The Trigger

by L. J. Sellers

  The woman stepped toward her, menacing. “I’ll give you until noon tomorrow to get the money.” Tamara turned to open the door.

  Rage and panic took over. She had to stop this woman now. Emma looked around and saw a lamp with a heavy base. She grabbed it from the nightstand and swung at Tamara’s head. With a peculiar grunt, the woman collapsed on the floor.

  For a moment, relief slowed her racing heart. Her secret was safe. But now what? Emma scrambled to think it through. She had to be smart. Had she touched anything but the lamp? No. It was late and probably no one had seen her outside the room. Even if they had, the motel guests would pack up and leave tomorrow or the next day. She just had to buy some time. But what the hell could she do with the body?

  Emma remembered the motel had a pool. One that was covered for the winter. She could drag the body into the pool. First she had to get a towel and stop the woman’s head from bleeding into the carpet, then she had to wipe down the lamp base and put it back. She could do this. When it was over, she would forget about it. Tamara was a blackmailer. She couldn’t feel guilty about her death.

  Yet she had. Mostly she’d worried about being caught. She’d worried about Randall finding out about Tate. She’d started to resent her life and her husband. Then her mother had called with yet another illness, and Emma had decided to take Tate and leave. To get away from the bad memories and make a fresh start. She’d hoped that getting away from Randall would also help her bond better with her baby. But that wasn’t going to happen now.

  So she didn’t tell Randall about wanting to leave… or the truth about Tate’s paternity. She had to convince him to head north, maybe ditch the truck and steal a car so they could lose the feds and run for it. They could still have a life. Or could they? Emma was sick with uncertainty. What about Tate? Would Caleb claim him? She was torn. Maybe she didn’t want a life on the run. Maybe she didn’t deserve to live.

  Chapter 40

  Dallas pushed her speed, glanced at the dashboard clock, and racked her brain for Randall’s likely target. The location of the other buildings worried her too. It could take hours for agents to connect with multiple service providers, access Randall’s emails and texts, and read though the data. If Randall and his conspirators had been careful, the real target names might not even be there.

  Could she talk him into calling it off? She’d failed in her last attempt. Maybe she should just let a crisis negotiator handle it. But it could be another twenty minutes before a specialist was woken from sleep, informed, and into position. There was also no guarantee Randall would take a negotiator’s call. She had to try again. Dallas pushed redial and held her breath.

  Randall answered on the third ring. “What now, Sonja? Oh wait, that’s not your real name. You lie and sneak and trick people. But then, all women do.”

  His bitterness surprised her. He’d been almost exhilarated when they’d talked a few minutes ago. “I’m sorry I lied about my name and my purpose. Emma’s father wanted us to find her. You can understand that.”

  “He’s an alcoholic asshole.”

  This was getting nowhere. “Randall, you need to call this off before it goes too far. You haven’t done anything wrong yet. Emma’s obviously not going to testify against you, and nothing’s been destroyed. We can work out a plea deal.”

  He laughed, the bitterness deepening. “Let’s not forget the assault on a federal officer. Besides, there is so much more going on that you don’t even know.”

  “Tell me. I think I’ve earned it. What can it hurt now?” Dallas had to ease off the gas as a farm truck appeared in the road ahead of her. She honked and flew around him.

  “It’s too late to stop anything.” Randall’s voice had a catch in it, and she heard Emma crying in the background. What the hell had happened?

  “It’s not too late. Call off your conspirators! We can work out a deal.”

  “We’re not turning ourselves in, and our little bombing spree is nothing compared to what’s going to happen in the Middle East.”

  The words made her skin tingle. “What do you mean?”

  “Raff took it upon himself to start a war between Israel and Syria.”

  Adrenaline rushed into her gut, and she tightened her grip on the wheel. “What exactly did he do? Tell me!”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s financial, and I’m sure it’s too late to stop it. The world is about to change in a very big way. See ya.”

