Boom-BOOM!

by Wally Duff

  He answered. “Detective Infantino.”

  I opened my mouth to scream, “I just killed al-Turk!” But I disconnected before I did.

  Dummy!

  If I told him al-Turk was dead on my kitchen floor, Tony would dispatch a black-and-white, and my home would become a crime scene. After all the other cops arrived, I would spend the next several hours being processed for committing a possible murder.

  And Hannah and her kids would be killed by the man across the street, and nine planes would be blown out of the sky because I didn’t have one shred of evidence to prove to the cops what was going to happen.

  Go get Kerry.

  But al-Turk’s blood had splashed on me. Rushing to the entry hall, I opened the front closet that held our winter coats and grabbed Carter’s trench coat. Wrapping it around me, I sprinted up the stairs to be with my baby and hold her safely in my arms.

  “Why Momma qwying?” Kerry asked when I picked her up.

  Until that moment, I hadn’t realized tears were streaming down my cheeks. Hugging her tightly to my chest, I nuzzled her hair. “It’s okay. Momma got scared, and it made me cry, but it’s all better now.”

  Potty training would have to wait. I placed her on the table and changed her diapers. When I finished, it hit me.

  If I had to choose between saving the life of my daughter, or the lives of strangers flying on those nine planes, which would I choose?

  That had been the question al-Turk asked me, but now I had to make a decision. Do I help Hannah and her kids, or the people at O’Hare? I couldn’t be in two places at once.

  I had to save Hannah and her children before that guy realized al-Turk’s plans for me and Kerry had gone haywire.

  With Kerry in my arms, I went down to the family room.

  “Sweet girl, Momma’s going to put you down in here with Elmo and Ralph for a little bit, is that okay?”

  “Uh-huh. Momma smell funny.”

  Did I ever. I had to fix that pronto.

  “I’ll be right back with apple juice.”

  When I ran into the kitchen, the overpowering stench of feces, urine, and dried blood made me begin to gag, and this time I threw up on al-Turk’s legs. My uninvited dead guest had pooped his pants and peed all over the floor as his parting shot to me.

  122

  I ran up to our master bedroom with Kerry’s apple juice in my hand, put it on the counter, and hopped into the shower. Then, I took the fastest shower in history, rinsed my mouth out again, and left the blood-soaked clothes on the shower floor. I grabbed the brown shorts I’d worn at XSport the day before and threw them on, along with an old yellow golf shirt and a pair of running shoes. I pulled my wet hair into a ponytail and took the apple juice to Kerry in the family room.

  Now what?

  Leaving Kerry with her two friends, I ran back into the kitchen to call Tony on my regular cell phone.

  “I have new intel,” I said.

  “Give it to me,” Tony said.

  “Dr. Micah Mittelman is a world famous medical researcher.” My frustration bubbled to the surface, and I began talking faster. “He has developed a process to create embryonic stem cells in the laboratory and is using them to treat multiple sclerosis.”

  The line went silent. Science was never Tony’s strong suit.

  “And?”

  “He’s been forced by al-Turk and his crew to do surgery on unsuspecting women to implant C4.”

  “Where’d the doctor put the C4?”

  “Nine of the strippers at the Twenties had augmentation mammoplasties done by him.”

  He didn’t react.

  “Breast implants.”

  He still didn’t react.

  “The C4 is in their boob jobs.”

  “Exploding boobs? No way. You got proof of that?”

  “Al-Turk confessed to me.”

  “He around so I can question him?”

  “He’s in my kitchen right now.”

  Sort of the truth.

  “How long is he gonna stay there?”

  I wanted to say “forever,” but I had to focus Tony on the nine strippers at O’Hare.

  “He’ll be here as long as you want him to be. Our bigger problem is at O’Hare. The nine strippers are already there.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes, I’m freaking sure! You need to go out there and stop this!” I took in a breath. “The girls will be in the United Room South on the B concourse. Go there, and don’t let them near any airplanes.”

