Shockwave

by Norm Applegate

  It was a big explosion. Dwyer could tell. He was comparing it to the ones at the farm. This was bigger. Maybe because it ignited a vehicle. Maybe the bomb was just bigger. More explosives packed into a larger pipe.

  They were passing stopped cars. All three lanes were at a standstill. Miller rolled down his window. Placed a red flashing light on the metal of the car.

  They were coming up on the accident. Miller slowed down. Dwyer could see two cars and a pickup truck. People running, dragging a limp body across the road. The pickup truck was fully engulfed. Flames thirty feet high, a fireball. The two cars were flattened. Pushed into the truck. Tangled. Flash burn from the explosion. Paint was burned off the front end, the windshield was black. A body inside one of the cars, moving, frantic to get out. Doors locked. Flames building. People pulling at the door. Screams, panic, a horrible way to die.

  Miller slowed down to a crawl.

  "Should we stop?"

  It was a question. One with a lot of concern in it. Dwyer ignored him. Stared straight ahead. He was thinking, calculating the pros and cons. The accident was fifteen feet away. Dwyer recalled something his mother had taught him, when thinking about yourself use your brain, when thinking about others use your heart.

  Miller kept looking at him.

  Dwyer was quiet.

  The accident was ten feet away. Miller could see the chaos.

  He turned back to Dwyer.

  "Stop the car," Dwyer yelled.

  Miller slammed his foot down on the brake pedal. The car slid sideways on the shoulder, loose gravel. For a moment they lost it. The car drifted. It hit solid ground. Miller got control of it. They weren't going fast. They came to a stop. He shut the engine down. Dwyer sat up, surveying the wreckage, and unclipped his seatbelt. He put his shoulder into the door and jumped out. Zippered his jacket up. Started running. His eyes scanning, taking in everything he could. He felt the heat. Could smell the car burning, kind of stung the eyes. He moved like a rocket to the person trapped in the car.

  Three vehicles on fire. One trapped woman. Seconds from death. Flames were building under her car. She was coughing. Banging her hands against the window. Dwyer could see her mouth moving. She was pleading for help, for someone to save her. Dwyer guessed the car was going to explode in minutes, maybe seconds. The explosion had demolished the truck and other car. They looked fused together, crumpled, scorched. The force of the bomb had bent the metal upward. He could hardly make out the truck from the car.

  Dwyer was behind four men. They where taking turns, leaping in and out of the flames trying to open her door. It was jammed shut.

  Dwyer stood for an instant. Heard Miller on the radio behind him. Dwyer knew there were two choices. One, try like everyone else and probably watch her burn to death. Two, do something drastic.

  Dwyer wasn't like everyone else. It was easy for him to step out of the box and take action. He reached into his jacket. Grabbed the Glock. Extended his arms. Held it at arm’s length. Both hands on the gun, keeping it steady. The woman saw him. She stopped screaming. She knew what he was doing. To his left, three men stopped moving, just stared at him. Dwyer let his breath out slowly, steady. She covered her face with her hands. He aimed. Had only seconds to make the shot. She was tucked into a tight ball in the front seat. He squeezed the trigger. The pistol made a quiet pop buried in the noise of the moment. Dwyer saw the window shatter into a billion stars.

  The woman was punching the windshield. Dwyer ran and hopped onto the hood of the car. Kicked down with his heel. The window sunk in where it was shattered. He kicked it again, karate style, kind of a sidekick into the windshield. His foot went through. He kicked around the opening. The glass broke away leaving a big hole. Reached in and felt the woman grab onto his forearm. He leaned away from her using his back muscles. Pulled her up. She moved easy, scrambling to get out. Miller was beside him. Lifting the woman out of the car. Flames all around them. Dwyer pushed the two of them from the car. Then he jumped, rolled on the ground. Stood up, saw Miller a few feet ahead with the woman. They were running. She was coughing. He ran. Miller was yelling to everyone, telling them to get back. They were running.

  The car exploded. The woman was safe.

