Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) (4 page)

7

Festival Arena, October 6

Shakespeare and Chico were practically running down the white hallway below the arena, trying to keep up with Jenny King, the bossy, young handler of Ohio senator and independent presidential candidate Martin Sterling. She resisted their help, insisting she’d been there many times before.

“Miss King,” Shakespeare said. “We need to turn at this next hallway. You’re set up in room 3-A.”

King, wearing a tapered gray pinstriped suit, didn’t slow a beat but continued taking mammoth strides in her black stilettos, her jet-black hair bouncing at her shoulders.

They flew into 3-A, where she whizzed from table to table, checking beverages and ice, lifting the lid on each steaming silver tray, as if making sure the massive amounts of food prepared by the in-house caterers looked reasonably warm and edible.

“Jenny to Stagecoach.” She checked her sleek watch and looked up at the ceiling as she spoke into her big gray radio. “The senator is good to go for room 3-A, that’s 3-A. Have his security detail escort him in. Over.”

“Ten-four. It’s going to be just a few more minutes, Miss King,” said a male voice from the other end of the radio. Shakespeare assumed the reply came from inside Sterling’s tour bus, which was parked at the loading docks.

Jenny sized up Chico, then eyeballed Shakespeare, placing an index finger on her pointy chin. She smelled like a bouquet of expensive flowers. “You don’t have to be here,” she said.

Shakespeare took a deep breath and made himself pause before saying something he shouldn’t. “You are aware of the threat.”

She closed her eyes and nodded, as if dealing with a five-year-old. “We get threats all the time.” She squinted at his name tag. “Really? I suppose you’re related.”

“Actually, I am.”

She rolled her eyes. “We’re going to be fine in here. You gentlemen can go tell your boss to station you someplace else.”

“Her name is Clarissa Dracone,” Shakespeare said. “She just wants to make sure you have someone familiar with the building—”

Jenny nodded, looking annoyed. “I’ve done the Sean Hannity Freedom Concert here five years in a row. We know the building, we know what we’re doing. Really, your time would be better spent elsewhere.”

Shakespeare looked at Chico and shrugged. “I’m going to have you take that up with her. And she’s a busy lady right now. Until we get the order from her, I’m afraid we’re here.”

“I know Clarissa.” Jenny whipped around, looking at the catering tables as if she’d already forgotten the conversation. “She’s probably fit to be tied right about now. Just stay out of the way until I find a good time to talk to her.”

There was a commotion in the hallway.

“Station yourself in that corner,” Shakespeare whispered to Chico. “I want to know anything they mention about the threat. Page me if you need me. I’ll be floating.”

“Didn’t Clarissa want us both here?” Chico’s dark eyes were huge.

“Don’t worry. When Sterling gets here, I’ll be here.”

Shakespeare stepped into the hallway. Coming toward him was an entourage of people led by Jack and Sid. Shakespeare felt a tinge of pride and nostalgia when he saw Everett Lester and his wife. Their handsome son was with them too. He had long brown hair and, even though he was adopted, looked exactly like his dad, minus the tattoos that crept up and down Everett’s forearms and neck.

Shakespeare backed up against the wall. “Jack, how goes it?”

“All good so far,” Jack said with a mixture of confidence and nerves. “You?”

“Nothing new. Where you headed?”

“5-A,” Jack said. “We’re gonna be neighbors.”

“Sounds good.” Shakespeare acknowledged the guests. “Hello, Mr. Lester, Mrs. Lester. Good to have you here this evening.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be here … we think.” Everett chuckled. “I’m sure you guys have everything under control, right?”

Shakespeare could only think of the lack of police support he’d seen so far, but he gave Everett and Karen a thumbs-up and said, “Absolutely.”

Shakespeare’s radio sounded in his earpiece.

“Okay, all EventPros, listen up. We have a SWAT team arriving by bus at the cargo entrance.” Clarissa sounded relieved. “They are in dark blue and black from head to toe. Each of them is wearing a dark helmet and shield. They are armed with nine-millimeter submachine guns and Glock handguns. Several have sophisticated rifles.”

