The Blackout

by K J Kalis

  Her phone buzzed almost immediately. Van must have been at his desk. “What do you think?”

  That was the real question, wasn’t it, Kat realized. She paced back and forth in the kitchen, Tyrant watching her from her pink blanket, not seemingly surprised by her owner’s nervous movements. Van had an uncanny way of getting down to the essence of something. She picked up her phone to reply. “I don’t know. It could be him, I guess. The facts will have to win out.”

  “So, go find some facts.”

  * * *

  Kat knew he was right. In the end, whether she was working as a journalist or as Theresa’s friend, the facts were what mattered. The question was where she could find the next set of facts. Her stomach dropped. Even if she had the facts, she wasn’t sure she would be happy with the outcome. She needed a plan, and she needed one fast. She was worried time was running out for Theresa. Kat found FBI agent Yasmin Lee’s business card on the counter and typed in the number.

  “This is Lee.”

  “Agent Lee, this is Kat Beckman. We met last night?”

  “Yes, Kat. How can I help?”

  “I wanted to check in to see if you’d had any luck finding Theresa? Were you able to talk to her husband?”

  “We’ve gone to his house and work and can’t seem to locate him.”

  “Where was his son? Is Mike okay?” Kat started to panic wondering if Bart had taken Mike somewhere.

  “His son was at the house with a housekeeper. She said she was spending the night and had been told to stay with Mike until Bart returned. We are working on tracking him down now.”

  “Anything on her cell phone? Have you pinged it?”

  “We normally don’t do that so early in a case, but given Mr. Walsh’s prominent position as a CEO, we did. There was no return signal.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “Her phone is either off or has been destroyed.”

  Kat was surprised by how matter-of-fact Agent Lee spoke. If she didn’t know she was human, she’d swear she was a robot. A thought crossed Kat’s mind that maybe that was the way that Agent Lee survived her work. “What happens next?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. We are going to try to find Mr. Walsh again today to see if he is willing to help. I have a couple of agents at Palm Coast Electric & Power now and another car sitting in front of his house.”

  Kat furrowed her brow. She had worked with the FBI before on other cases. That sounded like a lot of manpower for a missing person when they had very few facts. “Why so many agents?”

  There was a pause as if Agent Lee was trying to decide how much she should tell Kat. “When we have a missing person that is tied to a major corporation, the rules of the game are a little different. We want to be in position in case this develops into a kidnapping and there is a ransom call. You wouldn’t believe how many people are taken to secure some proprietary information or inventions. It’s not just about money anymore. That’s why we are handling this and not the local police. National security.”

  Kat chewed her lip. “I had no idea. Will you let me know if you hear anything? I mean, Theresa was, I mean is, my friend. I’m worried about her.”

  “If anything firm comes up, I will. Call if you think of anything or if she contacts you, okay?”

  “I will.”

  Kat sat back down at the table and scratched her knee. There were too many unanswered questions in order to make sense of what was happening. The one fact that seemed to float to the surface was that Theresa hadn’t come to the hospital. No mother would allow her child to go to the hospital without her unless it was a dire situation. Was Yasmin right? Had she been kidnapped to pry some important information out of Bart?

  Kat slammed her hand down on the table, startling Tyrant, who lifted her head. Woof came trotting into the room, looking at Kat. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Go lay down.” She felt bad, knowing she had upset the dogs. The truth was she was upset. From the last communication she had with Theresa, this whole situation had felt like hitting one brick wall after another. There were more questions than answers and no clear path forward. Kat needed to do something to find her friend. What, she didn’t know, but she knew time was running out.

  31

  Connor had slept by the television overnight, watching the coverage of the marina fire. It had gone better than he expected. The pretty reporter who looked like she had spent hours in a makeup chair only to put a baseball cap on over top of her bouncy hair, told the audience eighty-three boats had been damaged. Of those, fifty-seven had sunk. There were seventeen people missing, with another eight rescued. Three were in critical condition.

  Connor stretched. He hadn’t checked on Theresa since he got back. He didn’t see any need to. She might be alive. She might be dead. It didn’t matter.

  When he had gotten back from the marina the night before, he had checked the gas cans in the back of his truck. The two that were left were filled to the brim and ready. Connor got up, made himself a pot of coffee and decided to take a shower.

  Once his shower was over and the pot of coffee was brewed, he went back into his office, the continuing coverage of the marina fire rattling in the background. The chair gave a squeak as he sat down and opened his laptop. He used the program he had designed to get through a back door in the Palm Coast Electric & Power computer system, finding his way over to the hub where power management was housed. The initial tests of his program had gone well. The areas that he had chosen had performed as expected. The surge in the power lines blew the transformer with such power that a few fires had started. They hadn’t spread very far, but that was by design. He needed to test to see if the program worked before he set that part of his plan in motion.

  He stopped for a second, thinking that he heard banging from the garage. He stood up and walked to the door, waiting. There was no sound. He must have been hearing things.

