“Maybe.” She hesitated. “It’s probably nothing.”
Uh-oh. “What is it, Lori?”
She cleared her throat. “I thought I saw somebody outside my garage when I got home.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Here we go again. “‘Fine’ as in ‘No problem,’ or ‘I’ll deal with it’?”
“I’m already dealing with it. I called Chuck Koslosky at Hyde Park station. He sent DeShawn Robinson over right away. He didn’t find anybody.”
“DeShawn’s very good.”
“I know. He’s still outside.”
Good. Gold’s mind shifted into overdrive. “Has this happened before?”
Another hesitation. “I think there might have been somebody out there last week.”
“Did you call Chuck?”
“No. I wasn’t sure if I saw anything.”
And the danger seems more real if you acknowledge it. “Has Jenny noticed anything unusual around the house or at day camp?”
“I haven’t asked her. I didn’t want to scare her.”
“We live in a scary world.”
“Don’t lecture me, Dave. I’ve handled high-profile cases. I can take care of myself.”
Gold kept his tone even. “You should get a gun.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You’re under-reacting. A lot of your colleagues are packing. So are most of the judges.”
“We’ve been through this.”
“This is no time to make a statement about gun control.”
“I’m not going to have a gun in the house with a six-year old.”
“You can lock it up like I do. Or maybe you should think about moving to a safer neighborhood.”
“Like South Chicago?”
Gold had no good rejoinder. “Is your alarm on?”
“Of course.”
“I’m coming over.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. A.C. is on his way here. I’ll tell him to pick me up at your place instead.”
Silver pushed out a heavy sigh. “Fine.”
Gold set the phone back into its cradle. Only then did he notice his father and Lucky standing in his doorway.
“She saw somebody outside her house?” Harry said.
“She isn’t sure. DeShawn is parked in her driveway. He didn’t find anybody.”
“Maybe she should get a gun.”
“She doesn’t like guns.”
“Neither do I, but I don’t work for the State’s Attorney. “You going over there?”
“Yeah.”
“Take my car.”
“I’ll take mine. A.C. is going to pick me up at Lori’s. I’ll text you when I get there.” Gold waited a beat. “If you see anything suspicious, Augie Marzullo is parked outside.”
* * *
The young man squinted at the fuzzy view of Gold’s house on his computer screen. The miniature camera he’d mounted on the telephone pole across the street was working. Gold pulled out of the garage in his Ford Escort. He caught a glimpse of Harry’s Mustang. He felt for the retired teacher, who reminded him of his grandfather. He also regretted that he hadn’t been able to attach a tracking device to the Escort.
You can’t always get what you want.
The lights went out in the living room, but he could make out the silhouette of Gold’s German shepherd sitting in the front window.
You can fool people, but you can never fool a good dog.
He closed his laptop and put it inside a nondescript black bag.
Time to get to work. It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter 23
“GREAT DAY TO BE A COP”
Gold took a draw from a tall brown bottle of Old Style. “Great day to be a cop.”
Silver nodded. “Even better day to be a prosecutor.”
“Some days you’re the dog, and other days you’re the hydrant.” Gold’s expression turned serious. “DeShawn will be outside all night. For what it’s worth, I think you made the right call.”
“I can take care of myself. I did it for Jenny.”
Gold wasn’t going to quibble about her motives. They were sitting at opposite ends of Silver’s gray leather sofa at twelve-twenty on Tuesday morning. Silver’s utilitarian two-bedroom brownstone at 52nd and University was only four blocks from the stately brick colonial where she’d grown up. The remodeled row house dated back to the building boom during the 1893 World’s Fair. The compact quarters had been a modest consolation prize in her divorce. Except for the updated kitchen and the fifty-inch flat screen TV on the living room wall, the understated furnishings reflected simpler times when Hyde Park’s cobblestone streets had been filled with horse-drawn carriages and illuminated by hand-lit lamps. The white walls were made of real plaster, and the built-in bookcases were hand-crafted of polished oak. The mantle above the brick fireplace was filled with framed photos of Jenny, who was asleep upstairs. The house was quiet, except for the WGN News special report on the TV.
“Are you any closer?” Silver asked.
Gold answered her honestly. “Not much. Now he’s sending us encrypted e-mails. The FBI can’t trace them.”
Silver’s pouty lips turned down. She was sitting with her legs crossed and absent-mindedly twirling the white draw strings of her faded maroon hoodie bearing the logo of the U. of C. Law School. Her eyes glanced over the top of the frameless spectacles that replaced her contacts when she got home. “You still think it’s one guy?”
“The feds think so.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s a lot of bombs for one guy.”
“And the Islamic Freedom Federation?”
“The FBI and Homeland Security have never heard of it—if it exists. They can’t find any overseas connection.” Gold set his bottle down on the coffee table. “It’s like chasing a ghost. We can’t get ahead of him. I hate it.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Feels like somebody hammered a nail into it.”
“Still happy you quit law school?”
“Maybe I should have listened to my parents and become a rabbi.”
