by Hopkin, Ben
No. Explosions.
Darc found Trey’s eyes, and for once in his life, he felt like he was on the same page as his partner. He knew where to look for the explosives.
“The floats,” Trey said as Darc turned to push his way through the crowd.
“Wait.”
Trey spun around and for a moment could see nothing out of the ordinary. There were Mala and Janey and Cody, all standing together. Except that Cody was standing close to Janey. Really close. Uncomfortably close.
And then Trey saw that part of Cody’s jacket was pressed up against Janey’s skull.
“Cody, what are you doing?” Mala asked, her voice low but still penetrating over the crowd noises. There was a tremor running through her voice that was the only indication of her extreme fear.
A fear that Trey felt coursing around his own veins. Because he knew exactly what Cody was doing. And from a glance toward Darc it was clear his partner did as well. They were going to have to exercise extreme caution here.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t Trey’s style. “That’s your finger,” he said.
“What?” Cody choked out. “No it isn’t. It’s a gun.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s your finger.”
“You… I… It’s a gun,” he said, pushing the bulge against Janey’s head to prove his point. “And I’ll use it.”
“Prove it,” Trey challenged him.
“I’m not… You can’t…” he stammered, then straightened up, his face going hard. “How about I prove it by shooting her.”
While he was speaking, Trey was watching and waiting. As Cody stood up, his spine stiffening, there was a moment where his hand went slack. It wasn’t much, the gun was still mostly pointed at Janey’s head. But it was an opening.
Trey decided to take it.
* * *
Janey wasn’t scared.
Popeye was, but Popeye was scared of everything, even though he pretended not to be. He was a silly bear.
She knew she should be scared. Guns weren’t good things, and even though Trey kept saying the man didn’t have one, she could feel it through his jacket.
But the lines were there, telling her things. Telling her that Trey didn’t really think that it was the man’s finger. Trey was just being tricky. They were saying to her that the man… Mala had called him Cody… didn’t really want to hurt her. He was scared, lots more scared than even Popeye. And Popeye was a scaredy-cat.
He corrected her. Scaredy-bear.
Silly, silly.
But the man’s hands were shaking. Not enough that anyone could see it, but Janey could feel it. And his voice was weird too, almost like he was about to cry.
To everyone else he might sound mad, but to Janey he just sounded sad. And scared. Of course he was scared. He was doing scary things and he was going to get caught. Soon.
Darc was too far away to do anything. He didn’t have his gun out, and he couldn’t get anywhere close to where Cody was standing.
Trey, on the other hand…
The man was still talking, trying to convince Trey that it really was a gun. He pushed it up against her head to prove it, which hurt a little bit.
But then something changed. Trey made him mad.
She could feel the change in his body. It shifted a little bit. The movement made her nervous… scared, Popeye said… because the colors were telling her the man might hurt her now. But him moving gave Janey just the room she needed.
Lifting up her foot as high as she could, she stomped down on the inside of his ankle. There had been one time when Janey had hit that part of her leg on the corner of a curb and it had hurt so much. It seemed like a good idea right now, and the lines in her head agreed with her.
When she stepped on him, the man yelped in her ear… which also kind of hurt… and stepped back. So Janey turned around and kicked him.
She wasn’t proud of where she kicked him. It was in the private place where you weren’t supposed to touch anyone, especially not boys. But that was what the colors told her to do, so she did it.
Right after that, the man grabbed his privates… which was another thing you weren’t supposed to do… and his face turned purple. Then Trey jumped on top of him, grabbing the gun out of his hand.
A second later Mala was right beside Janey, hugging her and speaking in her ear.
“I am so proud of you.”
Janey was glad she said that, because she wasn’t sure what Mala would think of the privates’ thing. But for a second everything was okay.
Except not really. In fact, not at all.
She looked up and saw Darc, who was staring right at her. Janey knew where he was going to go. She didn’t want him to, but she knew he needed to.
And she wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like Darc wanted her permission. He wasn’t going to leave until she told him it was okay.
It was hard to do, because she knew he was going to do something that might hurt him. But she did it anyways.
Janey nodded her head.
A second later, Darc was gone.
CHAPTER 25
Mala felt her heartbeat slow gradually from the frenetic pace it had been at moments before. Now the main challenge in front of her was not to engage in all of the violent activities her brain was urging upon her in relation to the CSI intern, who was still on the ground with Trey on top of him.
This was no easy task. Mala was a rational person, a child psychologist, trained to be patient and to talk through difficult things, even when they were terrible. And yet, right now, all she wanted to do was rip the man’s face off.
And that was the gentlest of the options that were coming to her.
“Mala, can you take him for me?” Trey asked, struggling to pull Cody to his feet. He had cuffed the intern’s hands behind his back and wasn’t being too careful about the way he was yanking on the young man’s arms.
“Ow, ow, oooow!”
