I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Some might have said that,” Jeremy said, his eyes on the floor.
“Not some, Jeremy. Everyone wanted to be us."
She spoke with such command and assurance that I was sure nobody ever disagreed with her. The word colleague rattled around in my brain, knocking on insecurities and past hurts. The rational side of me stepped up and reminded me that he had given my alias, probably to protect our cover. But the thoughts did not send comfort as I had hoped. I felt small and insignificant compared to her.
I’d probably never seen someone quite as striking as she was. I reached up to ascertain the condition of my hair. With one touch, it was easy to tell that I had a bird’s nest on my head. I felt a pulling need to run to the bathroom and hide. I turned to go, my brows still furrowed. A whip of jealousy passed through me, but I refused to let it take root in me. It was ridiculous to feel threatened even if she was beautiful. He loved me, not someone from his past. I turned back.
Jeremy fidgeted and looked uncomfortable, and yet he continued to suck up and play nice with this girl. The hottest couple. Oh, brother.
“So what's the story?” Celeste’s eyes raced to the closed door behind the reception desk. She was obviously a natural reporter with keen senses. She didn’t miss a beat. If she wanted a story, she would get it one way or the other.
“Oh, yeah. We were upstairs and heard screaming. Come to find that guy with a stick stuck into his side, so we brought him down and called an ambulance. There’s not much to tell.”
“Well, since my story about protests at the courthouse has now turned into the massive weather story, you mind if I interview him?”
“He's unconscious.”
Celeste’s eyes darted toward the cameraman sitting on the sofa looking out at the storm. “Well, maybe I'll just get some film of him and you guys can tell the story and...”
Jeremy’s head went to the side and he said, “I don't think so, Celeste.”
“Come on. You guys are heroes. I want to highlight the heroes of the storm.” She flashed her perfect smile and put a hand on Jeremy’s arm.
“I don't think you should go and get pictures of him without his permission.” He gave her a no nonsense look, but smiled as he did it. “And most definitely, you can’t have an interview with us.”
“Is it because you’re FBI, because…”
Jeremy cut in, his voice stern, but still friendly, “I'm just not interested in being on TV.”
“You’ve shied away from revealing the hero you are your whole life. It’s time you get some recognition.”
“We've got to go. Lots of stuff to do.”
Her eyes lit up again. “Really? Are you here on official business then?” Her eyes flicked toward me. “And you’re an agent? Really?”
I gave her a look that could kill, my jaw set and my lips pressed into a flat line.
“Oh sorry,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth. “You just look so young. I didn't mean to offend.” The scathing look she gave me said otherwise. Her attention fell back on Jeremy and she bit her lip. “Let's do dinner then. We can catch up.”
“Sorry. This is sort of an in and out kind of trip.”
Jeremy’s insistence that he didn’t have time for her made me feel a little better and my mind started working again. She had said she was filming a spot about the protests at the courthouse. What protests? I didn't want to purposefully talk to her, but I wanted more information on that story, so I sucked up my distaste and asked, “You said there were protests at the courthouse? Not much news about that these days, is there?”
“It is when it’s an interfaith group protesting for the rights of Muslims. It’s really inspiring.”
“There’s a case going on right now involving religious rights?” I asked.
“No. That’s the thing. The case went to court a couple weeks ago.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Six months or so ago a woman wearing a burka was killed outside of a shop at night. The shop owner says he was scared he was being robbed, thinking the woman was wearing a mask. Her family contends the man shot her because of her religion and that it was murder.”
“But the court didn’t agree?” Jeremy ventured.
Celeste shook her head. “The ruling came down as justified because he was in fear for his life and property. The judge didn’t stop there. He also said that those who come into this country and expect to be treated like those who live here should reconsider wearing burkas. As you can imagine, it created a huge backlash.”
The crazy thing is, there are no Muslims out there protesting the judge’s words. It’s a bunch of Christians and other religions. The only Muslim who has spoken out is a man named Ahmed Samaar—but he’s the special liaison to the government, so that makes sense.”
“What was her name?” I blurted, thinking of the woman who was killed.
Celeste looked at me strangely, then slowly answered, “Samaira Yousef.”
“Well, Celeste,” Jeremy cut in. “It was good to see you. But we’ve got to head.”
“If you're planning on leaving the hotel to get to your meeting, you can forget it.” She pointed outside where the storm raged.
Feeling sick and slightly confused, I took the opportunity to step away and to go to the registration desk. We had more important things to do than talk to this bimbo. Our car wouldn’t get here for at least another 45 minutes—that was time we could use to examine the evidence, so we could help CSIS as much as possible. We needed a private place to do that, so I booked a room and rejoined Jeremy.
Jeremy and Celeste had fallen into reminiscing, but I just caught the end of her sentence as I walked up. I was itching to check my theory, but mostly, I wanted to know about this girl and Jeremy and how they fit together. Obviously they had been girlfriend and boyfriend, but for how long and how had it ended?
“…best date ever.”
“We did have some fun times.” I put my hand on Jeremy's arm. He took my cue.
“Well, Celeste, it was good to see you, but we've got to go.”
