"Think he'll give us trouble?"
Tenth floor.
Ore smiled. Glanced down at the knapsack.
"A little distraction will encourage him," Ore said.
Redell bent down and pulled the zipper back. Four grey pipes were lined up side by side. He reached in and pulled one out. Twelve inches, heavy, a timer on the side.
"Send it down to the second floor?” Redell asked.
Ore was thinking. Visualizing the first floor. The elevator door blasting outward from the explosion, noise, shockwave, debris. He could see panic, people running. This would send everyone scurrying. They could take another elevator down, walk into the lobby, out from the door and into their car. If fire trucks and police arrived, it wouldn't matter; they'd blend in. Just like the farm.
Twelfth floor.
"Send it to the first floor," Ore responded.
"I like your style," Redell said. "The first floor it is."
Fourteenth floor.
The door opened. Redell was adjusting the timer. Setting it for five seconds. He nodded to Ore. Picked up the knapsack with one hand and threw it into the hallway. Still heavy, metal clang. Ore stepped out. He looked left then right. The hall was clear. Redell pressed the first floor. Took the key out from the slot and laid the pipe bomb on the carpet, middle of the elevator floor.
Redell stepped out. The door closed. He was carrying the bombs over his shoulder. The knapsack was a little lighter.
The elevator was on its way.
Chapter 50
Miller laid the woman from the car accident on the ground. She was shaking, sobbing, not talking. Kept looking at Dwyer, like she wanted to ask him something. He smiled at her. She kind of smiled back.
Miller was looking at the cars on fire. Thinking about death. Thinking about his guys who died at the farm. He was anxious, angry, wanted to get Redell and Ore. He never liked Major Ore and now after seeing the kind of person he was and what he was capable of, Miller wanted him.
The woman was okay. Terrified but she was going to make it. Her face was red, some blotchy areas, burn marks.
Miller and Dwyer stood above her. He looked at Dwyer. Raised his left arm and tapped on his watch. He wanted to leave. A nurse had stopped her car and was running to the woman. Dwyer watched her; she took charge. Knelt down beside the driver. Started talking to her. Doing what nurses do, taking vitals, pulse rate, checking for injuries, and keeping her calm. Dwyer could see her examining the burn marks on her hands and face.
Miller and Dwyer backed away. Kind of slipping into the crowd. They moved to the empty lane blocked by the accident and started walking away from the crowd. Dwyer made a signal with his hand to tell the traffic to slow down and jogged across the lane to the shoulder. He waved at the cars. They went by slowly. He hopped around the front of Miller's car, opened the passenger door and dumped himself in.
"Hold on," Miller said. "I'm cutting them off."
Dwyer nodded and watched Miller swerve the car into the lane wedging between the flows of traffic. Miller flicked on the flashing light and turned up the siren. The tires spun and shot gravel thirty feet behind them.
"How far to the hotel?" Dwyer asked.
"Mile, mile-and-a-half," Miller said. "They're carrying bombs. They have no problem using them. They enjoy blowing shit up."
"They could have escaped quietly," Dwyer said. "But they didn't. They're leaving a trail, easy to follow. Get my point?"
Miller glanced at Dwyer.
"Guys who want to get away don't do that," Miller responded. "You thinking a trap?"
"When I saw Redell he had a knapsack over his shoulder. Looked heavy," Dwyer said. "They've only used one bomb."
Miller glanced in the rear view mirror, behind them to the accident where he saw a helicopter touching down. He nodded.
"We have to stop them," Miller said. "But what are they doing?"
"They're only minutes ahead of us," Dwyer responded. "We know they’re going to the hotel. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes. Hotel is a mile away. Means they've been there for five minutes. Then they have to get the old man. You know he ain't going easy. So we still have a chance to get them."
Miller looked at Dwyer. They were both thinking the same thing. The old man puts up a fight. These guys are killers. They could do anything.