“Maybe next time don’t hold a gun to my friend’s head.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Cody blubbered. “I didn’t want to, it’s just I was so…”
“Scared,” Trey finished for him. “Right, right, I’ve heard it all before. Mala?” He turned back to her, motioning for her to take a hold of the man’s arms.
“But I don’t have a gun,” Mala responded.
“Just hold on to his arms and give a yank if he gets frisky,” he said with a half-smile. “Or do what Janey did and kick him in the—”
“Got it,” Mala assured him. “Go. Find Darc and help him.”
“You’re not going to be able to do anything,” Cody moaned. “There’s not enough time.”
“Heard the same thing from Bradley,” Trey muttered. “You guys are like a broken record.”
“It’s true. It’s all set to go off in just a few minutes.”
Mala stepped in, pulling Cody’s arms up sharply. He hissed in pain.
“How can we stop it?”
“I can’t tell you,” he whined. “There’s a failsafe, but he’ll kill me if I tell you.”
“He?” questioned Mala.
Cody’s face shut down, and it was clear from his expression that he didn’t want to talk. Mala was pretty sure she could do something about that.
The fact that she was going to enjoy it was only a little troubling to her.
* * *
Darc raced through the street, headed for the nearest float he could locate. It was necessary to ascertain the threat level, and that could only happen with a close up inspection of the explosives.
Nearing the first of the floats, a huge castle replete with its own princess, Darc held out his badge, waving his arms to get the attention of the driver. The man gave no sign he had seen Darc’s attempts to get his attention.
“Seattle PD! Stop the vehicle!”
It took a minute for what Darc was yelling to register. “You want what now?” the overweight man inside the back of the float called back.
“I need you to stop! Now!”
The float ground to a halt, nearly displacing one of the young women up top. She was dressed in a long gown and was waving to the crowd when her forward inertia almost pitched her over the front edge. She glared at Darc.
There was no time to determine what the expression meant. Darc dove for the underside of the motorized medieval castle, looking for anything that might appear out of place.
Nothing.
In the picture Janey had drawn, the explosions were not shown for every float. There was a certain randomness to the distribution of the destruction.
Random. Like the randomness found in nature.
The Fibonacci sequence.
The killer would want the highest levels of destruction to catch the largest amount of individuals. The Fibonacci sequence started with zero, then one, then another one, then a two, then a three… the distribution was weighted toward the beginning of the sequence.
The first float must have been designated a zero.
Darc sprinted for the next float down, this time neglecting to say anything to the driver. Extended arguments about whether or not the floats should be stopped would waste too much time.
Instead, Darc crouched down as he ran alongside the float, this one a forest scene with sharp circular blades embedded in the false trees. Several men lounged about, holding chainsaws. It was a float for the lumberjack union that operated here in Seattle.
And there, underneath the chassis, was what Darc was seeking.
It was a huge block of C4, but that was not the end of it. Embedded in the square of explosive material was what appeared to be a wireless phone. Something to receive a remote signal to detonate.
And surrounding the entire mechanism were wedges and scraps of metal of all kinds. Steel, zinc, aluminum. Darc even thought he could see a glimmer of copper.
Shrapnel.
Each of the floats was designed to explode in such a way to create the most injury possible. It would be a bloodbath.
Stepping back away from the float, Darc ran to the front of the vehicle, holding up his badge. As the driver spotted the identification, he stopped.
“You must all vacate this float immediately. There is a bomb underneath.”
Darc’s statement had the desired effect. Every person on the float dropped whatever they were holding and fled, most without giving even a backward glance in Darc’s direction.
Moving back to the side of the float, Darc bent over to view the bomb once more when there was a loud pop and he felt pain blossom in his side. Turning around, Darc came face to face with someone unexpected.
It was the Mayor of Seattle.
Streams of information flooded Darc’s mind, the colors ebbing and flowing with the shocking revelation. All of the signs now crystalized, pointing at the mind… and the man… behind it all. The one who had set every piece of this chess game in motion.
Including Darc himself.
And there he stood, the man who was arguably the most powerful person in the city, with a smoking gun in his hand.
Darc felt along his side, his hand coming away wet with blood. The flows of logic assessed the damage, calculating the severity, the rate of blood loss, how long it would be until he lost consciousness.
He did not have much time.
“I can’t allow you to do that, Detective Darcmel,” the Mayor said, tucking the gun away in his waistband before allowing his suit coat to cover up the weapon. “I’ve spent a long time setting this up.”
The colors threaded themselves about the figure in front of Darc, calculating weight, determining speed and possible strength based off of the man’s age and build. He was in his 50s, but lean, with a V-shape to his torso that indicated a measure of strength.
He would be a formidable opponent at the best of times, and Darc was injured.
“I need to let you know, Detective,” the man informed him, “that even if you manage to overpower me, the bomb will still detonate. Soon.”
“Explain.”
“Ah.” The Mayor smiled. “Such directness. But please, don’t try to distract me.” He moved closer to Darc, lashing out with his fist, connecting with Darc’s wounded side. The pain was intense enough to almost drown out the Mayor’s next words. “You know already, don’t you? You’ve seen how the explosive device is rigged.”
