“Yes, I remember that after the first subway bombing, we did insist that rail station authorities put that measure in effect.”
“Good,” I replied. “We want to make sure that none of them can slip through the cracks.”
“Gotcha,” he said with a laugh.
It now occurred to me that I might have erroneously assumed that all vendors on surveillance, including our suspect, were legitimate vendors and registered with the proper authorities in charge. Could we pinpoint the Shadow this way?
The next day my good friend, Captain Goloft of the police department, invited several friends out for a beer after work. He asked me to come along. I liked Brandon Goloft. We’d hit it off ever since I started working here at the Bureau. When I finished work, I walked to Flanagan’s Bar which was three blocks away. As usual, the bar was roaring with laughter, camaraderie, and a few drunken men weaving between tables. The drunken atmosphere was electrically charged, and one would expect that a few fistfights would break out and spill into the street. But despite the loud, drunken words and revelry, nothing ever happened. Men, too drunk to participate in the fun, were gently escorted on their way while the loud and boisterous laughter inside the bar continued. I asked the bartender, Steve Petrocelli, to bring us two beers. “Hey, Steve, the Captain’s table,” I yelled out.
Brandon was a somewhat short and jolly fellow who didn’t care for the Bureau. The Captain’s large deep blue eyes seemed to light up when he spoke. He ran the police department in the city and was happy doing it. The light in the bar reflected off his bald, shiny head. He was always wearing his dark blue police uniform with those bright, shiny brass buttons, his blue shirt open at the collar. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him casually dressed. After a beer, I engaged the Captain in conversation. Somehow the Colonel’s name came up.
“Never much cared for the man. It’s all just grist for the rumor mill anyway,” he said.
“Grist, Captain?”
“You know, Jimmy, the Colonel is just so full of himself. He thinks he owns the Bureau. I just think he’s so disgustingly arrogant.”
“C’mon, Brandon, I don’t feel that way, and I work for the guy. Besides, everyone at the Bureau is stressed out with the Shadow Stalker killings.”
“I know what you mean. It’s been really tough.”
The Captain looked at me and sighed. Apparently, the Captain was envious of the Colonel’s money. It was no secret. The Colonel had inherited a substantial fortune when his parents died. He generally kept to himself and lived alone. He was my closest confidant at the Bureau, but we never socialized outside of work. He was my boss and I respected that.
Colonel Richards was a large and ruggedly built man, standing over six feet tall. He had penetrating brown eyes, with just a trace of cynicism, despite his mostly jolly disposition. He was always dressed casually, but in elegant attire, and was always smoking his fancy Havana cigars. He liked to laugh at the silliest of things. His wavy jet-black hair was just starting to grey around his big ears. The Colonel had strong hands with a viselike grip. I really didn’t know much about him. He was generally considered a private individual, shying away from social intercourse. I was told that he’d lived in France for many years before coming to work here. He was working at the Bureau when I arrived. He was respected by colleagues, and he kept a watchful eye on those people who served under him. For the most part, I’d say that he was a friendly and considerate person who made a substantial contribution to the Bureau.
Brandon Goloft, on the other hand, really loved people. He relished every social opportunity he could get. When I started working here, he took me under his wing. Through the grapevine, he heard there was a brilliant newcomer starting work at the Bureau. In his own awkward way, he tried to steer me clear of the pitfalls and entanglements of bureaucracy. I did appreciate his help. Over the years, we became good friends. Despite his lack of physical stature, he was a very engaging person with a charming personality.
After several cold beers and hours of conversation, it was time to go home. I felt slightly inebriated.
“Can I give you a ride home? You seem a bit tattered around the edges.”
“No thanks, Captain. Despite what it seems, I think I’ll be able to manage on my own.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I think I’ll be just fine. Captain, thanks for caring. I count you as one of my trusted friends and colleagues. I can’t tell you what that means to me.”
