Secrets in the Storm

by Cindy M. Hogan

  I opened my mouth to argue, but Jeremy held up a hand, a look of pleading on his face. I sighed, and bit my answer back. I was sick of arguing anyway. What he said made sense, even if I didn’t like to admit it.

  “Fine.”

  “You get in and locate the bombs, and when I get there we’ll disarm them together. After we’ve disarmed the bombs inside, then we’ll focus on the ones in the street.”

  To think these men wanted to prevent any help from reaching the courthouse after the bombs went off made me sick inside. “Who are these people? What do they want?”

  Jeremy shook his head, “We don’t need to know that now. We know where and when they’re going to strike—that’s enough.”

  I sighed.

  Jeremy cleared his throat, and I got the feeling that he was trying to clear away the tension between us and act like everything was normal. “All right, you’ll need to get in disguise. Celeste said that they weren’t letting anyone out of the courthouse, but they certainly wouldn’t deny a wet passerby some protection from the storm.”

  I coiled my hair on my head and pulled on a short black wig, black thick framed glasses and a jogging suit. I tied a scarf around my hair, knotting it at the base of my neck. Some bright red lipstick and harsh black eyeliner completed the disguise. Jeremy wore grey khakis with a black belt, a plaid button up with a blue tie and black comfort shoes. A blond wig finished his ensemble. He would fit right in at the courthouse. “We’ll meet at the judge’s courtroom.”

  “It’s a plan.”

  He walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back. Rain came down in sheets and slashed against the windows with a vengeance. It was dark, like night had come early. We both put on thin rain jackets with hoods from our go bags. I left first.

  The park-like area with trees and walkways next to the courthouse was empty of people as were the sidewalks and the street. As I crossed the street, the wind trying hard to push me over, I walked over a manhole cover and instantly, the picture with a small section of such a manhole raced across my mind. I had to check it out.

  There were two numbers on the grate: eight and five. Drops of water hit the metal with tiny splashes creating rivulets between the raised portions of the sewer cover. For a moment, I hesitated, thinking about lifting the cover and going inside, but I had no way to tell Jeremy that’s what I was doing. He’d freak if I didn’t show up at the judge’s chambers. No, I needed to stick to the plan. It was enough to know where the manhole was for after we’d cleared the courthouse.

  Thunder roared overhead and lightning lit up the sky as even bigger drops fell from heavy, dark clouds. The water was past puddling already and tiny streams of water ran over all surfaces. Soon they would combine into a river of water. There was no use trying to avoid it and my feet were wet almost the second I stepped out into the street. The sound of the rain hitting all the surfaces was loud, almost like I was standing at the base of a waterfall.

  I passed a white van as I hopped onto the sidewalk in front of the looming glass and steel courthouse. I pulled the light rain jacket close. I could tell the courthouse was running on generator power. The lights were dim and occasionally flickered. Were the metal detectors even working? Maybe they wouldn’t let me in after all. I went over other possible ways to enter the building as I made my way up the slippery and wet courthouse steps, my pants wet to the knee now and my shoes sloshing with water.

  Panic rose up in me, a snake coiling inside my belly ready to strike. The only other way in would be by a bathroom window and I’d most likely need to disable an alarm to get in. I had no tools. I should have kept my go bag. And if the modern designers had been smart, there wouldn’t be a bathroom on the main level. I looked up and wondered if any of the windows even opened in the twenty-four story glass building. After another very loud thunder and lightning chorus, I banged on the locked courthouse doors. Two guards rushed quickly to the door. They shook their heads, and I pointed to the sky and shouted, “I need shelter.” I gave them my best desperate smile.

  The two men looked at each other, then gave me a sympathetic look and something silent passed between them. They opened the door and I rushed in. A cool blast of air hit me as I entered the large lobby. They still had an air conditioner running. It didn’t help that some of my clothes were wet. Several workers stood, arms wrapped around themselves for warmth, awaiting orders from their superiors that they could go home.

