Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) (28 page)

68

Shakespeare was on his toes, eyes glued to the first black SUV.

Two men in suits got out of the front of the vehicle.

The crowd went crazy. People pushed in tighter, forcing Shakespeare and Jack forward three, four, five steps.

“Are either of those the toothpick guy?” Shakespeare said.

“Negative,” Jack said.

One of them opened a back door. The other came around, reached in, and retrieved a pair of silver crutches. Then, almost larger than life, Martin Sterling shimmied out of the back of the SUV and hopped onto the waiting crutches.

People screamed so loudly, Shakespeare covered his ears momentarily. Rolls of toilet paper sailed through the air. Flags waved. People pushed forward, wanting to get closer. One little boy nearby screamed in panic; his father scooped him up with a look of alarm etched on his face.

The Ohio senator wore a dark-blue suit and red tie. His entire left leg was in a white cast, which had been decorated with a bright drawing of an American flag. Like a movie star on the red carpet, he stood there waving and smiling for about a minute. Then, suddenly stone-faced, he set his shoulders back and saluted with animation.

Foghorns blasted from amid the sea of people. American flags of all sizes waved above people’s heads. Hundreds of red-white-and-blue signs jumped up and down above the crowd; most of them read Sterling for President—Sterling for America!

As the senator leaned forward on the crutches and began making his way toward the podium, the crowd’s roar became deafening.

Shakespeare and Jack looked at each other in amazement. Sterling’s popularity was over the top.

Maybe Jack was wrong.

He
wanted
Jack to be wrong. He wanted to cheer for Sterling.

But all of the other evidence was pointing directly at him.

Shakespeare noticed that the back windows of the second SUV had rolled down, but he couldn’t see who was inside.

Several of Peek’s agents in the crowd held binoculars to their faces, watching Sterling and his team. When he got to the podium, the press crept in closer and closer. Derrick and Daniel were literally at his feet.

“That’s far enough,” Sterling said as he handed the crutches to one of Jenny’s helpers and gripped the podium, one hand on each side. “Thank you. Thanks for the support …”

The thunderous applause was so loud that it drowned out the senator’s voice.

His mouth sealed shut, he squinted and raised a hand with fingers splayed, firmly motioning for everyone to quiet down. Before they did, he launched forward, boldly, with no notes in front of him.

“What is terror?” His voice boomed, and the volume of the crowd dialed down. “I repeat, what—is—terror? I’ll tell you what it is—it is
intense fear.
That is what a number of us experienced firsthand last night right here in the heartland of America, at Columbus Festival Arena.”

Angry screams and boos rang out. More foghorns. And yelling from the opposition for peace.

“Let me tell you something. Hey, you …” Sterling pointed to an obnoxious protester with a megaphone who was perched atop the shoulders of a tall bearded guy wearing a red bandana. “It’s people like you who are
ruining
this country. And you know what? It’s about time someone stands up and calls a spade a spade; enough of this ‘politically correct’ garbage. It’s about time anti-Americans like you got run out of this country on a rail. You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t understand the blood and sacrifice it took to make this country free.”

Absolute bedlam.

“Let me talk. Let me talk,” Sterling called. “I appreciate your applause, but please just be quiet. It’s what I have to say that the American people need to hear. I’m not here to be a superstar. I’m here to make a difference for this great country. Now, what happened last night is something no more Americans should ever have to experience—
ever again
!”

People were pressing in so hard that Shakespeare and Jack couldn’t keep their places; they were being forced every whichway. Another child screamed amid the frenzy. This was no place for a child, Shakespeare thought.

“Terrorists
hate
the liberties we enjoy in these great United States. They’re jealous. They’re full of hatred. They’re evil to the core. I look at our current president in utter disbelief. Don’t you get it, Mr. President? There are people who are out to
destroy
our freedom and our way of life. Life as we know it. Coming and going freely. Working and playing where we want. Worshipping when and where we want. Going to the park, the mall, the ball game—with no fear!”

Everything was getting tighter, more ramped up, more chaotic. The media people inched in, and so did the Guardsmen. The crowd forged in as well, everyone attempting to get as close as possible to their newfound American hero.

“If we leave it up to the current president, soon—very soon—there will be suicide bombers exploding themselves on our buses and subways, in our malls and stadiums. I promise you that! Why? Because he is actually
reducing
the amount we spend on national defense and homeland security. Our securities and defenses are crumbling around us. I will
quadruple
those budgets and make US security my number one priority. It’s time for that …”

A door on the far side of the second black SUV opened, and a man got out.

“That’s him, getting out now!” Jack said.

He was wide and thick. Dark skin.

Shakespeare couldn’t tell if he had a toothpick; he was too far away.

But it was he. He buttoned his coat over his large, hard belly and began walking slowly toward Sterling with the other security guy.

Peek saw him too. He lifted his wrist to his mouth and spoke into his radio.

The wheels were turning.

This thing was coming down right now.

“Based on the conversations I overheard among the terrorists last night,” Sterling continued, “those thugs were going to make me some kind of sacrificial lamb, live on the Internet, to show what happens to those of us who have the guts to fight them. Well, you know what? It backfired. Now they’ve got a tiger by the tail.”