Probably M14s
, Shakespeare thought. His best friend during Desert Storm and one of the weapons in his Get Home Bag.

“So far, that is all of the excess staff we have on duty,” she continued. “We hope more are coming. But in the meantime, these are the only people besides EventPros and arena staff that you should see in uniform.”

“How many are there? Over. Sorry … this is Shakespeare.”

“Eight to twelve,” Clarissa said. “I’m not sure where they’ll be stationed yet. That’s up to their commander.”

“This is Steve Basheer to base.”

“Go, Steve,” Clarissa said.

“I’m at the club level. Nothing doing here. I have not seen Charlie. Have we heard from him?”

“Not yet.” Clarissa paused. Static. “Charlie Clearwater, if you can hear this, please respond. Steve, keep going up to the press boxes, then the Sky Zone. Let us know ASAP.”

“Ten-four,” Steve said.

Charlie could be silent for any number of reasons—bad radio or batteries, out of range, heart issues … He had to be in his midsixties.

But Shakespeare didn’t like it.

He glanced at his watch. The doors would be opening soon. He had all that artillery at home. But it was too late to call Sheena and ask her to lug it down here. She would never get near the place, anyway. If it came to it, the Get Home Bag in his truck was going to have to do.

It was time for a ceasefire in the war at home. He needed to let Sheena know what was going on. He got out his phone and quickly typed a text message to her.

Hey. Terror threat at arena. SWAT here. Watch news. Let me know of anything else going on. Thx.

8

Downtown Columbus, two months earlier

Lunch with Derrick Whittaker, Jack’s best friend and former colleague from the
Trenton City Dispatch
, was just what Jack had needed. They met in downtown Columbus at Katz’s, a dark deli that smelled like kosher pickles and served mouthwatering corned beef piled high on rye with homemade potato chips. It was close to the city newspaper where Derrick had landed a job as a reporter after the debacle at the
Dispatch.

“I’ve mentioned you to each of these guys. You need to call them.” Derrick pushed a napkin toward Jack. On it he’d scribbled the names of three editors from his new employer, the
Columbus Gazette
. “Ask if you can come up for five minutes to say hi, and bring your portfolio. You need to meet face-to-face. They’ll love you. We need you. We’re so short, it isn’t even funny.”

“What do they have you working on these days?” Jack said.

“Dude, don’t you read my paper? They’ve got me covering the senator,” said Derrick, pushing his retro black glasses up on his nose.

“Martin Sterling? Get out,” Jack said.

“No joke.” Derrick squeezed a glob of ketchup into his basket. “It’s a total blast. I’m on the campaign trail. We’ve been to Rochester, Philly, Chicago … Can you believe it? That’s why it’s taken me so long to hook up with you. Me and old Martin are like this.” He crossed two fingers.

Although Jack had at least five years more journalism experience than Derrick, the
Gazette
hadn’t looked twice at him. He guessed it was because he had more experience and they probably thought he would be too expensive.

“Have you been able to get to know Sterling?” Jack said.

“Oh yeah. We stay at the same hotels, cover all his rallies—”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and Daniel Woodhouse, photographer. Remember, from the
Dispatch
?”

“Yeah. Good shooter.”

“Dude, you look down,” Derrick said.

“Just frustrated.” Jack shook his head. Here he was, basically out of work, eating the cheapest thing on the menu, working nights as an usher. “I’ve got to find a decent job. Pam and I are running on empty. She’s working all the time and isn’t happy about it.”

“Dude, I’m treating today.”

“No, you’re not. Thanks anyway. Come on, tell me more about Sterling. He’s going independent, isn’t he? You think he’s got a chance?”

“Heck, yeah. Are you kidding me? He’s a smart guy. He’s got specific ideas on how to get us out of this economic rut. I think he’s gonna kill it in the debates.”

“Will you cover those?”

“Oh yeah. The first one’s at Lee University, down in Tennessee. Then San Antonio … and someplace else. He’ll be stumping in Ohio big-time over the next year. It’s one of the top three swing states.”

