Father of Fear (29 page)

Marcus, Maggie, Ackerman, and Stan had spent most of the night trying to determine where Thomas White might have been planning to strike. When they saw the news story about a hostage situation, it rendered all their efforts pointless. Marcus was already out of bed, saying, “Get me some pants.”

When they arrived on the scene, Marcus asked Ackerman to hang back at the truck and let them talk to the police. They had to park over a block away, since officers had cordoned off the streets surrounding Kaufman Center. But, from a tactical standpoint, the building was an island of its own with open space and parks surrounding it. Kansas City SWAT units had set up their mobile command center and the bulk of their forces in the most logical spot, the park right in front of the glass and steel lobby of the building. It was a large open area with a good view of the entire structure. Marcus imagined that they also had units stationed at all other points of ingress and egress, but this was the spot where those in charge of the situation would be bunkered down.

They showed their federal credentials to the uniformed cops manning the barricades and then made their way over to the massive black truck that housed the mobile command center. It looked like a cross between a semi truck, an RV, and an armored car and had the words “KCMO SWAT” stenciled on its side in three-foot-high yellow letters. Members of the tactical response team had taken up strategic positions all around, their rifles pointed at the massive silver structure. They were all clad in black tactical gear and assault helmets.

Marcus and Maggie entered the command center and were immediately stopped by one of the SWAT commanders who had been standing behind a group of six technicians working at computer terminals mounted along both sides of the trailer. They showed their credentials once again and explained that they were part of a federal task force that had been tracking the man involved in this.

The SWAT commander walked to the adjacent compartment, and after a moment, he returned and asked them to follow. Marcus knew that the next room was where the decisions about this operation would originate. Inside, they found a conference table filled with blueprints and maps, with a group of men and women standing around and pointing at different spots on the documents. Some of the people wore suits, others formal police uniforms, and others had donned the same type of tactical gear as the officers outside, minus the full body armor and helmets. The room smelled of strong coffee, cigarettes, and fear.

Marcus recognized the mayor, a stern-looking woman with glasses and short brown hair, and the chief of police, an older black man with gray and black stubble and a bald head. The mayor’s eyes were red and puffy as if she had been doing a lot of crying. Marcus could understand why: her son was among the hostages.

The group didn’t acknowledge the presence of the newcomers. They kept pointing at the blueprints and discussing options for breaching the building. The mayor said, “Maybe we should just give him the money?”

Marcus stepped up to the table and said, “Excuse me. I don’t know what he’s asked for, but the man in there doesn’t care about money. And if you breach the building without being sure, you will get those kids killed. This man doesn’t see others like we do. People are just pawns to be used for his purposes and then thrown away. He won’t hesitate to kill every person in there just to spite you, if you let him dictate the rules of engagement.”

The various faces around the gray-speckled conference table swiveled toward him. “And who are you?” the chief of police asked.

“I’m a federal agent on the task force that’s been set up to capture this guy.”

The mayor said, “It doesn’t seem like you did a very good job, Agent …”

“Williams.”

The chief of police said, “You were the one who was his captive.”

“That’s correct.”

“Just like that woman, Alanna Lewis, who killed one of my officers and is now in there helping perpetrate this kidnapping.” There was a suspicious and accusatory tone to the statement.

“That’s right. Which means that I know how he thinks better than anyone here.”

The chief of police said, “We appreciate that, Mr. Williams, but I hardly think that, after your ordeal, you’re in any state, physically or mentally, to help with this situation. Leave your cell number with the officers outside, and if the situation changes and we feel we need your insight, we’ll be in contact.”

Marcus started to protest, but the mayor chimed in with, “Mr. Williams, do you have any actual information about this situation that will help my son?”

He closed his eyes and replied, “No, ma’am.”

“Then you’re just in the way.”

Marcus and Maggie left the room, gave their contact info to the SWAT commander, and then walked back to the truck. Maggie said, “You didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“I don’t have much fight left,” Marcus said. “Plus, I can’t argue with them. We don’t know anymore about this than they do, and we haven’t done a very good job stopping him so far. He’s been ahead of us at every turn. Maybe it’s time we let someone else have a shot at him. We can’t be everywhere. We can’t save everyone.”

“The Marcus I know wouldn’t let that stop him from trying.”

“I don’t know if that Marcus exists anymore.”

They reached the truck, and Ackerman jumped from the cab. “What did they say?”

“That they have the situation under control and don’t need us,” Marcus replied.

Ackerman cocked his head. “And you just accepted that?”

“What do you guys want me to do? Drive the truck right through the front glass of the building and go in with guns blazing like some half-cocked moron?”

Ackerman shook his head. “You’re afraid of him.”

“No, I’m afraid that I’ll screw everything up again and get all those kids killed.”

“Is that what he wants? To kill all those kids?”

“Maybe. He wants their parents to suffer. He wants the people of this city to live in fear. He wants to stage a grand spectacle.”

“So we’ve been trying to determine where his target would be. Is this what you expected?”

“No, I thought that he would attack a police station or something along those lines. Hit them where they live. Show the whole city that their police can’t protect them, that they can’t even protect themselves.”

Ackerman nodded. “But he didn’t do that.”

“No—he put a bomb in a room with a bunch of kids.”

“The kids of the people he hates.”

“Right,” Marcus said. “But how did he get the bomb in there?”

“Father’s a resourceful man. I’m sure he could find a way. That is, if his real target is the kids.”

“But if not there…” Marcus looked back at the park where all the SWAT officers were stationed. Where the mobile command center was located. Where the mayor, the chief of police, and all the other top brass of the city were meeting and planning. Then Marcus looked down at the entrance to the parking garage beneath the park. It was a green-roof structure, so the police looked as though they had set up shop on solid ground. But in reality, there were many levels of a parking structure under their feet.