I left the bar shortly before ten o’clock and walked back to the Bureau where my car was parked. The cool, invigorating night air felt chilly as I walked along the streets of the city. I loved the nightlife, especially watching all the people. The bright lights of the theater district were dazzling. I loved the theater and took in a multicolored dose of electrical intoxication. My current state of mind added to the rush. When I finally reached the Bureau, I drove myself home. I spent the night in bed with Caroline and fell fast asleep.
The next morning, Caroline woke up early and headed for the subway. Shortly afterwards, I got dressed and headed downtown. When I entered the vestibule of the Waverly Building, I chatted briefly with Joanna Peavey. I liked chatting with Joanna in the morning when I arrived at work. She told me how difficult it was being single with a child to support. Even though she was physically exhausted, she was in good spirits. She got up and reached high in the cabinet for some office supplies.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Oh, no thanks. Anyway, where would I be if I had to rely on you every time?” she said.
“Well, if you ever need my help, all you have to do is ask,” I said.
I watched her get the paper out of the large metal cabinet and return to her desk. After our brief conversation, I walked into my office and poured myself some coffee with a shot of whiskey before settling down to work.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next several days were consumed in paperwork and routine meetings. I met with my boss and other agents on numerous occasions. The Bureau and the Shadow Stalker were locked in a deadly stalemate. We were all hoping the terrorist would finally make a fatal mistake in judgment. After all, he was just as vulnerable as the rest of us. I felt that The Shadow was watching and observing our every move, and I had the creepy sensation that he was standing somewhere nearby.
Since nothing needed my immediate attention at headquarters, I decided to surprise Caroline. I rented a cabin at Sherbourne by the Sea for the weekend. Fortunately, I was able to make a reservation for a shack overlooking the ocean. The small cabin was furnished with a working fireplace. Caroline was thrilled. When the weekend arrived, we packed some food, supplies, our bikes and drove to the cabin. The accommodations weren’t bad for a place perched high on the rocky cliffs. The small cabin was adequate for two people roughing it for the long weekend.
The December weather was cool and invigorating. The bright sun warmed my face as we walked along the beach, dressed in blue jeans and light jackets. Every so often we paused to kiss and contemplate our future together. We gathered up stones and hurled them into the menacing sea, its blast of thundering riptide crashing against the rocks. I held Caroline’s hand, walking along the water’s edge. During the day, we hiked and biked the narrow trails overlooking the sea. I loved watching the sea. The incessant and restless movement of water, lapping the shore with bright sunshine sparkling like diamonds, let me escape from the drudgery of everyday problems. The expanse of water was awe-inspiring.
On our first night, Caroline prepared a wonderful candlelit dinner. The meal was delicious and reminded me of Lagunda. Over the years I came to appreciate Caroline’s prodigious resourcefulness. I thought her capable of doing almost anything she put her mind to. I gathered plenty of wood and made a roaring fire. With the fire mitigating the windy chill in the cold ocean night air, we cuddled together and quietly watched the reddish-orange disk of the sun sink beneath the horizon. The stars were bright in the sky. I remember watching these stars many years ago fr
om my lonely mountain perch, feeling hopeless and despondent, the times at Maraba that I felt like skydiving, naked and wingless, from towering Mt. Cochinookachango. Looking out from that tiny hut in Maraba, I thought long and hard about the disconnect I felt between my head and heart. Back then, our breakup made me feel powerless to eradicate the pain I was feeling, a pain that haunted me from youth. Tonight, with Caroline by my side, I felt integrated and whole. Our loving souls touched; my half completed her, and her half completed me. Our love was the greatest joy in the universe.
We made love in the cabin and enjoyed watching the stars in the big night sky. I could see the distant lights of the city on the great expanse of sea.
The weekend at Sherbourne by the Sea was perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a more relaxing time away from work. Our days were filled with bright sunshine and great outdoor activity, and the nights were safe and warm. The bond of trust Caroline and I shared was the basis of our mutual love and respect. The time that we spent together was exciting and rejuvenating.