Amid the deafening noise of the crowd, the large man and his partner made their way to within ten feet of Sterling, stopped, and clasped their hands in front of them.

The FBI men in dark suits were tightening their circle around the podium.

“FBI’s closing in,” Shakespeare said.

Up on his toes, Jack looked around.

“This is about to get interesting,” Shakespeare said.

The FBI agents inched in—closer, closer.

Peek did the same, slowly.

The crowd wasn’t going to like it.

Peek lifted his wrist and spoke; then he and his men suddenly walked freely toward Sterling, toward the large man, no longer trying to hide their actions.

Sterling stopped in midsentence and peered back at Peek, who was walking toward him as if he was taking a brisk walk in the park. Peek’s men had broken free of the crowd and were moving in at the same clip.

Sterling’s bodyguards exchanged anxious glances.

The big guy unbuttoned his jacket … going for his gun?

Agents closed in.

Wait
…

Smoke.

Rising thick gray smoke to the right.

People screamed and pushed away from it in a maddening rush.

Bang-bang-bang-bang!

Shakespeare jumped and yanked Jack to the ground.

“Don’t panic. I think it’s firecrackers,” Shakespeare yelled over the chaos. “Probably a smoke bomb. Sit tight.”

But the crowd thought it was gunshots.

Order was lost.

There was screaming and shoving.

A stampede.

Shakespeare ripped a gun from a holster at his ankle and racked the slide.

69

The smoke … It was burning Derrick’s eyes so badly … all he could do was cling to the pavement, as if he were on the floor of a fast merry-go-round. He could barely see through the tears. Someone stepped on his leg.

The explosions … gunfire?

Bodies bashed against him as people fled. Even reporters were running.

He forced himself to peer through watery eyes. The FBI had Sterling; they were cuffing him! But as they were, Peek and another agent—and even Sterling—looked at Derrick in horror, their eyes and mouths wide open, their hands extended toward him—

“Derrick, look out!” Daniel screamed.

It was too late.

Derrick was snatched from the ground like a rag doll.

He got a glimpse … dark skin … toothpick!

The man’s thick arm locked around Derrick’s throat like a machine.

Derrick’s feet left the ground and he swung around.

The metal nose of a gun smashed his temple.

The man’s sweat flung onto Derrick, but he said nothing—just continued to pivot in every direction, frantically seeking a way out.

Derrick knew there was none.

People were scurrying in every direction, screaming.

The only ones left had guns drawn on them: Peek and his agents, the National Guardsmen …

Derrick might die.

Little had he known when he got up that morning that this day might be his last.

He would never see Zenia again.

He spun again, and there was Shakespeare, legs spread and arms locked in front of him, pointing a big black gun right at them. Jack and Daniel were on the ground nearby with their hands outstretched toward Derrick, as if trying to calm the maniac holding the gun to his head.

The abductor shifted again, grunting, but still without a word.

And really, nothing needed to be said.

The situation was obvious.

The man wanted out—didn’t want to be caught, taken in.

He would probably rather die … and he certainly didn’t care about Derrick.

A massive wave of heat rolled over Derrick.

So this was it.

“Drop the gun. Let him go,” Peek called.

The man jerked toward Peek—

BAM.

The abductor’s body jolted.

Everything went silent … slow motion.

A mist hit Derrick’s face.
Blood.

The arm around his neck released.

Derrick fell away … rolled.

BAM.

Like an elephant hit by poisonous darts, the massive abductor crumpled to the pavement.

Derrick looked up.

Shakespeare’s gun was still smoking.

70

The Crittendons’ home, eight days later

Sheena beamed as she sat on Shakespeare’s lap with her arm around his neck. They had showed up at church that morning, so Jack and Pam invited the whole family over for pizza afterward. The children were playing ball tag in the backyard beneath a menacing afternoon sky, and the adults were bundled up on the back porch.

“You read today’s paper?” Shakespeare said.

“Not yet,” Jack said.

“Only the ads,” Margaret said.

“Sterling says he still wants to be on the ticket.”

They all chuckled.

“That would be good.” Margaret wiped her mouth with a napkin, her hands trembling slightly. “He can conduct his campaign from the prison exercise yard.”

“He’s really got issues, doesn’t he?” Pam said. “It’s amazing he got as far as he did.”

“Nixon on steroids,” Sheena said. “He insists he was doing what was best for the country. Stands behind everything that happened. Claims no one was supposed to get hurt. Are you serious?”

“Think of the planning that went into it,” Jack said. “I can’t believe he got all those guys to go along with him.”

“Oh, I can.” Shakespeare took an enormous bite of pizza. “There’re plenty of screwballs out there. That’ll never change.”

“I read they were all headed out of the country. Every one of them had a boarding pass,” Margaret said. “They were changing their appearance, then all heading their separate ways.”

“They’ve all been captured, right?” Pam said.

“Got the last one yesterday,” Shakespeare said.

“Did he really think he’d get away with it—with all of those people involved?” Pam said.

“You gotta understand his mind-set,” Shakespeare said. “He really thought his plan was righteous—like an investment in America. He said the lives lost were a small price to pay—”

“To get him into office,” Margaret said.

