“Right. I want all your manpower available…No, we can’t do that…It would create panic.”
Mark put his hands over his ears and concentrated on the computer screen. He knew some people had photographic memories, but he wasn’t one of them, except when it came to the dreams. For days after having one, he could call it up at will, like it was stored in a computer file in his brain. He put that ability to full use over the next thirty minutes.
“Uh, Jim…?’ He turned in his seat, and waved his hand. Jim broke off the conversation he was having with another agent. He strode across the room and Mark pointed at the screen. “This looks like one of them.” The pic appeared to be taken with a security camera. It was grainy, but he recognized the man from the shape of his face. He had a long jaw that, even with the dark beard, made it seem to jut out.
Jim leaned over Mark’s shoulder, and pulled up a file on the suspect. Finger poised over the print button, he looked back at Mark. “You sure about him?”
Mark hesitated. Was he sure? If he was wrong, nobody knew better than he the horrible price this guy would pay. Was he ready to consign someone to that fate based on a grainy photo and the image in his brain? If he said no, and it turned out that the guy was one of the terrorists, and people died, how could he live with that?
Jim straightened, then twisted, leaned a hip on the table and faced Mark. “It’s your call, but you have to be sure.” He crossed his arms and waited, but there was an air of urgency in the room. They couldn’t wait all day.
“Yeah, I know.” Mark closed his eyes, calling up the guy in the dream, and tried to ignore the image he’d seen already. What if what he’d seen had influenced what he saw in his head now? Could he take that chance? He looked again. It was the guy in his dream. It was a match. “It’s him.”
Jim nodded and then rattled off orders to someone behind Mark. Something about finding that man. Mark bent forward, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. He felt sick.
“You okay?”
Mark sat back and blew out a breath. “Yeah…just a little overwhelmed is all.”
“That’s okay. It’s a lot of responsibility.” His tone conveyed understanding and that he was no stranger to the stress involved.
“Guess I should keep looking.” Mark scrubbed his hands down his face before taking a gulp of coffee.
Jim stood and slapped him on the back as he walked past. “Good job.”
An hour later, Mark had identified three more and teams were sent off to find the men. As luck would have it, one of the suspects was already under surveillance. He and Jim went over Mark’s dream notes sentence by sentence to see if there was a scrap more they could glean from the information. Of the two men that hadn’t been identified, he was able to recall that one had waved to a little boy who had held his father’s hand as they exited the gate a minute or so before the shooting began.
“Okay, so, if you’re willing, we’ll station you with the team at that gate. If you can spot that little boy and father, it could give us an extra minute to find the guys in the crowd.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”
Jim set his pen down on the pad of paper. “Mark, I want to make certain you fully comprehend what you’re getting into. This has the potential to be extremely dangerous. You weren’t in the photos originally, so there’s no to reason think you would have been killed in this. If you go tonight, you could change that. Do you understand?”
Mark nodded, amazed at Jim’s understanding of how the future could change based on actions they would take prior to the incident. “I’m well aware of the possible outcome.”
“Nobody will think less of you if you opt to remain at a distance.” His gaze was sincere and that alone steeled Mark’s resolve. He’d see this through to the end.
“I’m a bit out of practice, but it won’t be the first time I’ve been in bad situations. I know what the deal is.” His leg bounced and he stood to cover the reaction. “Besides, I can’t shake the feeling that I need to be there.”
Jim gathered the notes and rose. “Okay then. We’ll see if we can dig up a vest for you.”
Time simultaneously flew by and dragged. His part done for now, Mark paced the hallway, tried on a Kevlar vest, and finally, sat in a chair in Jim’s office while the other man was off doing whatever it was that still needed to be done.
He noted the lack of personal touches in the office. There were no pictures on the desk, no homemade looking paperweights like those that a child or grandchild might make. Even the mouse pad was generic. Did the guy’s life completely revolve around CIA or FBI? Mark had never wondered about Jim’s life before. For all he cared, the guy could have caught fire and Mark wouldn’t have spared the saliva to spit on him. Now, he was sitting in the guy’s office wondering if the guy had a life. He even felt a little sorry for him.