“The cell phone,” Darc croaked, wheezing.
“Yes, the cell phone. An email is scheduled to go out as a text message to that phone and others just like it all along the entire parade.”
Darc felt the streaming glow of the colors shift and move with each new statement the Mayor made. The empty spaces in the tapestry were filling in.
Finding the full pattern could lead to a solution, but Darc could feel his energy ebbing away with every beat of his heart. His shirt stuck to him where the blood continued to seep through, the wet area growing. He had to understand why the Mayor was doing this, and quickly.
“Why are you attacking the city?”
“Detective Darcmel, I’m disappointed. You haven’t understood something as simple as my motive?” Another blow punctuated the question. Darc stumbled to his knees for a moment before pushing himself back to standing.
“It is illogical.”
The Mayor sighed. “There is nothing illogical about it. I am gathering the best minds, the best bodies, the best spirits together in one place. They will congregate around the tragedy.”
He kicked out, but Darc managed to spin to the side, avoiding the blow. Darc snatched the Mayor’s foot and dropped his other elbow down in between the bones of the shin. The Mayor cried out in pain, but managed to pull back his leg.
Darc felt the conflict inherent in the Mayor’s statement, a conflict clarified by the glowing strands of blue and green that were dancing about in his mind. There was no hint of disharmony in his inner self. All the discordance was centered in his side.
“What of the heroes killed in the blast?” Darc asked, forcing the words out.
“I don’t understand.”
Darc circled the Mayor with shuffling steps, working to maneuver him closer to the float. The man would counter with every step Darc took, going exactly where Darc was trying to send him. All that remained was to keep consciousness.
“In the initial blasts, some of the best and brightest will certainly be killed,” Darc responded. It was simple mathematics. An indisputable fact.
It also seemed to rattle the Mayor. “That… that is part of the price that will need to be paid by the city.”
“There is no way of measuring the loss from the crowd. You are depleting the supply of those the city needs.”
“That’s not true.”
Darc took the final step, urging the Mayor into position with his back against the front of the float. All it would take is one more foot.
The mayor took that step.
Rushing at the Mayor, Darc lowered his head at the last moment, spearing the man in the chest. He fell backward onto the front part of the float, pulling himself up and onto the main flat area the front that appeared to have been designed for dancing.
Fake trees with the oversized circular saws shook from the impact, but before Darc could follow up on his attack, the mayor had moved around to the side of the float, avoiding Darc.
But in his avoidance, the mayor opened up a direct path. Straight to the driver’s seat. Running as fast as he could while keeping consciousness, Darc approached the wheel.
From around the corner of the float appeared Trey, wielding one of the fallen chainsaws from the float.
“You drive,” he said, pulling the chain of the saw and cranking on the motor. “I’ll take care of the Mayor.”
* * *
Trey stalked forward, keeping at least one tree between himself and the Mayor. Trey had been there long enough to see what kind of punches the guy could land, and he wasn’t excited to have any part of that action.
“Detective Keane,” the mayor addressed him. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you’d make it this far
.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Trey countered around to the side as the older man moved around the tree that separated them from one another.
And then Darc must have gotten the motor running, as the float suddenly lurched forward, throwing both Trey and the mayor off balance. Trey was pushing himself back up to standing when he felt a blow land on his left arm, crushing the newly healed bone there, left over from their last case. Letting out a scream, Trey fell back toward the middle of the float, where there were more trees to protect him.
“You think you’re ready for this game. What you don’t realize is that you’ve never been more than just one of the pawns, ready to be discarded whenever necessary.”
Well, that stung. Enough so that it propelled Trey into motion. He lashed out with his foot, catching the mayor square in the face. There was a mild sensation of surprise as the man’s nose was crushed under his heel.
He’d scored a major hit.
Trey recovered from his shock enough to follow up with another couple of blows, mostly landed with his legs. Every time he tried to wield the heavy chainsaw, especially with just the one arm functioning, he was slow enough that the mayor could dodge.
“You can’t beat me,” he yelled at Trey. “The floats will still explode.”
“Oh, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Trey answered. “You should’ve seen how fast Cody caved once Mala started in on him. He gave up the codes in a millisecond.”
The mayor growled and attempted to rally, swinging his fists in a flurry at Trey’s head. But he couldn’t get past the whirling blade of the chainsaw.
And Trey still had the man on the ropes, in spite of his arm. The blow to the nose seemed to have at least partially blinded him. The mayor reeled back under Trey’s onslaught, grasping at the trunks of the false trees he battered up against. He knocked out one of the circular saws, which sang a metallic song as it bounced against the floor of the float.
“Who’s the pawn now?” Trey yelled at him, kicking out once more.
The last blow sent the older man to his knees, facing away from Trey. Scanning the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle from the safety of the curb, the mayor called out to them as he staggered back to his feet.