Silver tilted her head in a manner that Gold had found irresistible ever since they’d taken seats next to each other in their Contracts class sixteen years earlier. “If somebody pisses me off, I can put them away. A rabbi can only make you attend endless temple board meetings.”
“Somebody has to do it.”
“Spoken like a fourth generation member of the Board of Directors of Bikur Cholim.”
Gold reached over and squeezed her hand. He took a slice of the cold half-cheese, half-mushroom-and-green-pepper pizza she’d picked up at Medici’s on her way home from work. The hole-in-the-wall on 57th had been a Hyde Park institution since the free speech days of the sixties, long before it became the Obama family’s pizza parlor of choice. It also had been the site of Gold and Silver’s first date.
Silver took a sip of wine from a goblet that had been a wedding present. “Jenny wanted to know if you could take her for a ride in a police car after things calm down.”
“Sure.” Gold took a bite of pizza as he glanced at the wedding photo of Silver’s parents on the mantle. “It’ll have to be an unmarked unit, and we can’t go hot-rodding. You’ll have to sign a release and come with us. We shouldn’t go cruising through any rough neighborhoods.”
“Like South Chicago?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Silver flashed a triumphant grin. “Jenny thinks you’d be way more cool if you were a real cop—the kind that wears a uniform. Any chance you could wear your dress uniform?”
“Probably not. That’s against regulations.”
“Have you ever broken a rule in your life?”
“I’m not supposed to be sleeping with a prosecutor. I made an exception for you because I like your daughter. You’re also really good in bed.”
“What about my intellect, charm, and good looks?”<
br />
“There’s that, too.”
Silver fingered her goblet nervously as her tone turned serious. “Jenny asked me if we’re getting married.”
Gold was caught off guard. “Who said anything about that?”
“Jenny did.”
A glib response wouldn’t have played well. “I thought we agreed to take things slowly.”
“We did. Jenny didn’t. What do you want me to tell her?”
A thousand thoughts sprinted through Gold’s mind. “That we aren’t going to do anything soon, and we’ll talk to her first if we start thinking about it seriously.”
“Good answer. And how do you feel about the idea of marriage?”
Good question. “I’m open to it.” He quickly added, “Someday.”
“And you’re okay with the concept given . . .”
“The fact that Wendy died?”
Silver nodded.
Gold spoke in a thoughtful tone. “I’m still looking for the whole package: a house with a picket fence, a couple of smart kids like Jenny, and a big dog like Lucky.”
“Does it have to be in South Chicago?”
“No, but I have to live in the city as long as I work for Chicago PD.”
“My less-than-stellar track record doesn’t bother you?”
“It isn’t a reflection on you. Half of all marriages end in divorce.”
“It isn’t a gold star.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Lori. Danny was sleeping with his secretary. She probably wasn’t the only one.”
“That much is true, but . . .”
Gold put a finger to her lips. “No buts. It was his fault—period.”
“It wasn’t that simple, Dave.”
It never is. “How do you feel about the idea of marriage?”
“Typical cop—always wants to ask the questions.”
“Typical lawyer—always needs to be in control.”
“You really would have been a very good attorney.”
“I hear that a lot,” Gold said. “Stop trying to change the subject.”
“It’s way too soon to talk about this, Dave. We just started sleeping together again.”
“And I’m happy to confirm that part of our relationship is highly satisfactory on my end, except it isn’t frequent enough.” And my father never stops asking me about it.
“I like sex as much as anybody,” Silver said, “but we can’t do it here when Jenny’s home, and I presume you don’t want to do it at your place when your father’s home.”
“Then we’ll have to get creative.”
Silver grinned. “I’m willing to work with you.”
“That’s very accommodating, but you still haven’t answered my question. How do you feel about the institution of marriage?”
Silver’s eyes darted over his shoulder, then she looked straight at him. “In my case, the problem wasn’t the institution; it was the implementation. Danny’s a cheating asshole.”
“You shouldn’t sugarcoat your feelings, Lori. Does that mean you wouldn’t rule out the possibility somewhere down the road?”
Silver took off her glasses and measured her words. “I like the way things are going, but I have a pretty full plate.”
“So do I,” Gold said, relieved. “Maybe we can go away for a weekend after things calm down. You know—a play date for grownups.”
“I’d like that, but I’ll have to find a babysitter for Jenny.”
“And I’ll have to find a daddysitter for Harry.”
“We’ll work it out.” Silver smiled seductively. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“All the more reason for us to solve this case quickly.”
They enjoyed a brief respite from terrorist threats and murder investigations before reality intruded again. Silver pointed at the TV. “Mojo never sleeps.”
Gold’s stomach tightened. He’d last spoken to Mojo after the disaster at Cal Park. At the moment, she was sitting behind the anchor desk in the WGN newsroom, her red hair ablaze, and her green eyes locked onto the camera. The caption “Chicago Terror Attacks” was superimposed over her left shoulder.