“He’s pretty rad on the whole terrorism thing.”

Derrick stopped eating and leaned across the booth. “We need that, dude. It’s a true threat. Nobody realizes how serious it is. These extremists are infiltrating the country. Sterling knows what he’s talking about. The guy is ruthless, too.”

“He wants to put an end to mosques being built on US soil.”

Derrick’s eyes opened wide. “That’s just the one everyone knows about. He also wants to quadruple spending on the National Counterterrorism Center in Virginia. He wants to partner with a bunch of top intelligence agencies to neutralize terrorist cells and operatives in the US. He wants to get on top of cyberthreats. Do you realize President Brumby finances the Iraqis and others under the table, which nobody seems to care about? Sterling’s going to stop all that nonsense.”

“Sounds like he’s made you a believer.”

“He has.” Derrick looked around and lowered his voice. “We’ve got to crack down now, before it’s too late. Otherwise our kids are going to be living in a war zone—right here on our streets.”

Jack told Derrick about Brian Shakespeare and his extreme preparations in anticipation of a catastrophe.

“Dude, he’s a prepper. There are a lot of them out there—and they might not be too far off,” Derrick said. “I know Zenia and me aren’t prepared for anything like that. I’m just a city boy.”

“Me, too, but my mother-in-law’s a different story.”

“Margaret? She still living with you guys?”

Jack gave a slow nod.

Derrick laughed. “Man, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“More than six months.”

“Ouch.”

“Actually, it’s a good thing. With Pam back to work, Margaret can take care of the girls after school. But we made the mistake of taking her to a picnic at Shakespeare’s place, and she’s been stockpiling food and supplies ever since.”

Derrick’s roaring laughter was contagious, and it felt good for Jack to join in.

“And she’s fallen in love with Sterling,” Jack said. “Overnight she’s turned into a political activist.”

“Well, Sterling sure beats the alternative,” Derrick said. “I don’t think we can endure four more years of what we got.”

“I agree with that. But, dude, Sterling wants to arm teachers. What do you think about that?”

“I … I just don’t know what I think about that. I’m telling you, he’s rad. Zenia thinks it’s nuts.”

“Wait till you have kids,” Jack said.

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“Let’s change the subject. How is Zenia, anyway? How’s married life?”

Derrick shook his head and smiled. He was wearing his afro about two inches long and had put on a few pounds since his wedding in the spring, when Jack served as his best man. “Better than I ever imagined. We’re having a lot of fun.”

“She still working for parks and rec?”

“Yep. Trenton City’s been good to her.”

“You guys must be doing okay financially.”

“We’re socking some funds away. Spending a lot too. She thinks she’s ready to have a baby, but I’m not there yet. When’s Pam due again?”

“Three months, if you can believe that.”

“Wow, that’ll be here in a blink.”

“That’s why I need to find a decent job,” Jack said. “We’ve gone through almost all our savings.”

“You should be glad she found work.”

“I know, but it’s the last thing she wants to do. Rebecca and Faye are used to having her home. She wants to be a full-time mom.”

“Hey, you do what you gotta do, right?”

“Yeah.” Jack paused. “Rebecca and Faye just seem to have such a good foundation. I know a lot of it has to do with Pam being there for them.”

“We all go through seasons, Jack. This isn’t going to be forever. You’re going to find something.”

Jack studied the names Derrick had scribbled on the napkin. “Don’t be surprised when you see me in the newsroom peddling my goods.”

Derrick laughed heartily. “We’re going to get you a job at the
Gazette
if it’s the last thing we do.”

For the first time in months, Jack felt a surge of optimism. “Thanks, man. I appreciate you,” he said.

Derrick leveled his gaze at Jack. “No, I appreciate you. You’ve been a role model for me. Don’t give up now, man. You’ve always had a powerful faith. Cling to it. And while I’ve got you all serious …” He snatched the check and laughed the contagious laugh that made Jack feel so good.

9

Festival Arena, October 6

“My wife is a huge fan of yours.” Jack’s heart beat like that of a boy meeting his favorite baseball star as he got Everett Lester and his larger-than-life entourage settled into room 5-A in the bowels of Columbus Festival Arena.