They accelerated into the turn. They headed north for a few hundred feet before taking the left toward the hotel. Dwyer saw the airport sign to his right. Then the hotel up ahead. The traffic had thinned out. The highway dropped to four lanes. They passed the airport. Dwyer could see a plane moving down the runway and heard the turbine engines throttle up. He could smell the fuel.
They turned left into the hotel driveway. It was short, only a couple of hundred feet to the parking lot.
Miller thumbed his radio.
"Where's backup?" he yelled.
"Explosion on the highway has everything fouled up," dispatch responded.
Dwyer shook his head.
"We wait," Miller said.
Miller pulled the car into a parking spot. Put it in park. He was motionless. Staring at the dashboard.
Dwyer waited.
He glanced at Dwyer. Anger in his eyes. He looked at his watch.
"Let’s go," Miller said.
They bolted from the car.
Dwyer looked at the row of cars. He was thinking, trying to figure out which one was Redell's. He was thinking about a car bomb. Had they laid a trap?
They were moving fast, not quite a run. Dwyer was looking at the bellman. He was watching them jog toward him. Dwyer glanced left then right. The parking lot was empty, no people. They slowed down when they got about ten feet from the guy.
Miller flashed his badge.
"You see two guys come in here dressed like cops?"
The guy looked confused almost scared.
"Hell yeah," he said. "Two of them. One was a big guy."
He raised his right arm up estimating Redell's height. His arm was above his head.
"About five minutes ago," the guy said.
Miller looked at Dwyer. Didn't say anything, they moved inside.
They went through the door not knowing what to expect. Miller had his right hand hanging kind of loose, ready to grab his gun. Dwyer was observant; he was studying the place. They stood still. Maybe ten feet into the lobby. Dwyer was doing all the right calculations. Counting the number of men, women, workers. Studying them, determining if they were a threat.
They heard a commotion. To their left, by the elevators, they could hear voices. A loud male giving commands. Quieter voices, two females and a male arguing.
Dwyer knew it was trouble. People don't raise their voice in public that often. Especially in a nice hotel. Miller took a step toward the hallway where the elevators were. Dwyer hesitated. Put his arm out and held Miller by the shoulder.
"Wait," he said. "Never walk into a fight where you don't know who the bad guys are."
Dwyer had seen it many times in the war. Guys with good intentions walking right into a firing squad. They'd be drawn into it with a commotion, people arguing. It was all a setup; get you off guard, distracted. Then bang, you’re hit and didn't see it coming.
Dwyer was listening, seeing if he could understand what the argument was about.
He nodded to Miller. It was hotel security stopping guests from using the elevators. They started to walk to them.
Dwyer heard a ding. The elevator stopped at the floor.
Miller and Dwyer were walking. The elevators were about sixty feet away.
The elevator door opened.
The first thing they saw was a bright ball. A flash, traveling at the speed of light. They didn't react. No one could react. Then a sound, an ear-shattering roar. Then the sound changed, things flying through the air, glass dropping from the ceiling. Things got quiet. Dwyer's mind was trying to play catch up. He was falling. Trying to understand what was happening. He was watching everything around him move in slow motion. He was in the air
. His arms flailing about. The shockwave hit, flung him twenty feet across the lobby. He hit the ground hard. He was on his back looking up at the ceiling. Small bits of stuff were landing on him. Hitting his face. He knew what had happened. His mind went back to the war. He had been in explosions before. You never get used to it, because it's always a surprise. Even for the guys who detonate bombs.
He lay there for a second or two, twisting onto his side. It was like he was drunk. He couldn't sit up. Felt kind of sick, wobbly. Then his hearing came back. The sound of the bomb was still booming in his ear. Around him he could hear screaming, women crying.
He rubbed his arms along his legs, then his stomach. Ran them over his face, he was okay.
He got up, fuzzy, staggered a bit. Balanced himself. Looked around the room. In a split second it had gone from a high-class hotel to trashed, totally destroyed. He had to do something.
"Miller," he yelled.