  Chapter 48

  Major Ore motioned with his hand and pointed to the outside lane. Redell looked in the rear view mirror and made the move. They were on I-4 headed west. The exit to the hotel was a mile ahead and approaching fast on the right. The interstate was busy. It was early evening, just after rush hour. Traffic was moving fast. Anxious to get home. The highway feels big and vast at night when it's empty. In rush hour claustrophobia. Neither one of them wanted to be on the highway for too long. They suspected the police would be looking for them.

  "Busy night for an accident," Ore said.

  "Shit happens," Redell replied, and he laughed.

  They were at a point on the highway when they had to make their move now or it would be too late. The exit was in sight. They would take it to the north then merge left toward the hotel. After they got the money, which would be in a few minutes, they would head out on Redell's boat. Do some fishing in the gulf. Not far from shore, four to five miles. Not enough to draw attention to themselves but far enough away that they would be out of sight. Stay there for a few days, hiding out.

  To Redell's left a pickup truck had changed lanes. One guy driving, older, mid-forties. Baseball cap, redneck style. His hair was sticking out from under the cap. He was tanned, probably worked outside. He was thin. He wasn't paying attention. It was the closest vehicle to theirs.

  Behind the truck, a light colored four door. Nissan, female driver, no passengers. Bobbing her head to music. Young, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, pretty. She looked small, petite. Had large round sunglasses on, dark ones.

  Behind the four door, a large sedan, Chrysler, two people, business types wearing button down shirts and ties. They were drinking coffee. Talking to one another. Not paying attention to the cars around them.

  Redell looked at Ore. He nodded. It was time.

  Ore twisted in his seat and leaned over into the back. He unzipped the duffel bag. It was heavy. Too heavy to pull into the front seat. He reached in.

  "Put the window down." Ore said.

  Redell pressed a button on the armrest. The rear driver’s side window went down. It got loud. The wind whistled by.

  Ore lifted a large pipe bomb. Twelve pounds. Grey metal. Had a timer on one end. Ore unlocked it. Looked at Redell.

  "Just make sure it goes out the window," Redell said.

  Ore stared at him. Didn't say anything.

  Ore had his finger on the timer. The battery taped to the outside would supply the electricity. A small button wired to the battery. When he released it, a light would flash numbers, seconds. It would trigger the blasting caps. A countdown to detonation.

  Ore studied the three vehicles. He was judging the timing. Anticipating when to throw the bomb. He wanted them to be as close as possible. Less chance for any of the drivers to swerve away. People do crazy things in a panic. He didn't want anyone getting fancy with him.

  He braced himself against the seat, pushed his left leg against the door. Kind of locking himself in place. Ore held the bomb in his right hand. Swinging it from left to right, building up momentum. He was eyeing the distance to the truck, calculating the throw. The car window seemed large but if he missed and hit the frame. The bomb would drop inside the car. There wouldn't be time to get it. He had the timer set for two seconds. Throw it straight or in an arch, he hadn't decided. They edged ahead of the three vehicles. Ore stared at the redneck driving the truck. They were eight feet from the front tires. He held the timer down. Redell kept the car steady, seventy miles an hour. He prepared for the explosion. He knew the shockwave would hit him like a sandstorm. Bits of debris moving faster than the cars.

  Ore was ready. He was watching the redneck. The redneck looked to his right at the car slightly ahead of him. Saw a person leaning over the f
ront seat doing something with his arm, swinging it. He stared, confused. The window was down looked like he was going to throw something out. He sensed something bad. Ore stared back. They were looking at each other. Then Ore pushed himself against the door. He tensed up, prepared for the impact. He drew back one more time. Swung his right arm toward the window. Extended it fully. Opened his fist, releasing the timer. The bomb flew out of his hand like a rocket. His fingers guided the projection. It made it past the window frame. Twirling in the air. A straight shot.

  One second.

  The guy in the truck froze. He was staring at it. Didn't know what it was. He could only get a quick glimpse of something grey before it hit the front of his truck, somewhere between the grill and the nose of the hood. It bounced off. Kind of on an angle. Bounced on the road. It disappeared under the truck.

