by Julie Rowe
Permission would not be granted.
She made her body relax and sagged back onto the cot. “Yes, ma’am.”
That earned her another pat. “As soon as you get a reply, let us know.”
Ava nodded and managed to smile. It was a weak effort, but enough that her boss and the FEMA director were satisfied enough to return to other concerns.
The room ebbed and flowed with people in hazmat suits, respirators, hospital scrubs, military uniforms, and three-piece suits. They came and went like a tide, sweeping in information and questions and retreating with far too few answers.
The phone in her hand buzzed. Thanks.
She stared at the screen. Thanks. That’s it?
She typed a reply. What are you going to do?
Take care of the problem.
Fingers shaking with frustration, she typed: HOW?
The Army way.
Well, she wanted an answer. Unfortunately, it didn’t tell her anything.
Out of all the people available to her right now, Henry was the only one who might reasonably know what constituted the Army way.
She texted Henry, copying her conversation with River and sending it to him. She ended her text with: What does Army way mean?
Henry responded almost immediately. I’ll be right over.
Ava glanced up. The antibiotic and its helper were both finished infusing. She didn’t feel appreciably better, but she also didn’t feel any worse.
A hazmat-suited Henry walked in, looked at her, looked at Dr. Rodrigues, and said, “Do you mind if I steal her? She’ll get more rest in the tent by my lab.”
“Yes,” their boss answered. “We could use the space.” She smiled apologetically at Ava. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Ava replied, getting off the cot. “I’m feeling very superfluous here.”
Henry grabbed her IV bags and her belt tool kit and practically galloped out of the room.
“Slow down, before you pull my IV out.”
Henry winced and reduced his giant strides to something she could keep up with.
They dodged people and gurneys and managed to emerge outside without incident. He didn’t slow down, however, until they reached the decontamination area.
He made her put on a respirator, gloves, and safety glasses, then ushered her inside his tiny lab.
There were two rolling stools in the cramped space. He pushed her onto one and took the other.
“So,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, that’s about where I’m at, too.” She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. “Palmer is the cell leader.”
“Palmer is the fox? Palmer?”
She pulled out her phone and showed him the picture of Palmer she’d taken prior to the coffee shop explosion. “What does the Army way mean?”
“Basically, whatever force is necessary to achieve the mission goals.”
“Guns, grenades, guts, and gore. Is that what you mean?”
“Pretty much.”
“But, he’s probably wearing a suicide vest. Shooting him could set it off; then they’re all dead.”
“They can’t shoot him until they know he’s a genuine threat. If they shoot him before making sure he really is the bad guy, it’s called murder.”
“Even though we’re in a state of emergency?”
“Yeah.”
“How do we prove he’s the bad guy without him blowing himself up?”
“What’s the connection between Palmer and that Sam dude you thought was the leader at first?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if anyone has done a check on Sam’s background.”
“Send me that picture.”
Ava did as ordered.
Henry sent what seemed like a long text message to someone. “I’ve asked an old friend to look into Palmer’s background. Hopefully, he’ll get back to me in time.”
“But, River needs help now,” she insisted.
“He knew the moment he left the hospital that he was on his own with whoever was with him.”
She wanted to cry. “But—”
Henry put his hand on her shoulder. “I think you’re forgetting something. He’s a Special Forces soldier. He knows how to hide in plain sight better than anyone else there.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
3:31 p.m.
We’re fucked.
River glanced at his cell phone again, at the lone word on the screen again, and admitted to himself that he hadn’t seen this coming.
Palmer.
That’s the entire message Ava sent him, that and the photo, but it was enough. The expression on Palmer’s face, the disdain and contempt, convinced him.
He should have noticed it earlier, but he’d been too focused on the shit disturber in the crowd.
Palmer, an officer of the law, was the cell leader, the man responsible for all the death and destruction in the last twenty-four hours. The man responsible for blowing Ava and him up four times. A man who appeared to be after an all-time record for Americans killed on American soil in a domestic terrorist attack.
He was probably wearing a suicide vest. His torso did look a little too thick for regular body armor.
Somehow, River had to find a way to prove the bastard was the man they were looking for without setting off the explosives he was wearing. Preferably before the asshole set them off himself. Would he wait to do it until he saw the four surviving members of his cell? Or at the first hint of someone new coming their way?
Why do any of it?
Searching for some explanation, River studied Palmer’s face and body and realized the other man had been showing it all along.
His eagerness to help, to go into possible danger, to be on scene when shit went down.
It made sense in a sick, twisted sort of way. He got his jollies by setting off the bombs and bugs and laughing at everyone else trying to unravel his plan.
Asshole.
This wasn’t Afghanistan. River couldn’t just shoot him now. There had to be some proof that he actually was the terrorist Ava thought he was. She could be wrong.
Not bloody likely.
Still, he was going to have to get the man to show his true colors before he could accuse him of being a terrorist.
Palmer reached into a pocket and pulled out a cell phone.