  The bastard hung up. Dallas glanced at the road ahead and noticed a glow on the horizon but no taillights ahead of her. Would she ever catch up? Had they made a turn? She wished McCullen would check in, but she had to call Gibson again. She would have preferred to call the bureau’s director in Washington, but she didn’t have him in her phone.

  A voice command put her through. “Gibson, we have another problem. There’s a hacker named Greg Rafferty out at Destiny. He supposedly tried to start a war between Israel and Syria by moving money around. We should get the secretary of state involved right away.”

  “Are you serious? What the heck is in the water out there?”

  She could tell Gibson was in his car too, and their connection wasn’t good.

  “They have a collective end-of-times mentality.” Dallas switched back to her immediate concern. “Do we have a chopper in the air yet?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve made the calls and that’s all I can do. I don’t command any real resources here in Redding.”

  “Has McCullen checked in?”

  “No. Do you have eyes on anyone?”

  “Not yet. I’m worried I missed a turn.”

  “Where do you think Randall is heading?”

  “Possibly Sacramento. We need to pinpoint tech companies or network hubs in that area.”

  “I’ll get people on it, and we’ll send out SWAT teams. Any other ideas?”

  “Randall is unpredictable. Something personal happened between him and his wife. He might even be suicidal.”

  “Shit. That’s the worst.”

  “I know.” Dallas hesitated. “I think his other conspirators might be targeting communication centers. Like Google and Yahoo and other Silicon Valley businesses. What better way to disrupt everything than to take down the internet?”

  “We’ll get protection for them as well. First I’ll call the secretary of state. Keep me posted.”

  Dallas clicked off, noticing a sign for a junction with Deschutes Road. Had they taken it? Why hadn’t McCullen contacted her? She clicked on the dashboard GPS and saw that a right turn would take her south. She took the exit, hoping Randall had too.

  Her phone rang again, and she touched her earpiece. “It’s Dallas.”

  “McCullen here. I think I have him in sight now. We passed the 44 junction, so we’re still heading south.”

  “I hope you’re on Deschutes Road.”

  “We are. Where do we think he’s going?”

  “I think he was headed for Sacramento, but he must know he’ll never make it. He seems to be having a personal meltdown.”

  “I just gave him bad news about his wife.”

  That might not have been the best idea. “Can you get close enough for a shot at his tires?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “We could use a little daylight.” The stress of racing in the dark was wearing on her, like a physical pressure. She was also fighting exhaustion from being up all night, and her head ached from the two blows.

  “Oh shit!” McCullen shouted. “He just passed me going the other way.”

  The sound of squealing brakes vibrated in her ear. Dallas hit her brakes as well. “He must be headed for a new target. Something close.” She braked again, looking for a place to turn around or lie in wait for him.

  “I think I know,” McCullen said. “There’s an internet company just outside of Redding off Rancho Road.”

  “I just passed that turn. I’ll head back and get there before he does.” She spun the Audi into a fast U-turn, crunching in the gravel
along the side. Hitting the gas again, she sped back the way she’d come. “Give me a marker for the road I turn on.”

  “It’s Kenzie Way. There’s a mechanic shop on the corner—a white building. Turn right. Kenzie Way is about half a mile long, and the internet company, Digi-something, is at the end.”

  “On my way.”

  Her heart pounded as she tried to visualize how this would play out. She would park her car off the road near the target and stand ready with the rifle. What she did next would depend on how Randall approached.

  The sky began to lighten, and she could see occasional buildings and homes along the highway. Thank goodness. It wasn’t enough daylight for a clean long-distance shot, but all she had to do was stop the damn truck. If Randall got out with an explosive in his hands—or taped to his chest—she’d take him out.

  “McCullen, you still there?”

  “Yep. What’s your location?”

  “I just passed a dairy.”

  “You’ve got another three miles. Should I stay online with you?”

  “No, I have to run through some scenarios.”