He saw Miller’s legs sticking out from under a couch. It had landed on him. His leg looked twisted in an awkward position, broken. Dwyer hobbled over to him. Got down beside him. Pried the couch off him.
"It was a trap," Dwyer said. "How bad are you?"
Miller didn't speak.
Dwyer could see he was hurt bad. The side of his face was bloody. Like someone had kicked him in the head, again and again.
Dwyer laid his hand on his face. He was warm. Examined his eyes, alert. Watched his breathing.
Dwyer stood up. He glanced around the room taking it all in. Every bit of carnage and pain. He needed a second to get himself together. He saw the bellman on a radio screaming into it. Someone was running in from outside. They would help the wounded. He could hear voices, people yelling.
Now he was alone. Had they been standing any closer and they would be dead. He was lucky, just damn lucky. It was up to him to get these guys. Put a stop to this. Too many people had been killed. He had to win this for Kelly, Miller, and all the innocent men and women who suffered and died.
He had to do this because there was no one else.
Chapter 51
Kelly Paul watched the helicopter disappear. It banked right and headed east toward the highway. Once it was past the trees only the thumping of the engine remained. Five seconds later it was quiet. She was standing alone in a field. The noise of police, paramedics, and survivors, was behind her. She turned around into the wind and faced destruction.
Everything was quiet. She looked from left to right. She could see people moving. The police were systematically walking back and forth through the farm. The dogs sniffing for explosives, someone was gathering weapons left behind.
Maybe a dozen bombs had gone off. Multiple explosions. The smoke had cleared. She guessed there were eight dead bodies scattered around the place. Maybe more.
She walked toward Agent Hammons. He was with two other officers. Hammons was on the radio. She stood behind him. To her right, the farmhouse. Police were searching the place moving in and out like ants hunting food. She heard Hammons mention the hotel. She moved to his side so he could see her.
"I need to see my father," she said.
Hammons kept talking. Didn't hear her.
"I want to see my father," she said again.
She brushed her hair away from her face.
He turned and looked at her. He was listening to someone on the other end.
"My father," she said.
Hammons watched her mouth move. Knew what she was saying. Saw the sadness in her eyes.Kelly Paul started to speak. Hammons raised his hand. Pointed to the air. Approaching from the north was another helicopter.
It was background noise at first. Kind of a deep hum. Then it got louder. The rotor thumped, as it got closer. It was slowing down. Started to descend onto the field across from the farmhouse.
Hammons motioned her toward it. The chopper's downdraft flattened the grass. It put down onto the field after bouncing a few times. Then the pilot idled the motor. The blades slowed, the noise grew softer. Hammons had Kelly Paul by the hand, and was walking her across the field. He was still on the radio. He had deployed as many men as he was able to meet them at the Tampa Hotel.
They bent over, ducked down as they approached the helicopter.
He slid the side door open. It was just the pilot inside. A bucket seat beside him and a bench seat in the back. Hammons helped Kelly hop into the back and stood for a moment, listening to instructions over the radio. She buckled the seatbelt. Anxious to get out of there.
He slid into the front seat and pulled the door closed.
"Where are we going?" Kelly asked.
Hammons didn't answer. He twisted to his left and faced the pilot.
"Take it up. We're going to the hotel by Tampa airport," Hammons said. "I'll point out the hotel when we get close."
The pilot nodded. Did something with the controls. The engine roared up, smoke blew out the exhaust. The blades spun faster. They lifted off the ground. The nose tilted down, the engine noise increased and they shot forward.
Hammons turned around in his seat. He looked at Kelly Paul.
"I'm taking you to your father. Air space is cleared for us. We’ll head straight there. Should take about twenty minutes."
Hammons glanced at the pilot.
He nodded.
Kelly sat back. Wringing her hands together in her lap. She watched out the right side of the helicopter as the farm and flashing lights were behind her. It was emotional. Her breathing was heavy; tears welled up in her eyes. She wanted to see her father. She needed to see Jack.