“The FBI and Chicago PD remain baffled by a series of brazen bombings that have shut down the El, the Metra trains, the Art Institute, Millennium Park, the Museum of Science and Industry, the ballparks, and many other Chicago landmarks,” she said. “CTA buses are still running, but there are delays. O’Hare and Midway remain open with heightened security. An organization calling itself the Islamic Freedom Federation has claimed responsibility, but Chicago police and the FBI haven’t provided any details. Our sources in law enforcement and the military have suggested that it might be an offshoot of an Al Qaeda branch in southeastern Afghanistan.”
The screen next showed footage of looting on the West Side and National Guard troops patrolling Chicago-area gas stations. The image cut back to Mojo.
“There are reports of broken windows in several West Side neighborhoods. Grocery and drug stores have been robbed. There are shortages of gasoline. Delivery of staples such as milk and vegetables has been disrupted. The mayor and Chief Maloney have announced a one hundred thousand dollar reward for information leading to an arrest. They’ve also requested assistance from the public. As they said in New York after Nine-Eleven, ‘If you see something, say something.’ While no curfew has been imposed, police are encouraging people to stay home unless they absolutely need to go out.”
Gold gulped down the rest of his Old Style, then he set the empty bottle on top of the pizza box. “You still planning to take Jenny up to Lake Geneva?”
“Yes.”
“I’d be happy to drive up with you.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Gold took the pizza box and his empty bottle into the kitchen. He grabbed his jacket and went back into the living room, where Silver was waiting for him. “A.C. will be here shortly. We need to get back to headquarters. I’ll pick up my car later today. You’ll call DeShawn and me right away if you see anything?”
“Of course.”
They walked to the front door, where Gold leaned forward and softly brushed his lips against hers. Silver responded by pulling him toward her. She closed her eyes and kissed him long and hard. Gold was surprised by her intensity as he smelled the Pinot on her breath. When she finally pulled away, Gold drew her back, and kissed her again. When they separated, he could see tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying?” he asked.
“It’s been a long time since somebody kissed me like he meant it.”
Gold flashed back ten years earlier to the night Wendy had told him the same thing. He leaned forward, brushed away her tears, and kissed her again—this time more slowly. As he lingered over the warmth of her mouth, he wondered whether he would ever love anyone unconditionally again.
* * *
The young man squinted at the grainy video on his laptop. The camera he’d mounted on the utility pole across the street from Silver’s townhouse was working. There was just enough light to see Gold emerge from Silver’s front door. Gold appeared content—almost happy.
Not the reaction he was hoping for.
He watched as Gold nodded to the cop sitting in the unit parked in front of the townhouse. The police presence would make his work more challenging, but it might also lull Silver and Gold into a false sense of security. That would work to his advantage.
He opened the e-mail account he had created just for this mission. He typed in another encrypted message and pressed Send. Then he closed his laptop.
Your moment of contentment will be short-lived, Detective Gold.
* * *
Gold was standing in Silver’s driveway when his BlackBerry vibrated. He looked at the display. He had a new e-mail from an unidentified source. He held his breath as he opened it.
It read, “We are setting off a bomb on Rush Street in two minutes. Islamic Freedom Federation.”
Chapter 24
“HOW MUCH TIME DO WE HAVE?”<
br />
Every neuron in Gold’s brain was firing as he went back inside Silver’s house and frantically thumbed in a reply reading, “Call me. Need to talk. Gold.” He pressed Send and held his breath.
It went through.
He quickly typed in another e-mail reading, “Don’t do it. Ready to negotiate.” He pressed Send. It went through again.
Battle arrived and joined Silver and Gold in Silver’s living room. Gold’s heart pounded as he spoke to his partner. “He’s setting off a bomb on Rush Street in two minutes. I need to keep this line open to communicate with him. Call Maloney on your cell and tell him I need to talk to him.”
“What about Fong?”
Gold turned to Silver. “See if you can reach him on your landline. I need to call Area 1.” Gold punched in Chicago PD’s emergency hotline on his BlackBerry. He was immediately transferred to Area 1 dispatch. He dispensed with the cop jargon. “This is Detective David Gold of Area 2. I’m running the Al-Shahid investigation. A bomb is about to go off on Rush Street in less than two minutes.”
“Where on Rush?”
“I don’t know. Tell your people to get everybody off the street and away from parked cars.”
“We don’t have time.”
“Just do it. And alert the fire department and the National Guard.” Gold pressed Disconnect. His BlackBerry vibrated again. He had another e-mail.
It read, “You have one minute and twenty seconds to free Hassan. No more warnings. IFF.”
Gold keyed in a reply reading, “Call me now. No questions asked.” His hands shook as he received confirmation that the e-mail had gone through. At the same time, Gold heard Fong’s frantic voice coming from Silver’s landline.
“What’s going on?” Fong yelled. “My people said you just got two e-mails.”
“I did. I sent two replies. You got a trace?”
“No. They were encrypted.”
“Dammit, George. He’s setting off a bomb on Rush Street in seventy-five seconds.”
“Where on Rush?”
“I don’t know. I just spoke to Area 1 dispatch. We’re trying to reach Maloney.” Gold’s BlackBerry vibrated again. “Hold on,” he said to Fong. He saw Mojo’s name on the display. “What is it, Carol?”
The Terrorist Next Door Page 12