  “That was the scariest thing ever,” I complained. “I was trapped out there! But I knew the courthouse should be open. Why was the door locked?” I looked into the room to see bunches of people milling about, sitting on benches and on floors, and propped up against walls. “Oh,” I said as if the idea had just come to me. “You didn’t want anyone to leave because it was too dangerous.”

  “Right. So, you're here for the duration.” The security guard grimaced.

  “Oh, I don't care. That storm is so bad out there, and it came on so fast.” They sat back down at their posts just inside the door. “Well, thanks for letting me in.” I leaned on the desk and looked out at the people. There were a good fifty in this lobby area alone. How many others were somewhere else in the building? As soon as I heard the two guards talking, I took the path straight for the information desk, which had a scowling lady sitting at it.

  I needed to find out which courtroom the ruling was handed down in and who the judge was. That way I could go right to the courtroom and then to the judge’s chamber and possibly his clerk’s office to search for the bombs. I imagined the terrorists would most likely go for the courtroom first because that’s where the judge had handed down his ruling. It was time to put on the ditz.

  “Hi, I was just wondering where the courtroom is where that cool judge let those foreigners have it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry. I’m just so excited to be here. I know I probably can’t meet Judge…” I snapped my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Oh, sorry. You know the one that told the Muslims to stop wearing those scary face things if they wanted to fit in.”

  “You mean Judge Mitchell?” She looked irritated.

  “Yeah that one. I wanted to meet him. He was so brave.”

  She scowled slightly, as if she disagreed with that statement. “You can’t just meet a judge.” She pressed her lips into a hard line.

  “Well, he’s kind of a celebrity, and I’m a blogger, you know, and I thought I’d get a picture in front of his courtroom. I figured meeting him would be the icing on the cake. But I guess with this weather he’s probably already gone.”

  “I don't know if he's gone or not. He did have a hearing this afternoon, but I can’t get on the computer to see if that was canceled. Most likely it was. And most likely he's not here anymore.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll just have to be okay with a picture in front of the courtroom where he helped keep Canada safe for everyone.”

  “That would’ve been room 102.”

  “Thank you.” I bounced away from the information desk wishing I could relay that information to Jeremy. I hated not having any contact with him and wondered where he was—if he was safe.

  Chapter 7

  I only had to go across the large lobby and down the first hallway to find room 102. There had been a picture with a gold plaque above a set of dark brown doors. We hadn’t been able to see what had been on the plaque, but I would bet money it had read 102 before it got burned.

  Now I would wait. If there was a bomb inside the room, I would need my toolkit from my go bag to disarm it and Jeremy had that.

  No light came from under the door, and the small frosted panes of glass revealed only a spare light filtering through them. They were too late. The judge had cleared his courtroom early today thanks to the storm. Both good and bad, I thought. Then a dark shape inside the room moved toward the door, and I stepped to the side. The figure slithered out of the room. He wasn’t much taller than me, but I could tell from the fit of his clothes that he was
fit. His black hair and brown skin contrasted with his khakis and white button-up. The sleeves were rolled up, past his elbows and he moved with light, silent feet.

  Had he just planted the bomb? But why? No one was in there. Maybe he had retrieved the bomb to plant it another day because of the storm. If there was a bomb in there, how had it gotten past the metal detectors? Was there a way to create a plastic bomb now? If there was, I hadn’t heard of it. I couldn’t deny, however, that there were always ways to get around metal detectors. I was hoping Jeremy was doing that this very moment.

  He seemed not to even notice me as he headed back toward the large lobby area. I acted quickly, sweeping his legs out from under him with a swift kick, taking advantage of the empty hall. His hands flew out to brace himself, but not fast enough. He hit the floor with a thud, but in a resilient move, immediately pushed up with his hands. I slipped my foot under him and shoved him over to his back. He gasped as I dug my knee into his gut. It was a satisfying sound. His hands flew to my leg, and I restrained them in two seconds flat, using my scarf. Thank heavens I’d used that in my disguise. I figured he wouldn’t call out because it would give him away, and I was right. He did struggle and kick, though. It took all my strength to pull the wiggling mass down the hall.