River watched him at an angle, keeping the cop in his peripheral vision while seeming to examine their surroundings in detail.
“There’s a city worker requesting entry,” Palmer reported. “What should I tell the guys in the communication room? Is this the person you’re expecting?”
“Probably,” River replied, taking a moment to make it look as if he were thinking it over. “Yeah, it’s got to be him. No one else would be driving around during quarantine.”
“Who is this person?” Palmer asked, as he texted a reply.
“Oh, he’s an old friend. He retired from his Army desk job a few years back, but got bored so he went to work as a transit driver for the city of El Paso.”
“That’s what I have to look forward to in my retirement?” Agent Korsman asked. “Driving a bus?”
“Would you rather greet people at your nearest department store?” Dozer asked. “Or does mall security sound more your speed? I’d be happy to write you a recommendation letter.”
There was movement down the hall. Then someone said in a rough, irritated voice, “Come on, you fuckwits, I don’t want to be late for my evening bowel movement.”
The first of the four surviving terrorists appeared, his hands tied behind his back with paracord, followed by the next three, all tied together so that if one ran, he’d drag his buddies with him.
“Still inspiring young men to do their best?” River asked the grizzled old man.
He snorted. “I’d need to have them for three months, twenty-four seven to get them to barely adequate.”
River watched Palmer’s face as the four came into view, but saw no reco
gnition. Nor did he see any on the boys’ faces when they looked at the various law-enforcement professionals in front of them.
Could Ava be wrong?
His cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out. The message was from Ava.
Henry called in a favor. Did a background check on Palmer and illegally accessed his medical file. He’s Sam’s older half-brother.
Fuck. He set his own brother up to die?
Palmer’s mother killed herself when she found out her husband had an affair with another woman and had another child, too. Palmer was about five years old when it happened. She was found hanging in her bedroom. The kid was sitting on the floor talking to her corpse when EMS arrived. He had some trouble as a young teen—started a couple of fires, but a stint in juvenile detention seemed to end it.
Nah, it hadn’t ended it. Juvie just taught him how to compartmentalize it.
Shit. Other than causing more chaos, this asshole had nothing to live for.
Another text came in.
Do not get blown up!
Problem was, he couldn’t guarantee it. He put his phone away without answering. His focus now was talking this maniac down, or as a last resort, taking him out.
He really didn’t want to kill him. A dead man couldn’t stand trial, couldn’t pay for his crimes. Palmer needed to pay for his.
Keeping Palmer in the corner of his eye, River walked over to Dozer. “I think you and your guys have earned the right to ask your questions first,” River said. “I suspect we’re looking for the same information.”
“Appreciated.” The big agent glanced at Palmer. “Can we get four chairs for our young friends here from somewhere? I think we need to have a very eye-opening conversation.”
“No problem.” Palmer’s tone sounded curious, invested.
Good.
Palmer and the two FBI agents got the chairs. Dozer arranged them in a line and plunked each kid down in a chair with more force than was probably necessary.
Dozer stood in front of them and just stared. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move, just met the gaze of each kid until they dropped theirs.
Finally, he asked one word: “Why?”
The four blinked at him.
“Why, what?” Whiner asked.
“You’ve detonated explosions all over the city and the Army base and caused the outbreak of a dangerous pathogen that’s killed hundreds of people.” He paused to stare at each of them. “Why?”
“Our government—”
“That’s a bullshit answer,” Dozer barked at him. “Politics didn’t provide you with the motivation to participate in mass murder.” He paced in front of them, walking so close to them that he almost stepped on their feet. “Murder. Of children, women, grandmothers, your own goddamned relatives.”
He continued to pace. “How could any of you believe there wouldn’t be any consequences?”
Dislocated Arm spat on the floor. “We’re fighting a revolution. Risks have to be taken to ensure success.”
River winced. He’d said almost those exact words to Ava for the exact same reason. The goal was all important. Nothing got in the way of the goal. Nothing.
What an ass he’d been.
Dozer gave all four idiots a shark’s smile. “Another bullshit answer.”
River glanced over at Palmer. Now that he knew what to look for, the cop watched Dozer with an intensity River had misinterpreted as dedication and determination. Now he could see the excitement in Palmer’s body language—the tense muscles and the shifting of his weight from foot to foot. And yet, his expression was eerily calm.
Was this guy a psychopath? Or was he as disenfranchised as the students he’d recruited? If he was the former, he wouldn’t care about anyone but himself, and would hurt anyone in his way. If he was the latter, he’d feel guilty, but also determined to finish what he started.
He might be able to negotiate with someone who had a guilty conscience. A psychopath, probably not.
River slowly walked over to Palmer and leaned over to say softly, “I said the same thing about risk yesterday.”
He glanced at River. The curiosity on his face was out of place. Everyone else looked ready to kill all four terrorist wannabes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Dozer is right. It’s a bullshit answer.”
Palmer smiled, then tried to hide it with wide eyes. “Um, it has to be the answer sometimes, or I wouldn’t have a job.”