“Now you’re getting it,” Ackerman said softly.

Marcus continued his train of thought aloud. “He’s lured everyone he hates, all of his real targets, into one spot. He’s going to collapse the parking structure.”

Maggie looked back at the park and added, “And kill half the cops in the city with it.”

Thomas White stood at the railing of the balcony overlooking the massive glass lobby of the Kaufman Center for the Performing Arts. He watched the SWAT teams scurrying about like the tiny insects they were. He was sure that sniper rifles were trained on him at that moment, but he didn’t care. They knew that he had an accomplice watching the kids, and they wouldn’t risk anything unless they could take both of them simultaneously. The police thought that they had him trapped, but in reality, he was the one who had set the trap. He imagined this was how the spider felt as it watched its next meal become caught and squirm to free itself from the web that would eventually serve as its grave. The police had so easily become entangled in his web.

He checked his watch. It was almost time.

His only regret was that the woman he had loved, Melanie, was not there to witness what he had done in her name. He had loved only two women in his life. One had left him and shattered his fragile world. Her betrayal was what had caused him to re-examine all he believed. The second had been stolen from him. He had killed the first, and he had killed
for
the second. And now he was about to take the lives of many more.

Thomas White didn’t believe in heaven or hell or God or the devil. He was certain that only cold oblivion awaited human beings when they died and that people following their own carnal desires was the true meaning of existence. But that thought brought sadness, for he wished that Melanie could have been looking down on him and smiling with the same anticipation that he now felt.

Pulling out his phone, he pressed a button that activated a remote server and brought his new website online—which detailed why he had done all this and released evidence of this city’s crimes.

The site also contained all his research. All the details about how he had created his apprentice and what he planned to do next. Although his current apprentice was a magnificent achievement, she still wasn’t perfect. He eventually wanted to be able to do the same thing but while leaving more of the intelligence and personality intact. His apprentice was a wonderful tool with a variety of uses—soldier, suicide bomber, drone worker—but she was also completely dependent on him for detailed instructions.

He would eventually find a way to create a perfect biological robot, which would follow orders without question but could also function independently. He hoped that some observers would realize that he could never have achieved all this if he had been encumbered by outdated and pointless concepts like morality and abiding by the law. Perhaps that would spark a revolution of more freethinkers like himself. Or so he hoped.

He checked his watch again. The show was about to begin, and the anticipation was killing him.

Marcus had sent Maggie to warn the police commanders while he and Ackerman entered the garage to verify their theory. They passed a huge metal sign that read
Arts District Garage
and pulled up to the mechanical arm of the security station. A group of cops were now manning the station. Marcus flashed his credentials and was told that officers were already inside covering the garage exits. He explained that they wanted to check something else, and after verifying with their supervisor, the officers allowed him and Ackerman to pass.

The inside of the garage was different from any that Marcus had ever seen before. The same gray concrete composed the structure, but it was also clad in chrome, accented with neon lights, and included modern features such as charging stations for electric cars. Normally the garage was open to the public and provided parking not only for Kaufman Center but also for all the surrounding areas.

A disposable cell phone that they had picked up on the way from the hospital rang, and Marcus answered. “What did he say?”

Marcus had decided not to involve the top brass, who had already thrown them out and dismissed their help, but enlist instead the aid of the SWAT commander who had been monitoring the security feeds. In his experience, no SWAT team leader worth his salt would ignore any possible threat like this. The bureaucrats would be another story. On the other end of the line, Maggie said, “He grabbed us a copy of the blueprints and brought in his bomb expert, who says that he sees at least three spots you’d have to hit in order to take down the structure.”

“Okay—guide me to the first one.”

Within a moment, they had descended a level and were approaching the spot that Maggie had described. But the farther they went underground, the worse the cellular reception became. She was cutting in and out by the time they rounded the support pillar which marked the first location.

Marcus’s heart sank as they saw a blue panel van in the space right beside the pillar. A part of him had hoped that their theory was wrong. In his mind, the van’s presence confirmed things, but they still need definitive proof to be able to force an evacuation.

The two brothers stepped out of the truck at the same time, and Marcus reached for the handle of the van’s rear door. Ackerman said quickly, “Don’t touch that. It’s probably locked anyway, but if not, it could be wired.”

“So how can we tell if there’s really a bomb in there?”

Ackerman tried to cup his hands and look through the tinted glass of the rear door, but he soon said, “The window’s covered over. Give me your gun.”

Marcus passed Ackerman the Sig Sauer that Maggie had acquired for him through Maria Duran. As he did so, he realized that before all this he would never have guessed in a million years that he would ever have been willingly handing his gun over to the likes of Francis Ackerman. But changing times and circumstances had a funny way of altering perspectives.

Ackerman held the gun by the barrel and slammed the butt of the weapon into the glass of the rear window. It shattered inward, and the pair peered inside. Two large blue barrels occupied the van’s rear with all manner of plastic piping and electronic equipment hooked to each. Ackerman handed the gun back to Marcus and said, “That sure looks like binary liquid explosive to me.”

Unlike in the movies, there were no flashing red numbers that indicated how much time they had before the van and everything around it would explode and transform into charred rubble. But Marcus knew that time had to be short. His father would want to wait only long enough to ensure that all his targets were in place.

He pulled out the disposable phone and redialed Maggie. The call connected, but he could only hear a garbled mishmash of unconnected syllables. He cursed and shoved the phone back into his jeans. “No signal,” he said.

Ackerman looked at the van and said, “What do we do now? Father taught me about explosives when I was young, but compared with him, I’m only a novice. He gets obsessed with things like this and perfects his skills to the point of artistic creativity.”

Marcus looked his brother in the eyes and said, “You can hot-wire a car, right?”