  If anyone exited one of the courtrooms or entered the hallway, I would be in trouble. It was obvious, after all, that I shouldn’t be dragging someone down the hall. I could knock this guy out easily, but I needed to talk to him. I yanked him down the hallway toward the clerks’ offices. I passed one because I heard voices inside. After giving a quick listen to the next door and then rapping on it, I tried it. It was locked. With one swift kick, it was open, the sound mingling with the roar of the wind and pounding rain. I didn’t have a moment to delay.

  I dragged the man inside and pulled out my knife from the sheath strapped to my calf. “I saw you plant that bomb in there. What’s the next step?”

  He spat in my face. “Samaira deserved better. You murdered her, and now we will murder you.”

  “Samaira?” My brow knit for a moment before I remembered. “Samaira Yousef?” That was the woman Celeste had named—the one who’d been killed and whose death was declared justified by Judge Mitchell. Apparently, this man and his compatriots disagreed. His English was flawless. He spoke like someone raised in Canada. He probably had been. As I yanked his feet together and tied him up using his shoelaces, a phone fell from his pocket. I snatched it up.

  I grabbed a tissue from the clerk’s desk and wiped my face. I would have to hurt him in order to get any information out of him. I should have picked a room further down the hall, away from the chattering people in the room next door. Besides that, I didn’t have any time. Finding and disarming the bomb would be faster. Using my elbow, I knocked him out. I tied the terrorist to the desk with my scarf and wrote a quick note on a yellow Post-It. I am a terrorist and planted a bomb in room 102. You will find bomb residue all over me. Please put me in jail. I stuck the note on his chest.

  After gagging him, I made sure there was nothing near that he could use to escape and searched him head to foot for a bomb. He had nothing else on him besides the cell phone I’d already taken. I needed to get back to the courtroom.

  The hall was still empty. I was sure that there should have been cases being tried in all the courtrooms in this hall. This storm had truly saved many lives today. But there will still plenty of people in harm’s way.

  I hesitated before entering the courtroom. Jeremy still hadn’t arrived. It had been too long. I bit my lip and shifted on my feet. I could feel sweat bead on the back of my neck. Something must have happened to him. There was no other explanation. I’d disarm the bomb, clear the courthouse, and go looking for him. If only we had cell reception. I checked my phone and the terrorist’s phone. Nothing. No bars.

  I entered the courtroom and searched for the bomb and found it taped to the bottom of the crown prosecutor’s desk. It sat nicely in my hand, like a soccer ball. I didn’t want this thing going off while I was trying to disarm it. I scanned the room.

  I looked in the crown prosecutor’s desk drawer. Nothing. The defense’s drawer, nothing. I moved on to the judge’s desk. Maybe no one kept anything in any desks in this room. Maybe they were cleared out each night. But then I found paper in one of the large side drawers, but the others were empty. I moved to the slim middle drawer and a few office supplies: a couple pens, some paper clips, and a mechanical pencil. I might be able to use the paperclip, pen, and pencil if I couldn’t find anything else, but that was only if I found something that would help me open the cover of the bomb. There were only three more drawers. The bottom and middle were empty, but the top one had a stapler, one claw clip, and exactly what I needed, a metal letter opener. The flat edge would work fine to undo the screws I had seen holding the cover on the bomb. It might also be able to slice through the wire in a pinch. I grabbed the claw clip and letter opener and added them to the pile of potential tools. Between them, I thought I was set.