  Two seconds.

  The bomb exploded. Violently. A rush of hot air lifted the truck. The back end went three feet off the pavement. It turned sideways in the air. The truck ripped apart. It was reduced to a fireball racing down the road out of control. The sound of the explosion slapped Ore's eardrum. He felt the concussion. Thought he heard the guy scream.

  The young woman slammed into the side of the truck, spun it around. Now it was two cars speeding down the road. Metal scraping against the asphalt. Metal shards shooting into the air. One of them hit the back of Redell's car. They swerved. He accelerated. They moved ahead. Ore was watching the two businessmen. He could see their faces. They were yelling as they drove into the fireball. Their hands braced on the dashboard for protection. But the impact wasn't the problem. It was the fuel that would engulf their car in flames.

  They slammed into the small car driven by the woman. They bounced off that and the front ended embedded itself in the side of the truck. Ore lost sight of them. Their vehicle was somewhere in the flames. They were sliding to a stop blocking the middle lanes. Ore could see cars scattering all over the road. Panic. Brakes pumping. Tires screeching.

  They pulled ahead. Redell floored it. Nobody was behind them. Traffic was stopped.

  There was a second explosion. Not as big as the bomb. But just as loud. Must have been the gas tank, Ore thought. They were fifty feet away. Ore was still watching. He turned around in the seat. Looked straight ahead for a moment. But couldn't help himself. Glanced over to the side mirror. Watched, as life became hell for the people trapped in their cars.

  They took the exit on the right. The road curved around to the left. Redell accelerated into it. Both men scanned the road looking for cops. Ore kept glancing up to the sky. He thought for sure a helicopter would be up there, following them. But it was clear. Everything was working to plan. They were heading west going to the hotel. Ore looked back. A black plume of smoke was all he could see.

  Redell was staring at Ore.

  "When this is over," Redell said, "I'm buying you a drink."

  Ore nodded. Didn't feel like talking.

  They slowed down to get off the highway. The hotel was on the left, approaching fast. Redell put his blinker on and coasted into the turn lane.

  They stopped at the red light. Waited for about thirty-five seconds, seemed like forever. They were looking around, left, right, front, back.

  Redell moved the vehicle out slowly, not drawing attention to himself. They entered the driveway to the hotel. No traffic. The hotel was quiet.

  "You ready?" Redell asked.

  Ore stared straight ahead.

  "Let's do it," he replied.

  They pulled to a stop at the front doors. A bellman walked around the front of the car. Opened Redell's door for him.

  "Guest or checking in?" the bellman asked.

  Redell slipped him a bill, a crisp one hundred. Then twisted around reaching into the backseat and hoisted a knapsack over his right shoulder and stepped out of the car.

  "We'll only be a minute," he said.

  Chapter 49

  Redell and Ore entered the hotel. They were looking mean, tired, drained. The knapsack was heavy. Adrenaline drives action. Both men were fueled by it. They walked through the sliding doors into the lobby. Major Ore scanned the room in a slow arc from left to right. He did a quick count, fourteen men, business types, small groups, no trouble. Six women, looked like they were together dressed for the evening. His attention was drawn to the employees. Two women behind the counter, young, pretty, no threat.

  However, there were problems. Three of them to be exact. First was a manager type, big guy. Tall and muscular, pushing two hundred pounds maybe slightly larger. He was watching Ore and Redell, studying them.

  Problem 2, the bartender was pretending not to notice them. Shifty eyes. He was leaning against the counter behind the bar. His weight on one leg. Head tilted, cocky expression. Was spending too much time drying a glass.

  Problem 3 was walking toward them. He was thirty feet out, moving in a straight line, fastest route. Had a serious look on his face. Experienced, his eyes were all over Redell and Ore, searching them. He was house security, looked like an ex-cop. Maybe off duty. Ore wasn't sure.

  Ore turned to Redell.

  "Follow my lead," he said. "We'll put him to use."

  Ore did what a man with a purpose would do. He moved toward the security guy. Quick pace, deliberate pace. Redell beside him. They had their game faces on.

