“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, 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.
A hand clapped him on the shoulder and Mark whirled. “Hey!”
Jessie jumped back, her hands up. “Whoa! Take it easy.”
Heart hammering, Mark bent, hands on his knees. Slowly, he straightened. “Damn it, Jess.”
She cocked her head, one eyebrow raised. “You’re a bit jumpy. You sure you’re up to this?” She wore a Chicago PD navy t-shirt, and he could make out her Kevlar vest beneath it. That gave him some peace of mind.
“Yeah, I’m up to it. I was just going over the dream in my mind when you startled me is all.”
“Sorry.” She took a quick peek around, then reached up and stroked his cheek. “ I hope I didn’t cause you to miss something important.”
Seeing nobody paying any attention to them, Mark ran his hand from her shoulder up to the back of her neck, pushing his fingers up through the soft warm strands at the nape. He pulled her in for a brief kiss. “I hope I don’t get you fired, but I had to do that.”
She remained close and grinned. “Nah, nobody’s looking. Besides, you kissed me, and it’s not like they can fire you. I could press charges for interfering with an officer in the line of duty.” Her arms crossed, and she brought a hand up to her chin, head cocked. “Or maybe…assault.”
Mark smiled. “It would never stick.”
Jessie laughed. “You’re probably right.” She took one of his hands in his, her lighthearted mood evaporating. She searched his eyes. “I know this is bigger than what you’ve done before, but do you think there’s a chance we can stop this?”
Mark took in the extra security around the park, thought of all the teams in place and what he knew of the plan. “Jim’s got everything covered, as far as I can tell. It’s just a matter of spotting the gunmen before they start shooting.” He sighed and added, “I hope.”
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A tiny smile returned to Jessie’s face. “You’re pretty remarkable, you know that?”
Surprised, Mark stepped back. “What makes you say that? I’m shaking in my boots here.”
“No, not about that. I think we’re all wound pretty tight right now. I mean that you not only are working with Jim, but you’re even praising him.”
Mark opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything. What could he say? That holding a grudge would be pointless at the moment? Maybe later, when everyone was safe, he could resurrect the anger, but not now. Not when so many depended on their cooperation. He stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering across the street. The crowd roared, and he turned towards the field. “It’s almost time.”
Jessie nodded. “Yeah, I have to get back to my post.” Without a glance to see who was looking, she stood on her toes and kissed him. “Be careful.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jim returned along with four other agents. All wore varying types of Cub’s apparel, and he knew that each agent had a small arsenal on his body. It eased Mark’s mind somewhat. The game had progressed to the top of the ninth and the first out by the Milwaukee Brewers brought a huge cheer from the stands along with a trickle of fans exiting. With the Cub’s in the lead, Mark noted most of the fans leaving were Brewer fans. A thunderous cheer rose, and along with it, Mark’s heart rate. Two outs. Just one more to go and the game would be over. He glanced at his watch. Ten-fifteen. The sound of the crowd increased, and he could picture the fans all standing to ‘help’ the pitcher get the final out.
“You ready?” Jim put his phone in his pocket. “Better switch on your mic.”
“I guess so.” Mark found the button hidden in his collar and clicked it. Adrenaline flooded him, heightening his senses and he was sure that his heart thumped loud enough that the agents on the other end of the audio could hear it.
The trickle of fans became a steady stream, making it harder to pick out a man and small boy. He moved closer to the gate, aware of Jim trailing a short distance behind him. Not only was Mark trying to find the father and son, he was scanning for the terrorists as well. Without the luxury of closing his eyes to pull up their image in his head, he tried to concentrate just on the men in the age range of the father and the terrorist. He headed towards the west end of the gate, taking up one of the positions a terrorist had in his dream. If they weren’t there already, they soon would be.
He leaned against the edge of the exit, trying to look like he was waiting for someone. Jim mingled in the crowd, just a few feet away, his gait uneven as he pretended to be inebriated. He had a wide grin on his face and every few seconds, let out a whoop, as though celebrating the Cub’s win. With so many people, Mark lost track of the other four agents. He hoped they hadn’t gone far. Along the street, officers from the Chicago P.D. stood guard. The gate was really two gates separated by a brick column. Large white double doors secured the gates when closed, but now both sets were open wide.
A burst of people passed, and Mark strained to see back into the crowded concourse for the man and boy while darting looks near the gate for the gunman who would wave. A group of rowdy teens crossed in front of him and he almost missed the father and son. Just as the group jostled past, he saw the boy grin and wave at someone. He followed the child’s gaze and saw a man wearing a dark blue Cub’s hoodie standing a few feet outside the gate. The man wiggled his fingers and broke into a smile. Mark shivered at the gleam in the man’s eye and he forgot about the microphone in his collar. His sharp intake of breath must have registered with the agent on the other end because a voice in his ear asked him if he had something. He kept his eyes glued to the man. “Yeah. I have one. He’s just a few feet away.”
“Hold your position and keep him in sight. We have help coming your way.”
Jim was beside Mark in seconds. “Which one?”
Mark pointed with his chin. “The guy with the hoodie moving towards the far opening there.”