Our wonderful weekend eventually ended. I felt ready to return to work, having spent so much time gazing out at the sea. It was, however, the tender and quiet moments of intimacy with Caroline that I’d remember forever. It was fun just being together. We packed our belongings and said goodbye to Sherbourne by the Sea, driving back to the city and arriving late in the evening at Highgate.
The next day, Caroline left early for work. I got dressed and headed out to the subway station. My coworkers and I were all hoping for a break in the case, but unfortunately, everything was still the same. After checking with the rail authorities, Colonel Richards told me that all of the vendors operating in the city were registered and clean. Our suspect was nowhere to be seen. I was thwarted on every lead I had with this case. I just couldn’t understand how this clever killer was able to avoid every attempt at being captured. The ingenuity of this killer was amazing.
The days flew by. Still no sign of the terrorist. My impatience was now getting the better of me. I felt restless, unable to wait any longer. What if I was wrong about this whole affair? Hundreds of innocent people might be hurt, wounded or killed. I couldn’t bear the weight of that on my conscience. How long would the secret underground rail station operation continue?
My frustration with the case spilled out to my loving relationship with Caroline. I worked longer hours and saw her less. I could see that she was becoming increasingly unhappy. I wasn’t ignoring her on purpose. It was just that I needed to find this terrorist. Usually, Caroline would be waiting for me in the apartment in the early evening when I arrived home. She’d prepare dinner and we’d share the day. Sometimes we’d go out to eat and see a movie. But now I’d often come home after midnight. Caroline would be asleep, my cooked dinner sitting on the stove, cold. I’d wake in the morning and find her gone. We hardly saw each other, and when we did, Caroline lashed out, accusing me of ignoring her. The days passed and the situation between us didn’t improve. Most nights, I came home and found her crying on the bed. I started drinking. I was frustrated, mostly with my inability to find this killer and bring him to justice.
One night, I returned at two in the morning. Caroline was waiting in the bedroom. She looked miserable. “Where the fuck have you been? You stay out all hours of the night. I’m sick of cooking your dinner and being alone in this apartment, waiting for you to come home.”
“If you want to know the truth, there’s a monster terrorizing this city. I’ve got to stop him before he kills again. Can’t you understand that?”
“All I know is that you’re consistently coming home after midnight. I cook your dinner and cry myself to sleep. It’s like I don’t even exist in your life anymore. I can’t deal with it. If you love me, then show it.”
“I do love you. It’s just that I feel compelled to find this killer. Can’t you see that?”
“No, I can’t! I’m moving out. You’re not going to treat me this way anymore.” She grabbed her suitcase and stormed out of my apartment. She went back to her own apartment, called and told me to stay out of her life. I tried calling her back, but she didn’t answer the phone. I felt miserable.
The intense feelings of love, joy and passion we shared were dying. Our strong and vital need to love each other was being superseded by my increasing obsession in catching this terrorist. I tried calling Caroline, but she never answered my phone calls. Caroline was slipping away from me. I never went to see her. I knew she resented the way I was ignoring her. I wanted her to understand my obsession with finding the killer of dozens of innocent people, but she wouldn’t even speak to me. I felt I was heading for an emotional derailment, and I was powerless to stop it. The waiting and frustration for the terrorist to strike had taken its toll. I was seriously thinking about quitting my job at the Bureau and returning to Caroline, when suddenly the break I was waiting for finally came.
Colonel Richards called early the next day. He reported that surveillance cameras at the T4 rail station picked up a street vendor matching the description of our suspect. The suspect was sitting at a flower display table outside the entrance to the rail station. Agents from the Bureau were immediately dispatched to the area.
“Colonel,” I said with a firm voice, “it’s imperative that our suspect isn’t spooked in any way. Alert your people to the delicate nature of this business, and please wait for me to arrive.”