  "We've got a situation," Ore said. "You security?"

  Ore was reaching out with his right arm, handshake.

  The guy nodded. He looked over the uniforms Redell and Ore were wearing.

  "What's going on?" the security guy said. "Is there more of you guys?"

  He was looking over Ore's shoulder toward the entrance.

  "Can you key off the elevator?" Redell asked. "We need to move fast."

  The security guy turned to Redell. Intimidated, SWAT uniforms are like that. They disarm people, make you look mean. Plus Redell was big, farm boy big, barrel chest, ruddy complexion. Not the type of guy you want to push.

  The guy was puzzled, didn't answer for a beat.

  Ore looked at his nametag. A two-by-three white laminated card on the left side of his jacket.

  "Richard?" Ore asked. "We need you help."

  The guy snapped to attention. Hard to resist SWAT guys when they ask for your help, Ore knew that.

  He was looking at Ore waiting for orders.

  "We need you to key one of the elevators off for us." Ore said. "There's a bomb in the hotel. We don't want a panic but we need you to cooperate with us. Can you do that?"

  The guy nodded quickly.

  Ore held the guy by the elbow. Led him toward the elevators.

  "You got an extra radio?" Ore asked.

  The guy turned to his manager.

  "I'll get one," he responded.

  Ore and Redell continued to walk. They went to the first elevator. It was a bank of six. Three on each side of the hallway.

  They watched the security guy talk to the manager. There was a lot of sign language. Hands in the air and pointing. They could tell their guy was giving orders, like he was important. Maybe he didn't like the manager; maybe the manager was a shit. Either way their guy was taking charge. Doing what Ore and Redell wanted. The manager kept looking at Ore and Redell. He took a radio out from his back pocket. Handed it to the security guy. He was hesitant. He was giving up his lifeline. But Ore and Redell were dressed the part. Important men, police officers, and this was an emergency.

  Richard, the security guy turned and was walking toward Ore and Redell. Behind him, the manager looked nervous. Maybe the security guy got carried away with himself. Maybe he scared the manager. Maybe he asked for help. The manager moved quickly. Headed to the front desk. He was sweating. Looking pale. He was calling one of the girls. His voice was loud. A few of the guests were startled; they glanced towards him.

  Ore had pressed the button for the elevator and had his foot wedged against the door holding it open. It was starting to ding. Elevators do that. Let you know something is blocki
ng the doors.

  The security guy started to get on the elevator. Ore put his arm out stopping the guy.

  "I'm going up with you."

  Ore looked him hard in the face.

  "The key?" Ore said.

  Ore opened his fist, palm side up waiting for it.

  "We need you to stay here," Ore said. "Don't let anyone use the elevators. Things could get hairy in a heartbeat. We're expecting FBI and backup. Need you here to direct things."

  The guy stood silent, digesting it.

  Redell tapped him on the shoulder.

  "You got that?" he asked.

  The guy nodded.

  Ore took the key and stepped into the elevator placing it in the slot and turned it to the right. Redell was standing in the open door. His eyes looking at the front. Looking at the guests. Giving them the evil eye. Letting everyone know he was in charge, daring anyone to question his authority. He had both hands on the doors holding them open, kind of blocking it so the security guy wouldn't get brave on him and decide he needed to be a part of the action.

  "When FBI and backup get here tell them we went to the eighth floor," Redell said. "Don't let anyone ride the elevator. Tell them it's for their own safety. Got it?"

  "Absolutely," the security guy said. "Nobody is getting past me."

  Redell stepped into the elevator. He stared at the security guy. The guy was staring back. The door closed. Redell turned to Ore and smiled. He put the knapsack down on the floor. It made a metal thump, things bumping against one another.

  "Bet he does an outstanding job."

  Ore pressed the fourteenth floor.

  "When the FBI show up he'll send them to the eighth," Redell said. "It'll buy us more time, you know just in case something goes wrong."

  Ore was calm. He was watching the floors light up on the panel.

  Sixth floor.

  "Something always does," he said.

  Redell had his hand on his gun holster.