  I used the letter opener to twist out the screws on one side of the bomb. Wires tangled all over the core. It was full of tiny bits of metal and gumball sized metal balls. A dirty bomb. None of the bubble-like indicators were lit which meant it was definitely not a timer. I saw the little panel that connected the bomb to a cell phone signal. My hands shook a little as I looked up to the clock. Three-fifty. It could be activated at any time now. The workmanship was definitely that of an amateur and the jumble of wires made for a sticky situation. What had they done? It didn’t make any sense. As I shuffled through all the bomb schematics I’d ever seen, a hand landed on my shoulder.

  Chapter 8

  I startled, and the letter opener slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. I scrambled to keep the soccer ball sized bomb in my lap, my mind frantically trying to do three things at once. I needed to take out the person who’d touched me, and I needed to keep the bomb from hitting the floor, and I needed to disarm it, like, immediately.

  “It’s me, it’s me!” Jeremy said, putting a hand on the bomb and stopping it from tumbling away. “You found the bomb.”

  I took a deep breath and placed my hand on the bomb, my hand grazing his as I closed my eyes in relief.

  “Uh, yeah!” I said, totally relieved and pissed at the same time. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” I flashed him an angry look, and he let go of the bomb and stepped back. “Could you get me that letter opener?” I asked, motioning to the letter opener that had flown into the aisle.

  “I can do better than that.” He riffled through his go bag and then handed me real wire cutters from his backpack.

  I gave him a look that said I could have used those forever ago.

  “How can I help?” he asked, worry in his eyes.

  His sincerity weakened the angry and suspicious pulse rushing through me. “This is a mess,” I said, showing him the mass of wires.

  “Want me to try?”

  I gave him the stink-eye and huffed. “No.”

  “Well, can you disarm it?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Hold on.” I clipped the three wires the diagram of a similar bomb in my head indicated, and my shoulders relaxed before I set the disarmed device on the chair next to me.

  “What took you so long, Jeremy?” Something had to have happened to him.

  “It doesn't matter. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now we have other bombs to find.” He looked everywhere but at me.

  I put my hand on his arm as he turned to leave said, “What's going on? How did you get in?”

  “Seriously, Christy. You know as well as I do that time is running out.” He still didn’t look at me.

  “Yeah, because it took you so long to get in here. What took you so long? I've been worried sick.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.”

  He shifted from foot to foot and then said, “I walked through the front door, okay?”

  “What?” F
inally, his eyes met mine. “How? There are two guards there and a metal detector.”

  “Celeste helped me get in.” As he spoke, color seemed to drain from his face.

  I furrowed my brow but said nothing. Had I heard him right? Why had he tried to hide that from me?

  “Well, it seemed like the smart thing to do at the time,” he babbled. “I told Celeste I needed in there, and she said she knew the guards and could get me and whatever I needed to bring inside. It seemed like a no-brainer.” He pressed his lips together and then said, “We need to go.” He motioned for me to go out of the courtroom.

  I couldn’t find any words to say and I didn’t move. My gut ached. What was going on with this girl?

  “Look, we really do have to get a move on. I'll tell you everything in detail after we clean this building. We need to find the terrorists if they’re in the building and disassemble any remaining bombs.”

  A shiver snaked up my spine, reminding me that there were most likely more bombs in the building. That bomb was not big enough to do the kind of damage such a group might want. “There must be more bombs.”

  “It’d be good if we could get one and interrogate them.”

  “I have one tied up in a clerk’s office, but he’s not talking. There are at least five more out there.”

  “Had to knock him out?”

  I nodded. Why was he questioning me? If he’d been here, he would have seen I hadn’t had a choice. “He was a feisty one.” I scrunched up my nose in disgust thinking about his spit running down my cheek. “Let’s go fine the other bombs.”

  “If they’re all like this one,” I pointed to the bomb next to me, “then it won’t be difficult. It’s like they followed directions from the dark internet or something. Pretty rudimentary. All the better, I guess. We don’t want to find anything more complicated. From what I saw where they built the bombs, they were learning as they went.” This had proven to be a great advantage to us. “I don’t think they’ve been extremists long.”