  “I can be there by 1420.”

  “Okay. It’ll be at least forty minutes before I can get there. I’ll meet you in the United Room South on the B Concourse.”

  Hannah and her kids come first.

  123

  But I can’t call Hannah.

  Al-Turk’s man had to be monitoring her phones too. If he heard and recognized my voice, he would know his boss was in trouble and would kill Hannah and her kids immediately.

  If I called 911, the Chicago PD might send out a patrol unit. But when the man saw the cops drive up to Hannah’s home, he would rush in the back door of her house and kill all of them before the cops had turned off the engine.

  I was Hannah’s only chance to survive, and to do it, I needed a weapon. I reached down and picked up al-Turk’s Glock 19. Ejecting the magazine, I counted the bullets. A full clip contained fifteen 9mm rounds. I’d fired the gun one time and now there were fourteen left. I reinserted the clip and jacked one bullet into the barrel.

  Carter would go ballistic if he discovered al-Turk dead in our kitchen. But my hubby would go completely nuts if he knew I planned to save Hannah and her kids. Hopefully, the terrorists had a manpower issue, and there was only one man in al-Turk’s house. But if there were two or three of them across the street, I was in real trouble.

  I need help.

  The only people I could count on were my playgroup friends.

  Cas.

  She wouldn’t back down from anyone, especially a man, and if there were injuries, her ER experience might save lives.

  I didn’t want to leave Kerry, but I had no choice. As she sipped her apple juice, I called Mrs. Sanchez. She agreed to watch Kerry and Cas’s two kids.

  Next, I called Cas. “I need you to meet me at al-Turk’s house. It’s gotta be right now and no questions.”

  “What?”

  “Just listen. Park in my driveway. You know Mrs. Sanchez. Drop off your kids with her. I’ll sneak down the alley to the back of al-Turk’s house and wait for you there.”

  “Then what?”

  “When you’re in position in front of al-Turk’s house, call me and then ring the doorbell. I’ll sneak in the back door.”

  “Tina, what is going on?”

  “There’s a man inside al-Turk’s house who might seriously harm Hannah and her kids.”

  “What if there are more guys in there?”

  “Bring your Taser and your first aid kit, and we’ll figure it out.”

  124

  I grabbed my backpack, put the gun inside, and dropped off Kerry at Mrs. Sanchez’s house. After sprinting down the alley, I squatted next to the gate where I’d tried to hide the night I’d stolen the trash. If the gate from al-Turk’s house opened, I wanted to have a clear shot at whoever came out.

  My cell phone vibrated.

  “At the foot of the front steps,” Cas stage-whispered. “The drapes are closed.”

  “Hang on.”

  I rushed to al-Turk’s gate and opened it a crack. The drapes in the back of the house were closed. I pushed through the gate enough to enter the backyard and ran to the back steps.

  “Heading to the back door,” I whispered, as I tip-toed up the stairs.

  “Going to the front.”

  I took out my lock pick gun and torque wrench. I put the Glock in my left armpit.

  “Count three. Ring the doorbell and pound on the door. Make as much noise as you can.”

  I thrust the phone into my back
pack and waited until I heard the doorbell ring. Using my tools, I opened the door and slipped into the kitchen.

  I shoved the equipment into my backpack and put it on the counter. I grabbed the gun and assumed a shooter’s stance. Standing still, I listened for any human sounds while sweeping the gun back and forth in front of me, anticipating the sudden appearance of the terrorist. The only noise came from the ringing front doorbell and Cas pounding on the door.

  I sniffed. The pungent smell of spicy food permeated the kitchen air and turned my stomach. I sniffed again.

  Cigarette smoke.

  Taking a deep breath, I swallowed the bile that had erupted into the back of my throat. I inched forward and slowly moved the gun back and forth in front of me. I opened the door for Cas. She stood on the front stoop and lurched backward when she saw the Glock in my hand. She held her first aid kit in her left hand.