“All right. We were able to track down two of the guys.” Jim breezed into the office. “And guess what? Their car was loaded with weapons and enough ammo to mow down the whole bleacher section.”
Mark sagged in relief. This was concrete proof. No matter what else happened, lives had been saved and he had helped. Nobody would be able to deny it.
“What’s the matter? I thought you’d be thrilled.” Jim threw a puzzled look in Mark’s direction before rummaging around in his desk
“I am…it’s just that…well, I’m relieved that there’s proof now. It’s not just based on my dream and photos.”
Jim pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen and shook out a couple. He tilted the bottle towards Mark, his eyebrows raised. “I buy these in bulk.”
Mark smiled at the dry humor and took the bottle. His head pounded too. He washed down two of the pain relievers with the last dregs of his now cold coffee and made a face. It had been his third cup and the caffeine overload hadn’t helped ease the stress.
“While the two suspects in custody are questioned, we’re going to head over to the park and start scouting around. You ready to go?”
* * *
“Have you heard from Jessie?” Since they’d parted ways at the pub, Mark hadn’t spoken to her, and wondered what was going on.
Jim pulled up in front of the stadium. “Yes, she’s helping one of our teams track down a suspect who’s still at large. CPD knows the city better than we do, so having their cooperation is vital.”
He wasn’t thrilled with the idea that Jessie was out there hunting down a terrorist. She’d be pissed if she knew he was worrying. It was her job and she was good at it.
Jim pulled into the lot just outside the fenced in players’ lot. A security guard tried waving him off, but when the man approached the window, Jim flashed his badge and the guard’s demeanor changed. He directed them to a spot close to the entrance. It was still over two hours until game time, but already, the sidewalks teemed with fans. Vendors mingled, hawking banners, bobble-heads and scorecards. Down the street, sports bars overflowed with fans getting a head-start on the fun. The scent of grilled onions, hot dogs and baking pavement melded together and stirred up memories of past good times.
Mark had been to countless games and had always loved the atmosphere outside the field. He’d usually taken the El. It stopped right behind right field and it was just a short walk up Addison to the front of the park. He remembered the old donut shop that had been where a McDonald’s now stood. Winchell’s Donuts. When had that disappeared? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen it.
When he was a kid, his dad had brought him down to a game at least once every summer. They’d leave Madison at dawn and arrive just as the players were arriving. His dad would go buy a bag of donuts while Mark would beg autographs from the players.
“Mark...hello?” Jim waved a hand in front of Mark’s face.
Shaking his head, Mark took a step back, embarrassed to realize he’d stopped walking, and was instead, standing and daydreaming. “Sorry. I was just thinking about when I’d come here as a kid with my dad.”
“All the way fro
m Madison?”
“Yeah. How’d you kn—” Mark broke off, remembering that this guy knew everything about him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at Jim, surprised to see the other man’s face redden.
“This is awkward.” Jim crossed his arms.
Mark kicked at a stone in the parking lot, and then winced when it went further than he’d anticipated, and pinged against the undercarriage of a car. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Anyway, even though we were in the middle of Wisconsin, we could pick up WGN on our antenna.”
“So, when was the last time you and your dad went to a game?”
Jim began walking and Mark ambled along beside him. “I can’t remember. It’s been a long time. Before college, I guess. When I dropped out, we were too angry at each other to spend much time together.”
“Angry?”
“Yeah. I was supposed to be a doctor, like him. At least, that was his plan.” They skirted a large group of teens. Once on the other side of the group, Mark sighed. “Guess things would have turned out a lot differently if I had become a doctor. I should’ve listened to him.”
“Hmmm...You never know. You’re not doing too bad at your chosen profession.”
Mark stopped walking and stared at Jim. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Jim shrugged, but evaded Mark’s eyes. “Hey, I went through your financial records, you were doing well. Add to that, your other talent...”
