by Dee Davis
“No.” Madison shook her head. “I think that’s oversimplifying. These bombs are about more than giving Sam something to do, even about more than showing her his power. I think they’re stair steps to something more. Something bigger. He wanted to prove his power certainly, but he also wanted her to know who he is. To find him, actually.”
“So we’re back to the idea of a finale, but we still don’t have anything to help us figure out what the hell it’s going to be.” Sam slammed her hand on the table in frustration. “There are APBs out everywhere, but no one’s found a thing. The guy’s just disappeared into the woodwork again.”
“He’s had years to perfect that,” Madison said. “But he also knows that time is running out, and, unless I miss my guess, he still wants an ending. Which means that whatever he’s planning, he’ll have to act soon. And maybe that means he’ll be rushed into making a mistake.”
Sam wasn’t as optimistic, but it seemed like their only hope at this point. Riker seemed to hold all the cards. She looked down again at his driver’s license photo.
It had been taken two years ago, and despite the fact that DMV photos always sucked, there was a hint of something in his eyes. Something cold and focused. Clarity. The man was far from insane, and that meant that, despite his fantasy, he was still playing with a full deck. A dangerous adversary.
A phone rang, and Sam jumped. Nigel crossed the room to answer it, listened for a moment, then hung up, his expression grim. “There’s another bomb. This one unexploded.”
“And they think it’s tied to Riker?” Harrison asked.
“They’re certain.” Nigel nodded. “There’s a Tai on it. This one large enough to see without the microscope.”
Madison frowned. “Seems a bit obvious.”
“Maybe it’s his way of saying ‘check,” ’ Harrison said. “He’s been playing a game from the beginning. So maybe this is the final move.”
“Maybe.” Madison didn’t look convinced, but as far as Sam was concerned the answer wasn’t relevant, stopping the bomber was.
“Where is it?” Sam asked already halfway out the door.
“A day care on West Lynn. The bomb is in one of the classrooms. A worker found it.”
Sam’s heart skidded to a stop. “Are there children present?”
“Yes. Three-and four-year-olds. Apparently the bomb is rigged so that when the door shut it was armed. Open it and—” Nigel shrugged.
It was her worst nightmare—again. First the dead children in Oklahoma City. Then recently, the bomb in Waleska. He obviously knew all about Georgia, the similarity in setup far from coincidence, and she’d bet her life that he’d upped the ante, learning from Frank Ingram’s failure. There wouldn’t be any open windows this time.
No, this was a showdown. His abilities against hers. And this time he was giving her the opportunity to make a move. The only question being whether or not she could pull it off. The stakes were high. Lives in jeopardy. And not just any lives. Children’s.
Riker knew her well. Knew that she’d be willing to do almost anything to save the day. Which meant that there was a twist somehow. Something he had waiting for her. Something she had to decipher before it was too late.
Riker, after all, intended to win the game.
But then again, so did she.
THE QUESTIONS SEEMED to be going on forever, but Cullen was handling things with the polished precision of a professional. Although he had deferred to Gabe several times during the first few questions, he seemed to be holding his own at the moment, and Payton wondered why in the world he’d agreed to come along.
He’d much rather be with Sam and the others trying to draw a bead on Riker, but Cullen had requested his presence with his usual take-no-prisoners attitude, and so Payton had complied. He’d left Sam at work on the remains of the house, trying to pull a phoenix from the ashes, something that would lead them to Riker.
He reached for his cell phone, thinking to call her, then abandoned the idea. He’d see her soon enough, and she’d be safe surrounded by bomb techs. He’d already placed several calls, using stateside contacts to try and run Riker to ground, but he hadn’t managed to turn anything up. It seemed James Riker wasn’t on anyone’s radar.
If he’d been a career criminal, or involved in subversive activities, there’d be a record, but the man hadn’t so much as raised an eyebrow, which meant Payton’s contacts were all but useless, his training and abilities even more so. This was not a jungle in Peru, or the mountains of China, and even though he could hunt a man in urban environments, he couldn’t find a ghost. And the idea of Riker maintaining the upper hand galled him.
Payton had run into men like Riker before—men who didn’t have the balls for face-to-face combat—and he despised them. Always one step removed from the damage they inflicted. Determined at all costs to keep the blood off their hands. Sometimes they used other men to do their dirty work, sometimes other means—like bombs. But no matter their method of operation, the primary objective was to keep distance from the havoc they wreaked.
Chickenshit sons of bitches.
Payton clenched a hand convulsively, thinking of Kevin. Of Mariam. She’d been one of the game players. Trading other people’s lives to line her own pockets. And despite what had been between them, he knew she’d gotten what she deserved. If he’d known the truth, he’d have done it himself.