  “I didn’t know you owned a gun,” she whispered.

  I pictured the late Mr. al-Turk on my kitchen floor. “Just picked it up,” I whispered back.

  “Can you shoot it?”

  “I’m from Nebraska: we all know how to fire guns.”

  “Good to know, I guess.”

  “Check the first floor. I’m going upstairs.”

  There were four bedrooms. Three of the beds had been slept in, and those rooms smelled of sweat and cigarettes. The fourth had a mattress with no sheets. Dirty towels were haphazardly strewn around three of the bathrooms. I retraced my steps and rejoined Cas on the first floor.

  “I’m going to the lower level,” I said. “You stay here and yell at me if one of them returns.”

  I descended the basement stairs with the gun in front of me and entered a brightly lit room. Stacked on one wall were containers labeled with chemical names. Boxes of SAE motor oil were lined up on the adjacent wall. A large metal desk covered with mixing bowls sat in the middle of the room. The odor of recently smoked cigarettes hung in the air.

  I finally have proof.

  To my right was another larger room with a bank of ten monitors. On one of the ten screens I could see Hannah in her kitchen. On another screen, Jason, their oldest son, was working on a computer in his bedroom. The other kids were visible on a third monitor; they were on the lower level playing with their toys. The rest of the screens showed views of the exterior of the house and other empty rooms, one of which was Micah’s study.

  I noticed a knob on the desk. I put down the gun and turned the knob to the right. I heard Hannah loudly singing to herself, unaware I was eavesdropping.

  A hard object poked my low back.

  Gun barrel?

  “Where is Mr. al-Turk?” a man’s voice behind me asked.

  NO!

  125

  “What?” I asked.

  “Mr. al-Turk,” the man behind me repeated. “He is supposed to be at your house.”

  He jabbed me with the object, harder this time.

  It is a gun!

  I slid my hand toward the Glock lying on the desk.

  The man poked me again. I stopped moving.

  “Move away from the desk,” he said.

  I did. He coughed, and I recognized his voice.

  “I know you,” I said, as I slowly turned around to face him.

  “I do not think so.”

  “You cough a lot and like to hack and spit into sinks.” I stated this as loudly as I could without being obvious.

  Cas is my only hope.

  “I am going to call Mr. al-Turk. If he does not answer, I am going to kill you and then the Jews.”

  He held the gun in his right hand and speed-dialed al-Turk’s cell phone. The phone rang several times before it went to voice mail.

  Turning off the phone, he raised his gun to my forehead. Cas hadn’t heard me talking. She wasn’t coming to save me.

  “Please don’t do this,” I begged, tears cascading down my cheeks. “I have a baby girl.”

  He slapped my face with the back of his left hand. “Shut up!” he screamed.

  The force of the blow caused a shower of lights behind my eyes. My head began to spin, and I bent over and vomited on his shoes.

  126

  The terrorist jumped back and screamed at me in Arabic. I continued to dry-heave. Shaking the vomit off his shoes, he pushed me up and pointed his gun at my face.

  “Pendejo!” Cas yelled from the doorway.

  The man shoved me down and whipped around. She pointed a spray can at him and fired a long stream at his face. When the liquid hit his eyes, his groans filled the room. Dropping his gun, he fell to his knees, clawing at his face. She dropped the can, ran to him, and put the Taser on his neck. Instantly, he began flopping around on his back like an oxygen-deprived carp.

  Reaching into her first aid kit, she took out a zip tie, knelt down, secured his hands together behind his back, and then did the same thing with his legs. She forced him into an arched-back position and bound his feet and hands together with another zip tie.

  Cas stood up and gave me a hug. “You okay?”

  My throat was too tight to speak. I hugged her back and began sobbing. The man started to wiggle. She leaned down and zapped him again with the Taser.