“Wait!” she cried. “Give me your number. I’d really like to reconnect.”
“Actually, I still have your number. I’ll give you a call.”
“Jeremy,” she complained, as we headed for the elevator. “What if I have questions about broomstick guy?”
“No story on broomstick guy, Celeste,” he said as we slid into the elevator.
“Hottest couple in town?” I said, trying to inject levity into my tone. I was hoping he’d laugh with me, but instead he set his jaw and shook his head.
“I don’t want to talk about Celeste,” he said, a finality in his tone. The elevator filled with a heavy, awkward silence. It made me feel uneasy. Why didn’t he want to talk about her? “But I do want to talk about these protesters,” he said, cutting into my thoughts.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. His avoidance was making my chest feel tight. I cleared my throat. “You caught that too? I wasn’t sure you were paying attention.”
“Of course I was. It could have something to do with the bomb. All the more reason to get this evidence to CSIS as fast as we can.”
“I got us a room. I think we should look over the evidence while we wait for the car to pick us up.”
“We’re going to have to go on faith that whoever we talk to at CSIS will honor our request to remain anonymous,” Jeremy said as we made our way down the hall to our room.
“Yep. No hard-nosed agents who follow the rules with an iron fist.” I figured we had a fifty-fifty chance. The backs of the pictures shuffled through my mind. I had to be missing something. Celeste’s words kept coming back to me. Ahmed Samaar is the only Muslim who has been anywhere near the protestors.
Ahmed. Why was that so familiar? Then it came to me. The backs of the pictures. I needed to show Jeremy.
As soon as we got into the room, I pulled out the bench pictures and spread them out over the bed.
; “Look at this.” I put my hand over the numbers between the letters beginning and ending the code. Jeremy sidled up beside me, and I shifted slightly. I didn’t want him too close at the moment.
“M-E-L-E-K, Melek,” he said, surprise lacing his words. I thought about saying something snarky like, Good for you, you can spell, but I held back.
I covered the numbers on the next picture.
“Ahmed,” he said, the surprise still in his voice. “Probably the contact they were meeting with in town.”
I nodded. “But what are these numbers in-between the letters? And why don’t all the codes on the back have names on them?” My eyes were fixed on the numbers.
“Not meeting places?”
“At first I thought they’d be coordinates, but there are two too many numbers.” Only then did it hit me that they all ended in double zeroes. I grabbed my phone and put the numbers into my phone, leaving out the zeroes and the letters. Google Street View popped up. There it was, the area around the courthouse, including the Harley Hotchkiss Gardens, and sitting in the forefront of the picture was a bench. A bright flowery bench. “Check this out, Jeremy. If you take off the last two digits, they turn out to be coordinates. They are meeting places. Their GPS wasn’t precise enough to pinpoint each bench, but I bet you a thousand dollars, they’re all benches near the courthouse.”
“The courthouse.”
I nodded and put the numbers from the door frame into the phone. The courthouse popped into view. “This is the picture with the gold plate and door frame. It’s a door to something in the courthouse.” Jeremy came over and put his arm around my shoulders. I rotated out of his grasp and moved toward the window as if I needed better reception. I searched for Calgary’s Court Centre, and it gave me the same basic GPS coordinates.
“Most likely that judge’s chambers.”
“If I had to make a guess, that would be it.”
“You’re a genius.”
I shrugged. For some reason, the compliment felt patronizing. The way he’d called me his colleague still chafed at me. What would be so wrong with calling me his girlfriend? After all, he hadn’t given her my real name. I shook my head. This doesn’t matter, I thought. I can’t let this get in the way of what’s really important “We better call the CSIS. It’ll take them a while to get here anyway. See if you can figure out when the attack is supposed to happen."
“On it.”
Jeremy took out his phone and dialed. He held the phone up to his ear, but after only a few seconds, he moved the phone in front of him and looked at the screen. “No.” He pressed buttons again, but then said, “Can I see your phone? I’m not getting any reception.”
I handed him my phone, working hard not to huff. If his phone didn’t work, why did he think mine would? He dialed a number.
Jeremy grimaced and laid the phone down. “We don't have cell coverage anymore.” He seemed distracted. The whole idea of him trying my phone after his didn’t work was ridiculous. A mistake he wouldn’t normally make if he were on his game. He went to the window and opened the curtains and stared out. It was black, almost black as night with a starless sky. After a full minute, he finally said, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The clouds are pretty thick out there.”
“Landline,” I said, pointing to the phone on the bedside table. “But normally you would have thought of that after your phone didn’t work. You’re distracted. Is it Celeste?”
“I don’t want to talk about Celeste right now.” He frowned before picking up the landline to call, but even I could hear the loud, repetitive beep. He hung up, then picked it up again and paused to read something on the phone, and then pushed a button and held the receiver up to his ear.
I could hear him speaking into the receiver, but couldn’t focus on what he was saying. All I could think about was that we were supposed to be a team and he was keeping something from me. A very pretty something.
He raked his hand through his already messed up hair, and I tried not to think about how sexy it looked. He replaced the phone on its cradle. “Bad news, no one has reception."