“How do you see your job?” River asked. “Do you protect the people, or the status quo?”
“I enforce the law.” He said it as if it was a mantra, but it was too practiced, too rote. “Everyone is subject to the law, no matter who they are.” He thrust his chin at the four students. “They’ll pay for their crimes.” He smiled, and it was on the evil side of happy. “I hope they get the death penalty.”
“I don’t know,” River said. “I think prison for the rest of their lives would be worse.”
Palmer sneered. “I’ve seen too many kids who think they’re entitled to everything. They don’t care about the law. All they care about is getting what they want. The only way to put a stop to it is to scare the rest into acting like adults.” He looked at River. “You know what I mean, you’re a soldier. You’ve seen their kind of stupid before.”
“Stupid, yes. But these ones were influenced by someone else.” River said. “Convinced that they could do what they wanted and get away with it.” He regarded Palmer with steady eyes. “That’s the guy I want to see pay for his crimes.”
Palmer stared at him, his brows crowding his eyes. “The guilty deserve to die. They could have said no, or called the police, but they didn’t. They got caught.” There was the dedication, the commitment that should have been in the man’s voice before.
“Not our call to make. I’ll kill if I have to, but I don’t look for it and take no satisfaction from it.”
“You don’t take pride in doing your job well?”
“I take great pride in doing my job well, but I believe my job is quite different than what you think it is.” River shrugged. “A common misconception.”
“You’re a soldier. You go into other countries to kill or kidnap or rescue—whatever your commander tells you to do.”
“Don’t believe the all shit you hear in the news. We don’t go on missions like that very often. Mostly, Special Forces are involved in supportive roles with foreign militaries. Training, for the most part.”
“Training.” Palmer snorted, as if it were a dirty word. “Do you ever wonder why you’re sent all over the world to train some other nation’s people or hunt down the CIA’s most wanted, when you could be using those skills right here at home?” He casually pulled out his sidearm, a Berretta, and checked the magazine.
“That’s what guys like you are for,” River said, watching the other man’s hands. A man who didn’t holster his weapon, but rather held it in his right hand with a strong grip. “You’re the leaders here.”
What the fuck was he up to?
Palmer turned to face River. “I respect you. You don’t back down from a fight, and you’re willing to do what it takes to get your job done.”
“Is that why you volunteered to help?”
“You were doing something useful, not running around trying to put out fires by pissing on them.”
“I was also getting blown up.”
Palmer grinned. “But not dead.” In his right hand was his weapon, in his left was a cell phone. Time to rattle this rat’s cage.
“Why the Darth Vader ringtone?” River asked.
Palmer didn’t hesitate to answer. “Vader represents order where those idiots”—he pointed his gun at the four college students—“represent the selfish ignorance our entire society has succumbed to.”
“Holy fuck,” Whiner said, staring at Palmer as if he’d seen the devil himself.
Palmer laughed, a dry, flat sound, pointed his gun at the kid, and pretended to shoot.
Around them, the other agents also pulled thei
r guns, some pointed at the student terrorists, a couple pointed at Palmer.
Whiner ducked, and Palmer laughed at the expression of terror on the kid’s face.
“We’re like the Roman Empire right before it fell. Bloated, wasteful, and full of our own superiority. To ensure we remain great, we need to trim the fat, useless, uneducated masses and the entitled elite until we’re young and vigorous again.”
“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” River asked. “I don’t see an army backing you up.” He gestured at the kids. “They’re all you have left, and like you said, they’re not much.”
“Sam was supposed to have survived, not them.” For a moment, Palmer almost looked sad, but it was gone the next second, his expression appearing now only mildly annoyed.
“You sent him the signal to detonate the bomb,” River said. “You killed your own brother.”
“He didn’t stick to the plan, and it was a great plan.”
“Now you sound like some second-rate movie villain.” There was movement behind Palmer, but River ignored it and stayed focused on the crazy man’s face.
“Second-rate?” Palmer demanded. He held up the cell phone in his hand. “The hell I’m about to bring down on you isn’t second-rate anything.” He grinned, and there was a sudden jerk of movement behind him. He grunted, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed at River’s feet.
The DS stood there, his crowbar in his hands, and shrugged. “I got tired of listening to the bullshit.”
If he didn’t think the DS would slug him, River would have kissed the old man.
Dozer was there, patting Palmer down, checking his body armor. “Yeah, he’s wired, all right. Enough explosives here to kill all of us.”
“We need the bomb squad. Again,” River said.
Dozer, who was already talking on his ECC device, requesting assistance, nodded. His two other agents were searching Palmer for other weapons. One of them picked up Palmer’s cell phone.
He showed it to River. “What does this mean?”
On the screen of the phone was a text message, 11111, sent to an unknown number. The bomb on Palmer’s chest hadn’t gone off, so…fuck.
River took the phone with care and showed it to Dozer. “I think we’ve got one more bomb to deal with.”