  Hearing things when he really didn’t happened a lot after Janet and Grace were gone. He would be sitting in his office, thinking about something, when he was sure he could hear Grace’s laughter or Janet’s smooth voice. The first few times it happened, he had actually gotten up to look, only to realize it was just his memory playing tricks on him. He wanted to believe they were home or at least they were coming home. The rational part of his mind knew they weren’t.

  As Connor looked at the computer screen, he realized he was gritting his teeth, the pain crawling up the back of his head. He was sure if he went to a dentist, they would have him in some sort of plastic contraption to keep him from grinding before he ever left the office. The pain when he did grit his teeth was excruciating. He didn’t really mind though. The pain kept him on edge. It kept him thinking about his plan and what he hoped to accomplish.

  Connor pulled the black notebook out of his desk drawer, looking at the list of addresses and coordinates he had put in the back of it. He leaned forward, picking up a black marker, crossing off the test sites for the surge program and the marina. Those were complete.

  The rest of the afternoon went quickly, Connor moving back and forth between watching the coverage of the marina fire and checking his computer for any changes to his program. He double-checked the toolkit in his truck and waited, even managing to take a short nap on his chair in front of the television. He hadn’t slept well in months, only getting a nap in here and there. Going to bed without being able to hold Janet seemed pointless. He hadn’t been in their bedroom except to get clothes for a long time.

  At about eight o’clock, Connor started to get restless. Another night had descended on the area, the dry air still pushing over the land with the near constant blowing of the Santa Ana winds. He made himself a sandwich and sat down in front of the television to eat it. The news stations had moved on from the marina fire, saying there was an investigation underway and the EPA had been out to assess the situation. They had even interviewed the marina owner by phone, who said he couldn’t understand what had happened and felt terrible. He shouldn’t, Connor
thought. People needed to understand there were consequences for what they did. He had planned on going down to the marina to check on the status of the boats, but stopped when he heard another reporter say, “For anyone who is out of town and is concerned about the status of their boats, they can visit their member page at the marina for a complete list of which boats were damaged.” Connor went to his laptop and searched for the marina, clicking on the link that took him to their site. The member part of the site was secure, but that wasn’t a problem. Connor hacked it within a few minutes and downloaded the list. The list began with, “The owners and staff of the Bar Harbor Marina are devastated by the fire of last night. Please see the list below of boats that were damaged or are missing.” He knew the boat he was looking for was docked as part of the sailing fleet in the deep-water docks near the fuel tanks. That was why he started the fire the way he did. He sent the list to the printer, not wanting to spoil the moment of seeing if he’d been successful or not. The printer whirred to life, the paper feeding into the printer’s deck, the inkjets sliding across the surface. Connor waited until it was done and then picked up the sheet of paper, turning on his desk lamp. He set the paper in the middle of his desk, moving his laptop off to the side. The document was two pages in total, listing all the boats and owners. At the top of the page, just after the cursory apology the marina staff had written, there was a heading, “Boat missing.” On the second page, there was another heading, “Boat damaged but towed to Marina Del Rey.”

  Connor started on the second page, the list that covered the boats that were damaged by salvageable. He ran his finger down the page, a knot in his stomach growing with every name he passed. As he got to the end of the second page, he stopped. It wasn’t there. He flipped back to the first page and ran his finger down the list again. Four from the bottom, he found it. The Fairways. The boat, a custom fifty-foot Beneteau, was listed as “boat missing.” Connor quickly searched for the marina fire online, pulling his computer back to the center of his desk. He clicked on the option for images and started scanning the ones he could find. The first few were of the fire itself, taken from what looked to be a helicopter overhead. Probably the news service, he thought. He blew one up on his computer and stared at it, the knot in his stomach tightening even more. The picture must have been taken well into the fire. Much of the area was already black or glowing with fire that was burning out. He zoomed in on the area near the fuel tanks. At the second dock in, he saw what he was looking for, The Fairways, glowing as fire destroyed her.

  Connor sent that image to the printer too. While he was waiting, he clicked on pictures from after the fire, looking for the same angle. Eight shots down, he found was he was looking for and enlarged it. He sent that one to the printer too, but not before studying it. He brought both images back to his desk and circled the before and after. In the first picture, The Fairways was on fire. In the second, all you could see was a sailboat, burned down to the waterline. The mast had collapsed onto the remnants of another boat. It was a complete loss.

  Connor closed his laptop and took the pictures, folded them and put them in the back of his notebook, shutting it in his desk drawer.

  The results of the night before had given him hope. He had hope that he could somehow get back what he had lost. He stood up from his desk and picked up his truck keys from the counter.

  32

  Pastor James Caine had work to do. Sunday was coming up far too fast for his level of comfort. It always took him time, probably more time than it should, to prepare for services. Hours of prayer and Bible study, writing out his script so he could get it to the tech team to make slides and revisions that lasted until he was literally getting ready to go on stage made preaching a lot of work. He wished it wasn’t, but that was the process that God had put in front of him.