I hung up the phone and headed for the T4 rail station. The Colonel, along with Agent Smythe and others were already there. Soon I arrived and joined up with my colleagues. The Colonel filled me in on what was going on.
“Uh, so it’s a ‘she,’ right, Bob?” the Colonel asked.
“Yes, sir, I am positive,” Agent Smythe replied. “She’s wearing large sunglasses and a colorful, wide-brim hat. She stays mostly under the umbrella awning, away from the flowers on the display table.”
“Okay, Bob, keep me informed.” The Colonel kept looking around the crowded rail station, making sure that everything was going smoothly, and that all of his men were in position. Suddenly the Colonel asked. “Bob, is that Agent Sam McCallister walking towards the suspect?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“What in hell is he doing? I gave him strict instructions not to spook her.”
“I don’t know what he’s doing.”
“You go right over there now and tell him to walk away from her. Do it quickly!” Agent Smythe started walking in the direction of Sam. “Well, Watson, what do you think?” the Colonel asked.
“I really don’t know. Let’s wait it out and see.”
Agent McCallister approached the flower stand and asked to buy some flowers. When Smythe saw this, he stopped in his tracks. The woman, hiding in the shadow of the awning, stood up and stepped forward. She asked him what he’d like. The agent smiled and pointed to a large container of cut flowers standing in a pot of water.
“Oh, these are very colorful. Would you like them gift-wrapped?”
“Yes, I’d like that very much,” the agent replied. When the woman with the large sunglasses and funny-looking hat had finished wrapping the bouquet, she turned around and saw the agent’s exposed badge.
“Miss,” he said, “I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Before Agent McCallister could finish his sentence, the woman threw the flowers and some water in the agent’s face. With catlike reflexes, she bolted and disappeared into the throng of commuters heading for the rail station.
The Colonel, Bob Smythe and I ran to the flustered agent.
“Sam, what in God’s name were you thinking? I gave you strict instructions to hold back and observe!” the Colonel shouted.
Sam’s reddened and greasy complexion glistened in the morning sun. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking, sir.”
“Goddammit, you moron, why didn’t you do as you were told? Have you lost your fucking mind? Do you have any idea how long we’ve been working on this case? It’s been years, and you just blew it for all of us. Get the hell out of
here. You’re fired!” the Colonel yelled.
Soon a team of investigators from the Bureau, police and law enforcement converged on the scene. Personnel from the bomb squad and the lab began their work. I clenched my fist and cursed McCallister. I knew this group of morons couldn’t pull this off. What was I to do? I couldn’t run the entire investigation by myself. I wanted to retreat to the tiny cabin at Sherbourne by the Sea and be with Caroline.
The Shadow Stalker case was doomed. All the work I labored over for months was lost, thanks to Sam “Numbskull” McCallister. Now what? Despite the frustration I was feeling, I had to remain calm. With the Colonel’s permission, I instructed the bomb squad to search through the flower arrangements sitting on the display table. I wanted to know if there were any wired bouquets and potted plants. I also asked them to search for detonators, while I tried to regain my composure.
I was looking around the immediate area with the concentration of a hawk, when suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, I spotted our suspect in a crowd of onlookers. She was still wearing the dark glasses and her hat, and for just a fleeting moment in watching her move, I felt a twinge of inexplicable familiarity. All of a sudden, she raised her arm high in the air. She was holding what appeared to be a detonator in her right hand.
“Hit the ground!” I screamed. People and nearby agents scattered. Within a second or two there was a loud and tremendous explosion, rocking the ground and obliterating the vendor site and all its effects. I stood there in shock, stunned by this most recent development.
CHAPTER NINE
After the explosion and subsequent fireball, there was fear and panic as frightened people ran. There was much yelling as police tried to restore calm. A few of the people had minor cuts and bruises from flying debris. Thankfully there were no fatalities. As I looked at the obliterated vendor site, my heart sank. How could this have happened?
Shadow Stalker Page 5