“Talent?” Mark gave a harsh laugh. “Curse is more like it.”
“Is that what your dad thinks of it?”
Mark stopped when they came to Waveland Avenue. He crossed his arms and scanned the street. “My dad...he thinks I’m crazy.”
“He doesn’t believe you?” Jim stood at his shoulder.
Unable to speak, Mark simply shook his head.
“Here’s your chance to prove it to him.” Jim held out his cell-phone.
“What’s that for?”
“Call him. Tell him what’s going to happen. Even if we stop this right now, the media will get a hold of something and you’ll have proof.”
“You think I should just call him?” Mark wiped his hands on his thighs. “Just blurt it out?”
“Well, do it quietly. You don’t want to create a panic here.” Jim’s mouth quirked in a wry smile, then he grew serious. “I mean it, Mark. Take it. Call your folks. We don’t know how this is going to turn out.”
He had only spoken to his dad once since he’d left, and it was a brief happy birthday wish. A handful of other times, he’d talked to his mother, but she always managed to make him feel guilty. Not intentionally, but he knew she hated the rift between them.
The images in the photos pushed to the front of his mind. Jim was right. If something happened to him, he didn’t want his parents thinking the worst of him. He wanted a chance at good-bye. He remembered the regret at not having that chance when he’d been arrested. “Yeah. Okay.”
Jim wandered a short distance away, his back turned, and Mark appreciated the privacy. He dialed the number and smiled when his mom answered. “Hey, Mom.” It was a minute before he could get a word in edgewise, then he laughed. “Hold on, a sec. I’m fine. Sorry I haven’t called more often. I mean that. I don’t have a lot of time, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you, and I promise to call more often.”
His mother’s voice took on an edge of panic. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“No, nothing’s wrong. In fact, for once, everything is going well. Is Dad around?”
She didn’t sound convinced, but said, “I love you too, hon. Here’s your father.”
“Yes?” His dad spoke in a gruff tone, as though expecting the worst.
“Hi, Dad.” Mark pressed the phone to his ear as a noisy group passed.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I’m right outside Wrigley Field. As a matter of fact, I’m here with the FBI.”
“Why? What did you do now?”
His jaw clenched. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything, Dad. I’m helping them, as a matter of fact.”
“Helping them?”
“Yes. I used my camera, the one I told you about. It’s a long story, but I got the camera back, and the FBI believes me about some pictures and the corresponding dream I had.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He sounded less skeptical.
“It’s true. Watch the news tonight or the next few days. Hopefully, it won’t be anything big. Not if we’re successful.” The reality of what was going to happen if they failed tempered Mark’s pleasure that he had proof and that his dad sounded like he might believe him.
“What are you doing to help?”
“I’m going to try to identify some people. They couldn’t get an ID on one guy from the photos, the picture wasn’t clear. I hope I’ll see him.”
“Is it safe?”
That he asked touched Mark, and he had to clear his throat before speaking, “As safe as they can make it.”
Jim approached.
“I gotta go, but Dad...I love you.”
Silence greeted the declaration, and then his dad coughed. After a beat, he spoke, his voice hoarse, “Be careful, Mark.”
“I will. Bye.” Mark clicked the phone shut and handed it back to Jim. “Thanks.”
Jim nodded, then dialed a number and put the phone to his ear and walked off a little way.
Mark took a deep, ragged breath. His dad hadn’t said it, but it was there, in his voice. His father cared about him. No matter what happened now, there’d be nothing left unfinished. Despite the circumstances, he felt light, energized. He scanned the crowd, wondering if the terrorists were already about. Jim motioned for Mark to walk with him. Mark jogged to catch up, tugging at the vest beneath his polo shirt. It was only an hour since he’d put it on, and already, he hated the thing.
“Here’s the plan. We’ve put spotters on top of surrounding buildings, have undercover agents in the stadium, some posing as security, others as fans, and we’ve set up a command center in that van over there.”
Mark looked towards where Jim pointed. A white box truck, no different than hundreds on the streets of Chicago, was in a fenced off parking lot beside a small fire-station just behind the left field wall.