  “I’ll be right behind Randall and will back you up. He’s not getting away. Good luck.”

  Dallas raced along the rural road, not feeling any more familiar with it this time. The hardest part of undercover work was not knowing the geographical area. At least McCullen was there to give her some guidance.

  She pushed hard, her forearms tense from gripping the wheel, and her right hand bruised from Randall’s stomping. The three miles seemed to take forever. Finally, the white mechanic shop glowed in the distance. She took her foot off the gas, but waited to brake until the last minute. Headlights came at her in the distance. The locals were starting to move around.

  Squealing around a corner, she passed several homes and businesses, hoping that none would be in danger. They weren’t even sure where Randall was going. Dallas had a flash of doubt. What if he was headed back to Destiny? To destroy his creation—and maybe the brother who had turned on him? FBI agents were converging on Redding now, but they were coming up I-5 from Sacramento and San Francisco. Gibson was probably still at the bureau making calls. She hoped he’d enlisted the Redding Police to secure the evidence and suspects still at Destiny.

  What if Randall was headed into town? Dallas’ gut was in turmoil about turning off the road to wait. McCullen had better be right.

  The DigiSpace building was now visible in the distance. Halides illuminated the parking lot, and a few lights were on inside the building. Long and low, the single-story business was tucked into a clearing of Douglas firs. Two cars were in the parking lot, so she had to assume people were in the building, despite the early hour. They could be a janitor crew and needed protection.

  Dallas slowed and looked for a place to wait. She spotted a rise in the terrain off to the right. A home was perched at the top of the hill, but halfway up was a flat spot, a parking area. She took the driveway, cruising up to the gravel turnout, then backed in so she’d be facing Randall as he came down the road.

  Engine off, she tucked her phone in her pocket, grabbed the rifle, and climbed from the car. The house at the top had no lights on, and she was grateful. The last thing she needed was a gun-toting homeowner coming down to give her shit for being on his property.

  Tapping her earpiece, she called McCullen. “I’m in place. Do you have eyes on the suspect?”

  “I think so. There’s a vehicle in the distance moving fast. It’s only a mile or so from Kenzie Road.”

  “Let me know if it turns.” Dallas took several long slow breaths, then prepped as best as she could. She opened the barrel of the rifle and checked for rounds. Fully loaded. She noted the wind—a gentle breeze from the north. She wished she had her own weapon, but at least this one had a scope. Without a tripod or adequate lighting, this wasn’t ideal sniper work, but she would do her best. She reached in her pocket for her lucky cloth, held it to her nose, and inhaled deeply. A quiet calm settled over her. She could do this.

  “He’s turning!” McCullen’s voice rang in her ear.

  Dallas brought the rifle up and sighted on a fixed spot on the road. If Randall came in slow, like he was going to park, she’d wait for him to get out of the truck. If he came in fast like a suicidal nut trying to ram the building, she would stop him before he reached the spot. She would put her first shot into his head if she could. After that, she’d aim for the tires to slow down or derail the vehicle. Her right hand ached, her head still hurt, and she worried she would miss.

  She heard the truck engine roaring toward her and brought up the rifle. Dallas emptied her mind and relaxed her shoulders, as ready as she could be under the circumstances.

  An engine started across the road in someone’s yard, a faint sound she barely heard over the roar of the truck bearing down. Across the way, headlights came on and eased toward the road. Shit! Stay out of the way, she silently pleaded.

  The oncoming truck gained speed. Randall wasn’t slowing down to park and get out. Dallas put her eye to the scope.

  The neighbor’s car slammed to a stop just as the blue truck screamed past. Randall’s face came into her sight.

  Dallas pulled the trigger.

  The blast shattered the night, followed by the quick sound of breaking glass. The truck slowed slightly as Dallas took aim at the front tire. She fired again. And missed the tire, hearing the bullet plink into the truck’s metal body. She aimed at the back tire as the truck flew past , still traveling around sixty.