Dread thrilled through me, and I almost forgot how hurt I was feeling. “You know what this means, Jeremy.”
He was shaking his head. “I don't know if we can do this on our own.”
Reality set in. There were only two of us, and we had no idea when the hit was going down or where the bomb or bombs had been placed. The courthouse was huge.
“We don't really have a choice,” I said. “Not if this hit is happening today. You heard Celeste,” saying her name caused a shudder of revulsion, but I managed to suppress it. “There are still tons of people stuck in the courthouse.”
“We need to figure out when this is going to happen, if we can.”
I had to think like a terrorist. When would I let this bomb explode? When would I find it most advantageous? When the most people were in the courthouse? When the most chaos could be achieved? I knew the answer. A Friday afternoon right before the end of the day when not only the courthouse would be hopping, but so would the streets outside. That would be today.
There was huge roar of thunder and a crack of lightning almost on top of each other. The lights flickered and went out.
Chapter 6
Jeremy swore. The lights flickered back to life. They were dimmer, but still there.
“Generator?”
“I’m sure.”
“We need to find something before we lose power for good.”
I didn’t want to. My insides were all jumbled up and I wanted to lash out, but it didn’t seem worth pushing the issue about Celeste when so much else was going on. I opted for letting it slide, though the tension between us was palpable. We both shuffled through the pictures which had given us the most information.
“Look at this manhole cover.” Jeremy handed me a picture. “What are those numbers?”
I could see an 83 and 94. The numbers hadn’t been written on, but were part of the molds of the metal covers.
That’s when I saw it. Two sequences of numbers, written in the shadows of the pictures. 825135 and 825150.
“I may have found something,” I said. “Look in the darkest parts of the pictures. Not the ones with the benches, but the others. I thought there wasn’t any writing on them, but I may have found some. I’ll bet you anything, you’ll find six numbers.”
He rotated the pictures in the light. “Yep. 825320 and this one,” he said. “825200”
“What’s today’s date?” I asked, grimacing.
“August twenty-fifth,” he said without hesitation, realization dawning on him.
“Eight, twenty-five,” I whispered, my brain whirring. “What if the first three numbers are the date and the second three indicate times?” We grabbed the rest of the pictures and wrote down all the times we could find on scraps of paper while ordering the pictures according to those times, face up. We laid the scraps of paper with the times next to their corresponding pictures.
The first of eight had 12:00 on it. It was the picture of manhole 94. The next, 2:00, was of the courthouse steps. Then came what we thought was the courtroom door—3:00. Another section of door showed 3:10. All the faces had 3:30 on them. The picture with the latest time on it was 4:15. It was only a scrap of a picture that had been burned so badly we couldn’t make out what it was. We both glanced over at the blinking light on the room’s clock. Unfortunately, it blinked 12 o'clock over and over again. It hadn’t been reset from losing power. Jeremy looked at his watch. It was 3:30 exactly.
“Not only is this happening today,” Jeremy said. “It’s in progress and almost completed.” He looked with a touch of despair in his eyes at the rest of the burned pictures that had no times written on them anywhere that could be seen. The times had most likely been burned away in the fireplace. If they hadn’t been, we might have been able to get a better handle on the terrorist’s plan. We’d have to work with the information we had, and we would have to act fast.
“If thi
s thing is going down before the close of the work day at 4:15, then we have less than an hour to find the bombs and disarm them.”
“Good thing the courthouse is just down the street,” I said.
We looked at the stack of pictures we’d just taken the times from. “Are they putting bombs in each of these locations?”
“Probably not,” Jeremy said. “They’re probably pictures of important locations, though.”
“I would say out of all these places, the one with the plaque above the door and the manholes are the locations for the bombs.”
Jeremy nodded, understanding my train of thought. “That door probably leads to the judge’s chamber.”
“And if they’re leaving a bomb in the sewers, and their target is the courthouse, then the sewers must be just outside the courthouse or close to it. If they bomb those, it would cause more confusion and chaos.”
“And stop anyone who might be coming to help,” Jeremy added grimly. “Let’s not waste any more time. Our first and most important bomb or bombs to disarm would be within the courthouse where, according to Celeste, there are still hundreds of people.”
“But we can’t go in the front door with our go bags,” I pointed out. “They’ll have metal detectors at the entrances. We’ll just have to sneak in another way.”
“No. We need to get in there ASAP and locate the bombs. The quickest way is through the front entrance.”
“But we won’t have any tools—or weapons—if we go in that way.” Frustration and irritation had crept into my voice.
He set his jaw. “We don’t even know if there is another way in. What if we don’t get there in time? Stop being careless.”
“You stop being so stubborn!” I protested. “You know as well as I do that we won’t get anything done without those bags.”
I glared at him, he looked away. Silence rose between us like a wall.
“If you’re so set on going in the front door, why don’t you do that, and I’ll find another way in with the bags?” I said when I could no longer stand the silence.
Secrets in the Storm: A Christy Spy Romance Novella (A Christy Spy Novella Book 2) Page 4