“Exactly, to get him into office,” Shakespeare said. “That’s how much he believes the threat of terror is imminent. I don’t think he’s far off base on that point.”

“Oh, I’ve got to show you all something.” Margaret stood and went inside.

“Brrr, it feels like winter out here.” Pam crossed her arms and pulled her sweater tight at her neck.

“Pretty roses.” Sheena nodded at a vase filled with a dozen yellow roses sitting at the center of the picnic table. “Did Jack get you those?”

Pam shook her head and smiled bashfully. “Believe it or not, those came from Everett Lester.”

“No way!” Sheena said.

“Yep … well, they’re from Karen, too.” She giggled. “Anyway, they have this thing about roses. So when they heard we named the baby Everett, they sent these. Yellow means friendship.”

“That is so cool,” Sheena said.

“Hey, so we’re on for Tuesday night, right?” Jack looked at Shakespeare, then Sheena.

They both nodded and smiled. “He got us the book already,” Sheena said.

“I already read the first chapter. Can’t you tell?” Shakespeare said.

They laughed. The book was about enhancing marriages. Jack was looking forward to going through it with Pam—and Sheena and Shakespeare.

It was quiet except for the wind and the children’s laughter outside. Just a really nice moment between two couples who had been through a heck of a lot.

Jack interlocked his fingers with Pam’s. He was so thankful at that moment. Thankful Shakespeare and Sheena had come to church. Thankful he and Pam were back on track. Thankful the baby was healthy.

Things were going to work out.

He would still have his job at the arena, when it opened back up. Pam still had her job—and insurance.

“Okay, here we go.” Margaret made her way back outside, carrying a big brown box. “Look what showed up in the mail yesterday.” She set the box on a bench and pointed at Shakespeare. “Remember how you told us we need to have a meeting place outside somewhere, in case of a fire or emergency?”

“Yeah, but I told you, you need to have a way down from the second floor to get to the meeting spot.”

“Aha!” Margaret snapped her fingers and reached into the box. “Voilà!” She hoisted out a rope ladder designed to roll out of an upper-story window. “I got three of these babies—one for each of the girls’ rooms, and one for yours.”

“What about your room?” Jack said.

“Well, I won’t be here forever. And I can go out one of the girls’ rooms if I have to.”

“Margaret, you don’t want to move to that assisted-living place, do you?” Shakespeare said. “You’re fine right here. These guys need you. And we like having you around.”

Pam and Jack looked at each other and smiled, unsure about where that road would lead.

“Okay, okay, enough of the sentimental stuff,” Margaret said. “Everybody close your eyes. I’ve got one more thing to show you. You’re gonna love this.”

Jack closed his eyes and assumed everyone else did too. He could hear Margaret digging around in the box.

“Wait just one second,” she said.

They waited.

“The suspense is killing me,” Shakespeare said.

In a muffled voice she said, “Okay, you can look!”

They all opened their eyes, and frail Margaret was standing there with an enormous pink gas mask strapped to her face.

Everyone howled.

Margaret took off the mask and laughed with them.

A cold breeze whipped in.

“Hey, it’s starting to rain. Should we call the kids in?” Pam said.

“Absolutely not. They’re having a blast,” Shakespeare said. “And they’re all gonna sleep like babies tonight.”

“Speaking of babies, when do we get to see the little guy?” Sheena said.

Jack’s phone buzzed.

“He takes long naps,” Pam said. “He’s like Jack. Gotta have his Sunday nap.”

“Oh really? I hope we’re not keeping you up, Jack,” Shakespeare jested.

Jack got up and dug his phone out of his pocket. “Actually, I’m enjoying myself very much.” He looked at the phone but didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello, this is Jack.”

“Jack, this is Buck Stevens from the
Gazette
. I hate to bother you on Sunday.”

Jack stopped breathing for a second. He shot Pam an excited look and stepped into the house. “No bother at all, Mr. Stevens. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m in kind of a pinch.”

“Okay.” Jack walked to the kitchen and leaned on the counter, barely breathing.

“The city editor I told you about who was looking to get back onto a beat … Well, she got back onto a beat all right. At another paper.” Buck chuckled. “She’s moving to Cincinnati.”

Jack lowered his head, knowing what was coming, knowing his God was intimate and loving and faithful.

“So that leaves me with a gaping hole on my city desk.”

Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes. “I see.”

“I’m calling to see if you’d like to become the newest city editor at the
Gazette
. If there’s any way you could, I’d like you to start tomorrow. If you were to come in around ten, we could talk about salary and benefits. I know it’s short notice, but I also know you’ve been looking pretty hard.”

Jack had to gather himself.

God blew him away.

He took several very deep breaths. Very deep.

“Jack? Are you there?”

“Yes, sir … I’m here.” He cleared his throat. “I would be honored to be your new city editor.”

“Oh, that is fantastic. Shall we say ten tomorrow?”

“Absolutely! Ten tomorrow, it is. Ten sharp.”

If you enjoyed
Sky Zone
, I would be honored if you would tell others by writing a review. Go
here
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Thank you!
—Creston Mapes