“Okay.”
Jim spent a few minutes introducing Mark to the agents in the van. The back of the van looked like a small communication center. Computers, wires, and video monitors filled every spare inch, watched over by four agents.
One of the men watching a video, pointed to the monitors. “We’ve already placed some cameras at optimal points around the park, so we’ll have some extra eyes out there. With the video, a screen capture can then be compared to images already in our database.” He went on to explain the capabilities of some of the other equipment.
Mark whistled softly. “Pretty impressive.”
The agent grinned. “Yeah, and this baby is armored.” He picked up a small ear-piece. “We got a present for you.”
In a few minutes, they had Mark wired so he could send and receive audio.
“You can speak directly to Officer Sheridan, but we’ll hear everything as well. You can turn it off with that little button there so we aren’t subjected to every word of your conversation, but when the time comes near, you need to remember to turn it back on. I’ll be listening in and relaying information to other teams, in addition to giving you updates.”
Feeling in over his head, Mark licked his lips. “Got it.”
Jim thanked the men for the quick rundown, and poked a finger in Mark’s chest. “If we can’t stop this, and things get hot, I expect you to high-tail it to that van. This vest you’re wearing,” He prodded it again. “it’s only good against certain kinds of weapons.”
“What about you?” After his initial reaction to seeing himself a victim in the photo, Jim hadn’t mentioned anything about it. If the man was nervous or scared, he kept it hidden well. Mark had to admire him for that.
“Never mind about me.
This is my job, not yours. You just give me your word that you’ll get your ass out of harm’s way.”
“I don’t have a death wish—I’ll get back.” Mark shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. He might not have a death wish, but he also had no intention of scuttling off to safety while the bad guys were killing people.
Eyes narrowed, Jim studied him, but his cell-phone rang, and with a last hard look, Jim answered the phone.
A surge of fans headed into the stadium in the next hour leading up to the first pitch. Once the game began, the crowd thinned out. By the second inning, the lights came on, casting a warm glow above the stands. He and Jim made several circuits around the stadium and Mark noted the abundance of Chicago police officers. A contingent of mounted police and several officers with dogs patrolled the sidewalks. As they passed a group of young people, Mark heard one comment on the police presence. He had to bite his tongue not to tell the kid to get away from the park. Jim had explained that if there was a public announcement concerning this, it would do little more than create panic. If the terrorists were deterred, either by the warning or if the game were canceled, they’d likely just go to ground and strike somewhere else. Not only that, but creating panic and disrupting the normal activities of Americans was half the goal.
Jim left Mark outside the left field gate while he went to double-check something. This was where he’d seen the father and son exiting just prior to the shooting. If he could spot them exiting, it was the best chance he had of preventing the annihilation at this gate.
While Mark understood, and even agreed with the rationale, he couldn’t help feeling guilty and wondering if every fan he passed was someone who would be a victim later. The game progressed and when some celebrity led the crowd in singing “Take me Out to the Ballgame”, Mark’s jaw clenched and he took a deep breath. The clock was ticking.
He closed his eyes and pulled the dream up again. The gunmen had worn dark hooded sweatshirts with a large Cubs’ logo emblazoned on the left side of the chest. They’d used the baggy sweatshirts to conceal their weapons. Mark had seen them at gates K, D and F, but wasn’t sure if any had been stationed at gate N leading out of the bleachers. Jim had teams there. He focused on anything that had been in the vicinity of the gunmen. Cars, vendors, a person who stood out from the crowd. Anything. The terrorists had taken up positions flanking the gate, partially hiding behind the great white doors chained open at the end of the game. When they began firing, their stream of fire crossed. As panic set in, the crowd had fallen back, racing in the other direction. At least half the dead had been trampled in the ensuing panic, many on the ramp that wound down from the lower grandstands. With the same scenario playing out at three of the four gates, the death count had to be in the hundreds if not thousands. Countless more would be injured.
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 39
