the bar and walked into the parking lot. I stopped again and waited for security personnel to approach me and ask what the heck I was doing there.

  But no one did.

  This is stupid.

  Walking across the parking lot, I approached the only door I saw. There was a loading dock next to it. The metal roller door was down. I walked up and grabbed the handle. I tugged on it, and it began to slide up.

  Come on, guys. I’m breaking into your lab!

  I rolled down the metal door and stepped up to the entrance. No keypad. I tried the doorknob. The door swung open.

  This is getting worse by the second.

  I stepped inside and discovered a small waiting room without any furniture. There was a closed door at the other end of the room.

  Probably unlocked too.

  Wanting to scream, I thought about how I could take out my Glock and start shooting and no one would notice.

  Micah’s a sitting duck.

  18

  I called Hannah on my way home from Micah’s lab.

  “I just went by your husband’s lab,” I said. “I gotta tell you, his security is basically nonexistent.”

  The line was silent a few seconds. “That is what I was afraid of. What do you suggest we do?”

  “Maybe my friend on the Chicago Police Department can get you a discount for security in two locations.” I paused. “But will Micah let us do this?”

  The line was again silent. “I will discuss it with him when he comes home.”

  “Being married to a genius seems to be difficult.”

  “But I am alive because of him.”

  I disconnected and decided to drive by the apartment where Jamie last lived. It was a four-story, red brick building about thirty minutes from Micah’s lab.

  There was no parking lot for the apartment dwellers, which isn’t unusual in Chicago given how expensive land is. Parking for rental units is rare, which means each apartment resident has to fight for a spot on the street.

  I drove around until I found an empty parking place two blocks from the building. It took only eight minutes, a mini-record for Chicago.

  Grabbing my backpack, I hopped out and walked to the building. The upper units had balconies. Each first-floor apartment had a patio surrounded by a five-foot cement wall with a lockable outside gate.

  I didn’t see any security cameras. I tried the front door into the vestibule. It was open. I stepped in and tried the second door into the building. It was locked.

  I went back outside and wandered around, hoping someone would enter so I could go in right behind them through that second door.

  It took another ten minutes.

  A fit young woman opened the building’s front door. I quickly followed her. She had long blond hair and was decked out in a blue yoga outfit.

  She flashed her key fob over the security pad to open the inner door. I was right on her heels when she pushed the door open.

  “Hi,” I said from behind her. “Hot out there.”

  She turned to me. “You got that right.”

  Make some small talk.

  “Have you been having any problems with your air conditioning?” I asked.

  “You know, not really. Have you?”

  “Yeah, every time I use my hair dryer and have the TV on, my system blows a fuse.”

  “Which floor are you on?”

  Darn good question for which I had no answer.

  Pick a number, Tina.

  I noticed she wore a gold lady’s Rolex watch.

  She has money.

  I crossed my fingers. “The first floor. It’s all I could afford.”

  “I know, right? Their rents here are outrageous, but I don’t have any electrical problems on the fourth floor.”

  “And let’s hope you don’t have any. See you around.”

  She stepped into the elevator and the doors swooshed shut. I walked to the end of the entrance hall and turned right. I diddled around until I heard the elevator move and then sped back to the vestibule. I counted twenty-two empty name plates on the building directory.

  The young women who had been unsuspecting participants in last week’s plot were gone. In the slot for apartment 111 was the printed name of Jamie Smith.

  He’s still living here!

  19

  Later on Tuesday afternoon, after I picked up Kerry at Alicia’s and we had lunch, it was time for playgroup at the home of Molly and her husband, Greg Miller. They live on West Roscoe Street, three blocks north of our house.

  Usually our playgroup meets at Hamlin Park where we all first met, but the heat index was over 100, and with Linda Misle being a pregnant mom soon to deliver, air-conditioning was the only way to go.

  As usual, Molly’s front door was unlocked, so Kerry and I walked in. We followed the noise to her family room. The rest of the playgroup was already there. Toys were scattered everywhere, and her two oldest sons ran around the room like tiny wild men. Molly didn’t seem to care.

  She is a slender blond with a fabulous figure. Four inches taller than I am, she was a world-traveling high-fashion model when she met Greg and gave up the bright lights of the runway and wild social life to marry him and deliver four sons now under the age of five.