They were approaching ten thousand feet. Beneath it looked peaceful. Green grass, lots of trees, farmers’ fields. Dusk bringing a calm stillness to the landscape. Beneath roads crisscrossed. She found the interstate. Followed it south as far as she could see. It was getting dark. Cars were turning their lights on. She could see the city in the distance. Lights were coming on. There was something romantic about a city at night, any city, she thought. The outline of buildings twinkling against a darkening sky.
They were over the city. Downtown Tampa to the left. Kelly could see the dark waters of the bay to her right and slightly ahead. The running lights of the airport, red, green, amber. The hotel came into view. Flashing lights in the parking lot.
Hammons saw the accident on the highway. A traffic jam stretched for half a mile. Tow trucks were hooking up the singed vehicles. The bodies had been removed. The families were being notified. People would feel pain.
Hammons tapped his headset, said something to the pilot and pointed straight ahead.
They banked to the left away from the airport, dropping down fast toward the parking lot. Kelly tightened her belt. Turbulence.
Flashing lights, sirens, fire trucks. People were running everywhere.
Kelly Paul leaned forward and punched Hammons on the shoulder.
"What happened?" she yelled. "It's my father isn't it?"
Hammons didn't answer. He was on the radio.
The helicopter touched down.
Kelly Paul unbuckled her seatbelt. Pulled the door open and hopped out of the chopper. Hammons scrambled behind her.
She was running, heart pounding, panicking, toward the hotel. Hammons had a hard time keeping up with her. He thought abouts stopping her. But if it was his father he'd want to know what was happening. With everything she had been through, he let her go.
The parking lot was full of people. Men, women, looking stressed. Most of them were in small groups, ten, fifteen people. Kelly Paul examined each face. Her father wasn't there. They pushed past them.
They entered the lobby. Windows were blown out. Drywall hanging from the ceiling, electrical wires with lights still attached. A recording was blaring over the loud speakers. Something about an emergency and first responders were on site. Firefighters had the place under control. Smoke had cleared. The place was wet. Fire hoses leaking.
Kelly Paul tried to get to the elevators. Furniture was destroyed, tables, chairs, blown apart. The walls l
ooked black, singed. She was blocked by a big firefighter. Hammons was behind her. He flashed his badge.
"You can't go up," he said. "Bomb in the elevator. It's a mess."
Kelly turned to Hammons.
"I'm taking the stairs."
Hammons looked at the expression on her face. Knew she was serious. He'd seen the same look on his wife. Knew better than to stand in her way.
"I'm going with you."
The firefighter pointed to the hallway at the other end of the lobby.
"Just be careful," he said.
Kelly Paul and Hammons moved as quickly as they could through the lobby. It was empty except for police offices and firefighters. Nobody questioned them. Kelly glanced at the front desk. A guy in a suit was talking to the cops. She darted toward him interrupting the cop.
"I need you to call my father," she said. "Minister Paul."
The police officers and manager were silent, staring at her.
"This is an emergency," she yelled. "Now!"
The manager responded. He punched the Minister's name into the computer. Found the room number and started dialing.
"Has the building been evacuated?" Hammons asked.
The police officer turned to Hammons.
"No. We’re not sure what's going on here," he said. "If they didn't make it out when this first happened we're telling everyone to stay in their rooms. We're assessing the situation."
The manager interrupted.
"There's no answer, he said.” But I'm not sure I'm getting through to the room, the bomb."
Kelly Paul turned and ran to the stairs. Hammons behind her. They smashed throughout the doors. Kelly grabbed the hand railing, pulling herself up each step. Fourteen floors were going to take some time.
Hammons calculated in his head. Ten seconds a floor. Fourteen floors. At this pace they would run out of energy. They'd slow down, maybe walk the last few. Kelly Paul was already ahead of him. She was driven. He was out of shape. She was pulling away. Bouncing up the steps. He was slowing down. He couldn't catch her.
Then his radio went off. He was still climbing.
"Hammons," he responded.
He stopped in his tracks. Bad news. Miller was hurt.
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