  The popping sound was music to her ears. She took three more shots, blowing out the other back tire and putting two rounds through the back window of the truck’s cab—in case Randall was still in control. The vehicle slowed and careened off the road, ramming into the four-foot building sign on the edge of the property. The impact slowed the truck down again, but it didn’t stop until it rolled into a car in front of the building. Dallas braced for an explosion.

  The dawn was silent.

  She lowered the rifle and ran toward the collision. Randall might not be dead. She had to keep him from setting off his device, whatever it was. As she neared, she saw no movement from the truck. She heard McCullen’s car roaring up the road behind her and heaved a sigh of relief.

  Emma climbed from the passenger’s side, her face dazed and bloody.

  “Get away from the truck and on the ground!” Dallas had no cuffs and no way to detain her, but McCullen would be here in a moment.

  She moved around to the driver’s side, keeping her distance. They needed a bomb unit before anyone got near the vehicle. Randall was slumped over the wheel. She raised her rifle and peered through the scope. Her first bullet had hit its mark, and the bomber’s face was demolished. She had to think of him that way and remind herself that she’d saved the people in the building.

  But it wasn’t time to celebrate. More bombers were headed to targets, and only Randall knew who and what they were. She needed his cell phone right now. Dallas sucked in a breath and jogged over to the truck. She gently pulled the driver’s side open. The coppery scent of blood mingled with hot metal and radiator smells. She ignored Randall’s body and visually searched for his cell phone. She spotted the briefcase on the seat beside him. The explosive?

  McCullen’s voice came from a hundred feet behind her. “Get away from the truck! It could blow.”

  She knew that. Randall had been on the phone right before he crashed. It had to be here somewhere. Yet it wasn’t on the dashboard or floor. She reached between his legs and found the device. Dallas grabbed it and got the hell away.

  McCullen ran to her and gave her a quick squeeze. “Good work, Dallas.”

  Pounding footsteps made them both look up. Emma sprinted toward the tree-covered hillside. McCullen sighed. “I have to arrest her for murder.” He bolted after her.

  Dallas shook off her surprise, found her last contact with Agent Gibson, and hit callback. “I have Randall Clayton’s phone and I’m looking at his last te
xt message. He sent a go message to nine people. Should I read you the numbers?”

  Gibson hesitated. “I’ll put you in contact with Special Agent Kerry Meyers in Sacramento. Give her the information directly. I’ll text her and let her know to take your call.”

  Dallas waited to the count of sixty, hoping against odds that they were not too late. She felt shell-shocked, as if she’d just missed being in a fatal accident. The lack of sleep hit her full-on too. She trembled as she made the call.

  A woman picked up. “Special Agent Kerry Meyers.”

  “Agent Jamie Dallas. I have a list of the terrorists’ phone numbers. Two of them are in Europe.”

  “Give them to me.”

  Dallas read through the list, speaking slowly. They had no room for error. If these were all cell phones, law enforcement would be able to pinpoint their locations and hopefully arrest the perps before they set off explosions.

  The bombers had a ten- or fifteen-minute head start. Dallas worried that they were too late, but she’d done everything she could.

  Chapter 41

  Hakim Chehab glanced at the clock on his computer. On any other Saturday afternoon, he would be golfing or sipping tea with his lovely wife. Not today. He’d been on the phone for hours—with President Assad, the asset management company that had lost a hundred million of Syria’s money, and briefly with President Rohani of Iran. On this afternoon, he found himself in the stressful position of brokering talks that could escalate into a war with Israel.

  In theory, they all wanted it. The Jews had no place in their region, and their destruction would honor Allah and allow the Palestinians to go home. Yet, they all dreaded the conflict. The United States would back Israel, and the Muslim casualties would be horrendous. He didn’t want those deaths on his conscience. In his heart, he believed they could conquer their age-old enemy. In his head, he wasn’t nearly as sure.