“Will your wife be here tonight?” Everett grabbed two bottles of water from the ice bucket and handed one to Karen.

“No, she won’t,” Jack said. “She’s eight months pregnant with our third child.” Jack knew from reading about Everett and Karen that they’d not been able to have children, so he wanted to be sensitive in his response. “Plus, we didn’t know you were going to be here. I think if she’d known, she probably would have taken her chances.”

Everett and Karen laughed, and Jack joined them.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Karen asked.

“No. Pam didn’t know with our two girls and didn’t want to know this time either. She says the anticipation helps her get through it.”

Karen smiled brilliantly and addressed Everett. “You should give him something to take to his wife.”

“Good idea—”

“I’m sorry, can I interrupt?” Gray Harris, Everett’s longtime road manager, placed a hand on the sleeve of the musician’s denim jacket.

“Sure. Excuse me a second.” Everett and Gray walked to the corner of the room.

Jack noticed Sid standing at attention next to the mini hot dogs—with a mouthful. Jack scowled at him and pointed to his own mouth. Sid’s eyebrows jumped, and his big cheeks turned pink.

“It’s a little bit scary, about the threat.” Karen crossed her arms, her dazzling gray-green eyes looking into Jack’s as if awaiting his opinion.

“It is. But I understand SWAT’s here now. That’s good, anyway,” Jack said. “And we’re supposed to get more police in here soon.”

“I’m kind of hoping they just cancel it, for safety’s sake.”

Everett and Gray were talking softly but intensely.

“All EventPros, this is Clarissa,” came the voice in Jack’s headset. “Good news. Hedgwick and a team from the Columbus PD are en route. We’re expecting them to arrive at the loading docks within thirty minutes. Do what they say. If you come across any trouble, turn it over to them and get out of the way. Over and out.”

Jack shared the news with Karen, then took a deep breath and exhaled, somewhat relieved. As he stepped over and whispered the news to Sid, his phone vibrated. He quickly made his way into the long hallway and found a text from Pam.

I have a surprise for you!

Before he could reply, Clarissa’s voice came over his headset again. “All EventPros: Doors open in ten minutes, ten minutes. Remember, everyone’s eyes are peeled. If you haven’t checked to know precisely where your exits are, do it now. Contact your supervisors about anything suspicious. Over and out.”

Once again Jack struggled with whether to let Pam know about the threat. But why worry her? If things heated up, he could contact her then. Until then, it was only words. He silently prayed that’s all it would remain.

Way down the hall, around the corner, came a bicycle ridden by a teenage boy wearing a black ski cap, floppy flannel shirt, and fingerless gloves. He called out to Jack as he approached. “Lookin’ for 5-A. Know where it’s at?”

“Right here. What can I do for you?” Jack said.

The kid started his dismount, standing on one pedal, gliding, then jumping off and trotting up to Jack. “Got a delivery.” He bent over a basket behind his seat and came up with a dozen red roses. Ignoring Jack, he knocked on the door.

“Hey, hold up …”

As the kid opened the door, all heads snapped toward him. There was tension in the air, all right.

Jack followed the delivery boy in, embarrassed, feeling as if he’d been run over.

But Karen just smiled, took the flowers, and, on tiptoes, kissed Everett.

Everyone else in the room had gone back to what they were doing, and no one besides Sid and Jack seemed to raise an eyebrow.

Everett shrugged at Jack. “It’s a tradition.”

“Roses play a big part in our past.” Karen smelled them with a shy grin. “I think tonight these might go home with you—for your wife.”

“Oh my gosh, she would die,” Jack said.

“I’ll put them in water, and they’ll be right here. I’ll have Ev write a note.” Karen looked up just as Cole was walking out the door. “Cole?”

The boy stopped, turned toward his mom, and raised his dark eyebrows.

“Where’re you going?” Karen said.

“Vending machine.” He sounded a tad annoyed, probably because most everyone in the room was watching.

“What do you need that we don’t have here?” she said.