His heart twisted at the thought, and he forced himself to center his thoughts on Riker. The man was playing a game with Sam, hurting the people she loved along the way. The idea that he had to sit by idly waiting for the man’s next move didn’t sit well at all.
As if in answer to his frustrated musings, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Certain it was Sam, he nodded to Gabe, and then stepped back into the shadows, out of reach of the furiously flashing cameras.
“Reynolds.”
“Mr. Reynolds,” a male voice said. “This is Rob Mathis. I work for Mr. Pulaski. Mr. Ferris asked me to call and let you know that there’s been another bomb threat.”
“Tell me about the bomb.”
“I really don’t have much information. Only that an undetonated bomb has been detected and that it’s tied into the other bombings somehow. Ms. Waters has already gone to the site. I think she’s hoping to disarm the thing. Mr. Ferris said you’d want to be there.”
“Where’s Nigel?” He relaxed slightly, knowing that if the situation were really bad, Nigel would have called himself. Still, despite the fact that he knew she could probably handle it, he didn’t like the idea of her out there working with an unexploded bomb.
“He’s gone with Ms. Waters. I have an address if you want it.”
The man sounded as if he’d much rather hang up the phone, his timidity crossing the telephone lines loud and clear. Payton sighed, forcing a more pleasant tone. No sense in shooting the messenger. “Go ahead.”
Rob gave him the address, and Payton wrote it down on a scrap of paper, then disconnected the call. On a whim, he hit Caller ID and got the private number display. Typical Cullen.
Turning to Gabe, he motioned for his friend, his mind already on the bomb site, his thoughts centering on Sam. “There’s been another bomb attempt. Sam and Nigel are there now. I’m on my way. I’ll be more useful there than here.” His tone left no room for argument.
Gabe nodded in agreement, and Payton gave him the slip of paper. “Here’s where we’ll be. Come as soon as you’ve finished here.”
Payton headed out the back way, the sound of voices vying for the right to ask a question signaling that they most likely wouldn’t be finished anytime soon. Not that Payton cared. All that mattered right now was getting to Sam. He needed to be with her, to watch her back. James Riker meant business and whatever trap he’d set for Sam, it wouldn’t be something she could easily outwit.
The stakes were high, particularly when he considered the fact that he could lose her. Most people didn’t get second chances in life, and Payton sure as hell wasn’t goin
g to let his slip away without a fight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SAM STOOD in the alley looking into the toddler room through a set of barred windows. The locks were rusted shut, and at least for the moment no one seemed to be able to locate the keys. A crew had been called to come and cut the metal, but before they could do so, Sam wanted to be sure that there were no trip wires.
Inside the room a teacher sat on the floor playing with several kids. The look she shot Sam was just this side of hysteria, but she forced a smile, and circled finger and thumb to signal okay. Three other children were playing with blocks in a corner, a second teacher keeping their activities closely monitored and low-key.
From this vantage point, Sam could see the box that held the bomb. The carving was clearly Oriental, and even from this distance she recognized the Tai. Two wires ran out from the bottom of the box, one curving upward to attach to a black box on the door, a static red light indicating it was armed, the other snaking out along the perpendicular wall to disappear behind a bookshelf.
Based on simple observation, she had to believe it continued on to the windows and possibly another trigger attached to the frame, meaning any vibration of the glass could potentially set the thing off.
The teacher by the blocks looked up, their gazes meeting. Sam tilted her head, calling for the woman to come over to the window. Moving with careful steps, the woman stopped about two feet away.
Sam nodded her approval, and mouthed instructions, having to repeat herself several times before she was understood. Finally, though, the teacher nodded, and set off to follow the wire’s path, tracing it past the bookcase and picking it up on the other side. She returned to the window, her face whiter than before, and mimed the shape of a second trigger, pointing first to the one in Sam’s line of sight, and then to an area just to her right of the window.
Even without seeing it, Sam felt her heart sink. She had a sealed room with two triggers, two adults, eight children and a live bomb. Not exactly the best of scenarios. Her gaze shot upward toward the ceiling and the acoustical tiles that covered it.
“Is there access from the ceiling?” She turned to the janitor, an elderly man who seemed genuinely horrified by the unfolding events. He was nearing the tottering stage, long past retirement age, and Sam guessed that had he been working for anything other than a day care, he’d already have been put out to pasture.
At the moment, it was clear from the little steps he kept taking backward that he was more than ready to take retirement on the spot if it got him the hell out of here. Not that she blamed him. Only a crazy person walked into a situation like this willingly.
A crazy person—or Sam.
She swallowed a smile, and refocused her attention on the old man.
“I think so,” he said, his bushy eyebrows scrunching together as he thought about it. “There’s a crawl space between the second floor and this one. All the ductwork runs through there, so they had to allow for workmen.”
“All right,” Sam said, her mind already formulating a plan. “I’ll need you to tell me how to get into the crawl space.”