As though feeling eyes upon him, the man scanned the crowd, and zeroed in on Mark and Jim.
For the space of one breath, Mark froze, unable to look away. An instant later, all hell broke loose.
The suspect reached beneath his sweatshirt, Jim bolted towards him. Light glinted off metal. Shouts went up and bodies rushed past Mark as two agents, and a Chicago police officer joined Jim in swarming the man.
The suspect shouted in another language as he tried to break free. A voice from the left side of the gate yelled back in the same language. Mark followed the sound. “Shit. There’s the other guy!”
The second man was standing behind the other door at Mark’s gate. He’d already pulled out his weapon. The images from his dream mingled with real time, giving the moment a surreal quality. Shoving people aside, Mark cut through the people, his eyes never leaving the gun.
“Taylor, get back!”
The shout blasted through his ear-piece and he staggered, clutching his ear. He yanked the device out and flung it away. People had already noticed the commotion and added to it with screams and shouts. Mark hesitated, unsure what to do. The distance was short, but the crowd cutting between made trying to cover the distance akin to fording a fast moving river.
He elbowed people aside and shouted, “I need some help on the far side of gate K!”
Without the ear-piece, he had no way of knowing if anyone had heard him. A thick swarm of fans emerged, and Mark tripped on a stroller, his hand scraping on the ground as he fought to keep his balance. Only a few people remained between him and the gunman. The man glanced at Mark, and leveled his gun. Instead of aiming into the stadium, or even at Mark, he swept it towards the left, where his fellow terrorist wrestled with Jim and the other agents. The image of Jim in the photo flashed through Mark’s mind.
A portly woman stepped in front of Mark just before he reached the gunman, and with a curse, Mark snagged her by the shoulder and flung her forward. With a leap, he launched himself at the terrorist. He tried to grab the barrel of the rifle, but the impact sent them both crashing into the brick column. Dazed at the impact, Mark blinked a few times to clear his vision. The suspect had landed flat on his back and must have been stunned too, but only momentarily. In an instant, he was rolling to his side. Mark ignored the darkness cutting off his peripheral vision and lunged to straddle the terrorist. The gunman twisted in an attempt to get away and reach his rifle. His eyes shone with hatred and he spat some words at Mark as he struggled.
Mark reached for the gun, fighting for control of it, grunting when an elbow connected with his cheek. The other man held the barrel and levered the butt at Mark, catching him on the left temple. Mark sagged as stars exploded in his head and his vision wavered. His grip on the barrel loosened, but he blinked and fended off the darkness. The suspect tried to hammer him with the butt again, but Mark blocked it and shoved the barrel away. Using his leverage and the other man’s momentum, he drove the barrel into the cement where it scraped a white line in an arc on the pavement.
The gun ripped through Mark’s hands and he lunged in a desperate attempt to get it back before he realized it was Jim who had taken it. His frozen moment of surprise was broken as a sharp pain burned across his left bicep. Mark gasped as his attention snapped back to the terrorist. The man clutched a knife as he shifted for another attempt.
What the hell? Where had that come from? There had been no damn knife in his dream. Mark threw his body to the right. With Jim controlling the gun, he just wanted to get out of the way. Hand clamped to his arm, Mark staggered to his feet and stumbled a short distance into the stadium, just outside the men’s room.
Turning back, he saw Jim and three other agents wrestle the gunman into submission. The whole fight lasted less than a minute. It was over. Relief that the gunmen were caught mixed with anxiety of the outcome at the other gates. He scanned the faces of those exiting, looking for signs of panic.
The crowd churned through the concourse, hardl
y pausing to take in the scene. He supposed that most thought it was just a drunken fight. A slew of Chicago police flooded the area and the gun was nowhere to be seen. That was probably a good thing.
As the adrenaline ebbed, the pain in his arm and head skyrocketed. He groaned and bent at the waist. Blood welled through his fingers and dripped onto the pavement.
A hand was on his back. “Can you sit?”
It sounded like Jim, but feeling dizzy and light-headed, Mark didn’t dare look up, but closed his eyes instead. “Yeah.” He folded a leg and sank down, swallowing hard at the sudden nausea the movement caused.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back with some help.”
That sounded like a great plan to Mark. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Beyond the gate, out on the sidewalk, traffic cops directed the crowd. Their orange batons twirled, keeping the people moving. Music blasted from the speakers, and the jubilant mood of the crowd hadn’t diminished despite the drama played out just a few minutes ago. It was hard to believe.
Mark bent his head, swiping the blood out of his eye with his shoulder. He looked up the concourse. There were no bodies, just smiling people, happy about the win. A few cast curious glances his way as they passed, but most ignored him.
Paramedics rolled a stretcher up beside him. “Somebody call for a medic?” The one who’d spoken took one look at Mark and answered his own question, “I guess that would be you.”
“You guessed right.” Mark thought for a second. There had been some initial panic and there was a possibility that someone had been trampled. “I think, anyway. There could be injured farther up the concourse.”
The paramedic shook his head. “I don’t think so, but others will be checking to make sure. So far, you’re it.”
“Really?” Mark tried to stand to get a better look, but the other medic put a hand on his shoulder.
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