“Gum.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“We passed it coming in. I’ll be right back.”

She looked at Jack. “You think it’s okay?”

“Mom!” Cole said.

“It’s not far, and the doors haven’t opened yet. I can walk him down there if you want,” Jack said.

“No, it’s okay.” She looked at Cole. “Go ahead, but hurry right back.”

Cole scampered off.

“We told him there was a remote threat,” she said.

“I’ll peek after him, just in case.”

She thanked Jack, and he headed out the door.

“Dude!” called a voice from the end of the hallway.

Jack turned to see Derrick flashing the press credentials that hung around his neck to another EventPro, who was seated on a metal folding chair. With Derrick was a younger black guy Jack recognized from the
Dispatch
, who was lugging a heavy camera bag over each shoulder.

“I wondered if you’d be here,” Jack called.

“I’m his shadow. Of course I’m gonna be here.” Derrick walked toward Jack in his no-hurry swagger, looking good in a dark-green jacket and gray slim-fit cords. His leather satchel swung on his shoulder. “You remember Daniel Woodhouse?”

“Yeah.” Jack reached out and shook hands. “Good to see you.”

“You, too,” Daniel said.

“This campaign’s wearing me out,” Derrick said. “Zenia’s fit to be tied ’cause I’m gone all the time. Can’t imagine what it’ll be like a year from now. Sheesh.”

“Glamour’s gone?”

“It’s going. I mean, it’s exciting, but it’s a ton of hours.”

“What’ve you heard about this threat?” Jack said.

“No one’s talking. Who can I talk to? And I don’t mean that barracuda boss of yours. What’s her name, Dracula?”

“Dracone.” Jack chuckled. “Clarissa Dracone. She’s the one, but she won’t talk. You got a pen?”

Derrick got his phone out and thumbed the screen. “Go.”

“Keefer O’Dell is Clarissa’s boss—he’s the president of EventPros. He’s on his way down from Cleveland now. But Reese Jenkins is top of the order. He’s the CEO of the arena. I’m not sure if he’s here or not.”

Derrick punched in their names.

Jack scanned the hall. “I better get going. Clarissa doesn’t like us talking to the press.”

“I hear Everett Lester’s here,” Daniel said.

Jack nodded toward room 5-A. “Right through that door.”

“Dude, that is
sick
,” Derrick said. “Can you get us in there?”

Jack searched the hall again, wondering what was taking Cole so long. “No way … not right now.”

The door to Sterling’s room opened down the hall, and out came Shakespeare and a sharp girl Jack recognized as one of Sterling’s assistants. She wore a well pressed gray pinstriped suit and had a large gray radio in her hand. It looked a lot nicer than those the EventPros were issued. Shakespeare and the girl were followed by three security guys in dark suits, with Sterling right in the middle of them. Chico brought up the rear.

Shakespeare gave a nod to Jack as they headed toward him. “We’re coming over to your place.”

The long-legged girl in the suit took the lead, strutting down the hall as if she was leading a fire drill. “Hello, Derrick, Daniel … Excuse us.” She reached in front of Jack and opened the door to room 5-A.

“Jenny, can I come in?” Derrick said.

She looked back at him as if she’d smelled a skunk. “Later, maybe.”

Shakespeare started in, and Jenny held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Okay, Shakespeare can come in, but no other arena staff. No press.” She looked at Jack. “You, wait right here. We’re expecting Reese Jenkins, Clarissa Dracone, and the head of SWAT.” She craned her neck. “Ah, there’s Mr. Jenkins now … good. Derrick, we’ll give you an update in a few minutes. Hang tight.” She entered the room, and the door closed behind her.

Jenkins, CEO of the arena, was lanky, tan, and distinguished. A short, plump woman with black glasses and a briefcase walked beside him. They barely acknowledged Jack as they made their way into the last-minute powwow.

Karen stepped out of the room, looking a bit pale. “Where’s Cole?”

Jack had forgotten. He looked down the empty hallway and was overtaken by a pang of anxiety. “I’ll go check on him.”

“How long can it possibly take to get a pack of gum?”