  I wiped my tear-stained cheeks with my hand. “I was terrified you didn’t hear me, and he was going to shoot me.”

  “I heard Hannah singing, and I came down to see what was going on.”

  “I’m really, really glad you did.”

  “Why didn’t this guy come to the front door when I rang the bell?”

  Huh?

  “Maybe he was in the bathroom. I didn’t look in there.”

  I noticed the can she’d thrown down on the floor. It was Raid Wasp and Hornet Spray. I didn’t have time to ask her why she’d used it instead of pepper spray.

  “What do you want me to do now?” she asked.

  “Pick up your kids and Kerry and go to Hannah’s. Gather all of them up and hide out at Molly’s house.”

  “Done. Where are you going?”

  “To O’Hare. This story is coming apart. I have to be there. I promise I’ll explain later.”

  She nodded toward the man. “What about him?”

  “Leave him here. Tony can have one of his guys pick him up after he finishes up at the airport. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

  127

  As I sped to O’Hare in the mommy van, I couldn’t forget al-Turk’s dead eyes and the bullet hole in his chest.

  I killed him!

  Nausea enveloped me once again. Powering down the window, I let the hot Chicago wind blow on my face.

  At least Tony should have the girls corralled either in the United Room or, more likely, a detention area in the TSA offices. I’d missed it, but I didn’t have a choice. Hannah and her kids had come first.

  Story? O’Hare?

  Dang it!

  I didn’t have a ticket to get into the terminal. I reached in my backpack for my burner phone, but I’d left it in my kitchen. I did have my old cell phone. I used it to call Linda.

  “Make a plane reservation for me to fly one-way out of Chicago this afternoon on any United flight, and it doesn’t matter where.”

  “What? Are you...?”

  “Please, just make it. We’ll discuss it later.”

  “Oh, I get it. You don’t want to use your own computer because of the Magic Lantern installation.”

  “I’m in my van. I’ll give you the money tomorrow.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Wait. Where are the two vehicles?”

  She typed on her keyboard. “That’s weird. The tracker on the Mercedes is off. So is the one on the Range Rover.”

  Al-Turk had removed them before he came to my home.

  He was going to kill me and my daughter.

  128

  I saw no extra police activity when I parked in the garage at O’Hare, proof that Tony had done his job and the nine women were being held far away from any airplanes and the press.

  Missed i
t, but I saved Hannah and her kids.

  Linda had done her job. When I arrived at the United check-in desk, my ticket was online in the United computer, ready for me to retrieve it. I printed it up and ran to the security line, which wasn’t too long. Again, there was no extra TSA activity. I made it to the first desk in less than five minutes.

  “Ticket and photo ID please,” the male TSA agent requested.

  I reached for my backpack, which I didn’t have.

  “It’s in my van.”

  He stared at me. “And?”

  “And it’s in my backpack, and that’s where my driver’s license is.”

  “Can’t let you through without a photo ID.”

  The action was over, but I would still have to run back to the van and stand in line again, and it would take too long.

  “Do you have any other photo ID?” he asked.

  Searching through my shorts pockets, I found my ID for XSport Fitness, which I’d used the day before. It had my picture and name and address on it. I handed it to him.

  “How about this?”

  “Works for me, but I’m not sure it will if you book a return from Omaha,” he said, as he stamped and initialed my ticket.

  “Omaha?” I asked.

  “Isn’t that where you’re going?”

  I hadn’t looked at my ticket. I did a mini Tina-two-step. “Right, right, Omaha.”

  Moving forward, I faced another hurdle I hadn’t anticipated: the long line of people waiting to go through the full-body scanners. I called Tony to save me, but he didn’t pick up.

  I waved at a female TSA agent. “Can I skip this line? I’m late and need to get to my gate.”

  “Oh, really? We hear that a lot. Let me see your ticket.”

  Because I didn’t give a damn about the ticket, I had no idea what time my flight left. The TSA agent held the ticket in front of me.