Closure (Jack Randall) (31 page)

“Eric?”

“Yeah, sorry. Anyway, I lost track of time and kept listening. I flagged a few calls that sounded suspicious, but nothing definite until just a half hour ago. I have it here on the laptop. It’s from a pre-paid cell in the Port Charlotte area to somewhere in southwest Michigan. I came over as soon as I got the locations.”

Eric flipped open the laptop, and his fingers flew across the keyboard. Jack got up and shut the door while he waited. Soon he was handed a set of headphones from around Eric’s neck.

He listened three times to the conversation. After stopping it the third time, he sat back in his seat to think.

Eric was tired and a little impatient. “What do we do now?”

Jack looked up at him. Eric looked ready to drop. Jet lag followed by an all night work session.

“You’re going to your hotel to shower and change. I want you back here as soon as possible. Bring enough clothes for a few days.”

“Where are we going?”

Jack was already on his way out the door.

“Memphis. You can sleep on the plane.”

•      •      •

Danny Drake was sitting in front of his laptop typing out the last chapter on TJ Olson. When the story was finished, he had plans for ditching his photographer and taking the car out to Sanibel Island for a tall cool drink and a nice sunset, something with a lot of rum in it. Let them call all they want. He could screen calls with the best of them.

With a final scroll for typos, he hit the button and sent the story on its way to his editor. It was not his best work, but then he’d been going non-stop for days. It contained more than the other writers had, thanks to Jack, so, despite the quality, his editor should be pleased. Ignoring the email box, he shut the computer off and rose from the chair. After a stretch, he left a trail of clothes to the shower. He was standing immobile under the hot water when his cell phone rang. He tried to remember which person he had assigned that ring-tone. Once it dawned on him who it was, he bolted from the shower and dove across the bed to snatch the phone from the nightstand.

“Hello?”

“Danny? Thought I missed you.”

“Sorry. I was in the shower.”

“I’m heading for Memphis.”

“When?”

“Right now. I suggest you join me.”

“Okay, can I ask why?”

“All I can say is a rally in Memphis tomorrow.”

“All right, I’ll be there. Can we talk there?”

“We’ll see.”

The call ended. Danny rolled over on the wet bedspread.

“So much for the drink,” he told the ceiling fan.

He rose and walked back to the bathroom. He’d at least salvage his shower.

•      •      •

Sam sat in the driver’s seat and watched the park. The last cruiser had gone by over twenty minutes ago, and the chatter on the police scanner was normal traffic. The park was clearing out as people went home for dinner, or the kids got tired. Traffic was slowing from its rush hour peak. A couple of homeless sat on one bench while a young couple shared another. The sun was going down behind the buildings.

The police radio took on a change as a new dispatcher took over. Soon cars were calling in with radio checks as they came on duty. This was what Sam was waiting for. The city was at its lowest police presence during shift change, with most units all at their respective stations, punching in or punching out. It was time for Sam to move.

He placed the van in gear and drove it over the curb to the exact spot he had seen the previous one parked at. As casually as he could, he exited and pulled open the rear door to retrieve his tool box. His eyes took in the details as he carried it to the stage. The stage was concrete, about chest high off the ground. The podium, about eight feet from the front edge, had a speaker on both sides. Should be enough to keep the crowd safe he thought as he placed the toolbox carefully on the stage and then pulled himself up.

The strain on his gut set off the pain and Sam sat on his knees fighting it for several seconds. He wiped the sweat from his face as he scanned the park for people. No one seemed to be watching him. With a grunt against the pain, he rose to his feet and walked to the right side speaker.

With the aid of a screwdriver, he quickly removed the back panel. The box held two large speakers that angled up at a forty-five degree angle. Sam measured with his fingers, and found just enough space between the speaker and the bottom of the box for his device. He pulled the tool box closer and removed the shoe box. After a quick look around, he extracted the device and wedged it below the speaker frame and then wedged a small wrench in place to keep the device flat against the upturned inner wall. The charge was aimed right at the top of the podium. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and thumbed it on. Two wire nuts came from his other pocket, and the device was connected to the phone. Sam checked to see if he had the paper with the cell number in his pocket. He couldn’t afford to lose it. Now ready, he replaced the back panel and carefully moved the speaker a few inches to the left to center the aim. From Sam’s viewpoint the majority of the blast was going into the roof, with the top of the podium in the middle of the zone. Perfect.

He carefully repacked his tools, being sure not to leave anything behind. A scan of the park revealed no onlookers. The homeless had moved on, and the lovers were absorbed in each other.

Sam had just pulled the van back onto the road and made it to the first stop light when he was joined by a police car. The deputy played with his on-board computer until the light turned green. Sam let him go, and took a right in the direction of the used car lot. It was time to retrieve his rental car. He was through with the van.

The state of New Mexico holds 6,223 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 4,169 are repeat offenders.

—THIRTY-ONE—

“I
t’s amazing, just amazing. I think I’ll pay him to teach me how he does it,” Larry remarked.

“He did it so fast, before we even left the runway,” Sydney answered.

They were taking a break from reading and were watching Eric sleep. The boy had climbed aboard a little slowly and fallen into the first captain’s chair. He had then put on his seat belt, kicked the chair back all the way, and started snoring. They marveled at his ability to sleep through the captain’s announcement, the take off, and all the activity and conversation since. Sydney moved to wake him up, but Jack waved her off.

“Strange Teddy bear,” she commented now.

“Kids these days,” was Larry’s answer.

Eric lay twisted in the chair. Normally spiked hair now scrunched to one side. Mouth open with a little drool present. Yet the laptop was gripped tightly in his hands.

“Hey you two, spin around and join us,” Jack called.