  Pastor James sighed and checked the clock on his computer. It was after ten. Most of the groups that used the church during the week were long gone. He didn’t think anyone was left except for him in the building. His wife and the kids were used to his long nights at the church, especially as the weekend drew closer. He was sure the kids were already asleep. His wife was probably wrapped in a blanket on the couch, waiting for him to get home, if she wasn’t already asleep too.

  There was something about the passage in Colossians he was working on that he just couldn’t get clear in his mind. He knew he needed time in prayer. God would give him the answers he needed. Pastor James opened his desk drawer and pulled out a set of earbuds, connecting them to his phone and clicking on an album of praise and worship music. He got up from his desk and went to the window, kneeling down on the carpet. The week before, his assistant had brought in a rug to cover the spot where he knelt. The carpet underneath was so compressed from Pastor James’ time there that the padding had all but worn out. Elsa, his assistant, thought he’d be more comfortable seeking God with a little cushion underneath him. “Discomfort is part of faith,” he had told her at the time.

  “Yes, but it’s hard to be a man of God if you can’t walk.”

  Pastor James remembered that moment as he closed his eyes, facing the window, as he bowed his head.

  * * *

  He’d been in prayer for about an hour when the smell of something burning touched his nostrils. At first, he shook it off, thinking he wasn’t really smelling something, it was probably just an old memory. Another minute or two passed and he smelled it again. Turning around, still on his knees, he heard a crash, the smell of smoke getting stronger. Pastor James got up from the floor and glanced toward the door of his office, which was closed. By the lamplight, he could see curls of smoke coming under his door. He ran to the door, throwing the earbuds on his desk. He pulled the door open without thinking. A wall of flames was in front of him. He knew he had to get out of the church. He looked down the hall and could see the stairwell that would get him outside. He glanced behind him for a moment, knowing that his only other option was to jump out of the window. He slammed the door closed, dialed 911 and gave them the address. “I’m going to try to make it out,” he told the dispatcher.

  “Sir, just stay where you are. I’ve got crews on their way.”

  “There’s no time.” He pushed the phone in his back pocket and opened the door. The flames had only intensified in the last minute since he made the call. Should he wait? Would he make it out? What about his wife and kids? Pastor James said a silent prayer and ran out the door, jumping over pockets of flames and fallen debris that had already accumulated in the hallway. He could feel the heat on his skin. He got to the top of the steps, using what was left of the speed from his high school track career, and looked back. The entire front section of the hallway was filled with flames. Pastor James whispered a quick thanks and started to cough. He needed to get out of the church and get out now. There was no telling how much of the structure was on fire, but he didn’t have time to find out.

  He looked down the stairway, the smoke stinging his eyes, barely able to draw a breath. If he didn’t make it down the steps now, they would find him later, he realized. It was hard to see, but he pressed on, going down the flight of steps to the back entrance. As he got just inside the doorway, he heard sirens. He pushed the doorway open and collapsed, the roar of the fire trucks coming up the driveway. He heard shouts as he passed out, “Over here!”

  Pastor James came to a few minutes later, an oxygen mask on his face, his body lying on the clean white sheets of a gurney. “You with us?” a paramedic wearing blue gloves asked, pushing a few buttons on the display screen in front of her.

  “I think so. What happened?” As Pastor James opened his eyes, he could see the church in front of him being doused by water. “The church! No!” The flames had broken through the roof, the flames licking up at the sky, the crackle of wood and carpet and books being burned. He could hear the hiss of water raining down on the structure. He strained to get up.

  The paramedic put her hand on his chest. “No, sir. You can’t get up right now. Tell me
your name.”

  “James. James Caine.”

  “Was there anyone else in the building?”

  “I don’t think so, no. It was late.” He coughed, a charcoal taste in his mouth.

  The paramedic keyed her radio. “No one else to report in the building.”

  A staticky voice responded, “Copy.”

  The paramedic leaned over him, “So, James, what happened?”

  “I don’t know. I was praying, getting ready for this weekend’s message, and I smelled something. When I opened the door, the whole hallway was on fire. I knew I had to get out. I ran through it and down the steps.”

  “Yup, that’s where we found you. Were you the one that called it in?”

  Pastor James nodded.

  “It’s a good thing that you called when you did. Could have spread to other buildings.”

  Pastor James struggled to get off the gurney. “My family. Someone needs to call my wife.”

  “Just stay put. Do you have your phone or a number?”

  James nodded, pulling the phone out of his pocket, a coughing spell doubling him over.

  “Which one?”

  He pointed as she made the call. He could hear her behind him talking to his wife. Tammy would freak out. He knew that. “Ma’am, really I think he’s going to be okay. We will meet you at the hospital, all right?” There was a pause. “I know he’s a pastor.” Another pause. “He probably shouldn’t talk right now until we get his breathing checked out.”

  The paramedic passed him back his phone. He leaned back on the gurney. He’d gotten away with his life and that was enough. God would take care of them. He felt the ambulance start to move and heard the sirens above. That was the last he heard before he closed his eyes.