Sydney spun her chair, while Larry rose and moved to a bench seat closer to Jack. Jack and Dave had been talking for the last few minutes after Jack’s last phone call.

“I know you’re all wondering why we’re on our way to Memphis. All I can say is an intelligence source gave us credible information that our shooter is en route to Memphis and is targeting someone at some kind of rally. Some research and talk with the locals has identified three rallies in the area. One, a children’s event, one a Nascar event that’s a week away, and the other a Klan demonstration being held tomorrow. I know what you’re thinking. We’re concentrating on the Klan demonstration. It’s a march to a park by the locals, and then a few speeches by some of their leadership. As required, the speakers have been notified of the death threat. I am told by the local sheriff that the count is now in the thirties. The Klan refuses to change the event. They believe the sheriff is making up the death threats in an effort to get them to cancel. Evidently, they are either that stupid or just used to death threats. Anyway, the locals are stepping up security in the surrounding buildings. The police presence is already at the maximum the sheriff can deploy. I’ve added the Bureau’s help. A few dog teams have been added at the entry points, as well as some spare metal detectors from homeland security. I wish we had more information, but if our guy makes a move there, I want us to be on top of him. If we can apply enough pressure during his escape, the more likely he’ll be to make a mistake. That’s all I’ve got. Any questions?”

Larry spoke first, “Just where did we get this information?”

“I’m afraid none of you are cleared for that. Sorry. Don’t bother asking sleeping beauty there either. I had him up all night working on something for me. Let him sleep.”

“What’s the plan when we get there?” Sydney asked.

“I want Larry and Dave to hook up with the local sheriff and the local bureau SAC. Get a game plan on how we can shut off the exits if he tries something. Find out what the manpower looks like, and put together a plan. Get frequencies, maps, and transportation for all of us. Two-man teams. Sydney and I will be on the ground at the rally. I’m gonna play counter-sniper for a change with the local SWAT team. I’ll take Eric with us. Okay?”

He got nods all around. Eric let out a snort and changed positions.

“The kid says okay,” Larry added.

Jack smiled and looked at the GPS display. “Looks like less than an hour out. Everybody be ready to go once we hit the ground. Do phone checks soon as you offload.”

•      •      •

Sam stood quietly next to the bus stop and surveyed the area. The police presence was larger than he had imagined and he nodded to a deputy on horseback as he rode past. The crowd was getting thicker by the minute. Sam pulled a pair of binoculars from the pocket of his light jacket. He automatically cupped his hands over the lenses. It was an old habit from his military days. By doing so he prevented the sun from reflecting off the lenses and producing a shine that could be seen by his target and give away his position. He remembered to avoid contact with his sunglasses which he did not remove. Sam was dressed as casually as he could with his limited wardrobe. Jeans with a T-shirt, sweatshirt over that, and a light jacket were enough for the mild Memphis winter. A worn pair of boots kept his feet warm on the cold concrete. He scanned the crowd before focusing on the stage. The speaker was right where he had left it next to the podium. A couple of flannel-clad woman were garnishing the stage with rebel flags and Klan posters. A group of police officers conversed in front of the stage with a lot of finger pointing and gesturing. As Sam watched, workman appeared, pushing a cart with some fencing. The officer in charge pointed as he spoke and the barrier was soon set up in front of the stage. From what Sam could see, there was going to be a ten to fifteen foot gap between the stage and the crowd. Good. Sam had worried about people in the crowd getting wounded in the blast. This would increase the odds of avoiding that.

Sam’s view was suddenly blocked by the arriving bus. He returned the binoculars to his pocket, and then felt around his hip to ensure the phone was in place. Pulling the baseball cap down on his forehead, he headed off in the direction of the crowd. He kept to the fringe, and with his height he was able to see over most of the people.

He abruptly stopped when his eye caught something. While standing with his head aimed toward the stage, he scrutinized the man off to his right through the dark sunglasses. The man was also dressed casually, if a little out of the crowd’s price range. A leather jacket that had never seen a Harley. A pair of LL Bean boots. The watch was gold. The sunglasses mirrored. Sam changed course and walked past the man to his opposite side. He watched in his peripheral vision for the man to turn his head, and when he did Sam had a good look at him. His suspicions were correct. The telltale earpiece with the trailing wire was easily seen around the businessman’s haircut. The feds were at the rally. But why? This was not something the feds would deal with, was it? Maybe he was a local undercover cop from the sheriff’s department? Sam looked again. No, this guy was a fed. He had the look. What did this mean? Had the bomb been found sometime last night, and they were looking for him? Would it affect his mission? The more Sam thought about it, the more he ruled out the possibility. The speaker hadn’t been moved. He had placed it carefully with the front edge lining up with two points on the stage. He had checked already, and the alignment was still good. He would continue the mission as planned.

Sam left the FBI man behind and circled the crowd. He saw two more feds, and more and more cops. After eyeballing the gap between the barrier and the stage, he had seen enough. He returned to his corner bus stop and took a seat on the bench. Picking up a left behind newspaper, he settled in to wait. He scanned the crowd over the top of the paper.

•      •      •

On the other side of the crowd, Jack, Sydney, and Eric arrived and were now doing the same thing. They had landed a half hour ago, and already the crowd had doubled in size. So far the counter-protestors seemed to outweigh the Klansman three to one. Rebel flags were popular, as were anti-Klan protest signs. The cops had formed a loose line at the barrier and so far the crowd was cooperating. Jack had talked to the local sheriff, and knew that two blocks away, in a parking garage, multiple officers in riot gear assembled with supporting vehicles and plenty of tear gas. They had already jailed a few skinheads that had arrived last night and started a fight in a bar. Jack was sure there were empty cells standing by.