The old man nodded, and started off toward the front of the building. Sam headed after him, motioning for Nigel, who was diligently trying to calm the understandably frightened administrator, to follow.
“What’s up?” Nigel asked, falling in step beside her.
“Looks like there’s no cutting the window bars. There’s another trigger. Any vibration of the glass could set the thing off. But, there’s a crawlspace in the ceiling. If I can access it, then maybe I can drop down in the room with a disrupter, and take the thing out.”
“Seems kind of risky,” Nigel said, shooting a look at the building. “You don’t know how sensitive the triggers are.”
“I don’t see that we’ve got any other choice. Anything I do in the ceiling is going to be a lot less dangerous than trying to get through the windows or door. It’s worth a shot. If I can get in and ascertain that everything is stable enough, maybe I can even boost the kids out before using the disrupter. That possibility alone makes it worth trying.”
“Then let me do it,” Nigel said, his dark eyes somber.
She shook her head. “Thanks for the offer. But I weigh about half of what you do. Less chance that I’ll set something off with my movements. Besides, Nigel, this is what I do, remember?”
“Payton will never forgive me if something happens to you,” Nigel said, but dipped his head in acceptance anyway.
“Payton and I can argue about it tomorrow, okay?” She sounded more confident than she felt. But that was par for the course in a situation like this, and she’d learned long ago to shut out all emotion. There simply wasn’t room for anything even resembling fear.
“That’s it,” the old man said, coming to a full stop at the bottom of a weathered ladder that resembled a fire escape. “That’s the door.”
The ladder extended just above the level of the first-floor ceiling, the metal door at the top looking nearly as rusted as the grill covering the window. “Is it locked?” Sam asked skeptically, her heart sinking.
“Nope.” The janitor shook his head. “The latch sticks, but it ain’t locked.”
“How about access once I’m inside?”
“There’s four openings. Yours should be the third.” He didn’t sound as positive as she would have liked, but there wasn’t time to try and jar his memory further. She’d just have to send up a prayer that the man was remembering correctly.
Sam nodded, then signaled for a tech, explaining what she needed. The man returned in record time, handing her a portable PAN disrupter. Weighing in at twenty pounds, it wasn’t easy to lug around, but still considerably better than its bigger brothers and sisters. In addition to the disrupter, he’d also brought a portable X-ray machine that would help her see inside the box with the bomb.
She slung the X-ray machine and disrupter over her shoulder, and reached up for the ladder.
“Wait a minute,” Nigel and the tech both called at once, and she swung back around irritated at the interruption.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Nigel held out her bomb suit, his eyebrows raised in rebuke.
Sam shook her head. “Don’t want to deal with the extra weight. Besides, if that thing goes off while I’m in there, there’s not a bomb suit on the planet that can save me. Might as well be naked.” What she didn’t say was that she didn’t want to live through it if she was responsible for killing those kids. No point in even going there. Better to concentrate on the job at hand, and hopefully they’d all come out of it in one piece.
Giving Nigel a thumbs-up and no more chance to argue, she started up the ladder, stopping at the top to work the latch free. The old man hadn’t been exaggerating. The latch might as well have been a lock. But with much determination and a little help from an old screwdriver on the landing, she got it open.
Once inside, she was relieved to see that it was passable by merely leaning over. A taller person wouldn’t have been able to fit, but she traversed the space with only one or two places where she had to drop to her knees and crawl. The children should be able to make it through with no problems—assuming that was an option.
She almost missed the first opening, the cracks that marked the trap door covered with grit and dust. Kneeling beside it, she opened it to reveal an eight-inch space between the door and the acoustical tile below. It was tempting to practice here, but time was of the essence, and she didn’t want to take the chance.
The passageway veered off sharply to the left just past the first access point, and she had a moment’s worry about the old man’s memory. She was now well away from the room she needed. Probably across the hall.
The second opening was more clearly visible, and she didn’t bother to open it, instead moving forward, grateful when the crawl space veered back to the right again. The ceiling was lower here, and she dropped to her knees, holding her equipment securely under her left arm, slowing her approach s
o that there were no sudden shifts causing vibrations below.
The third trap door resembled the first, obscured by debris and dust. She carefully placed both the X-ray machine and disrupter on the floor near the opening, and then taking a deep breath for luck, she pulled the handle upward.
The wood groaned in protest, but opened relatively easily, and she leaned into the open space and grabbed the tile, lifting it upward and laying it carefully on the floor of the crawl space.
A curious face appeared below her, the toddler tipping his head from side to side trying to figure out what to make of her. Sam smiled, hoping she looked more reassuring than she felt. The child’s face was replaced with a teacher’s, and Sam quickly handed down her equipment. Then holding onto the sides of the opening, she lowered herself into the room, the teacher helping her descend.
After instructing the teachers to move the kids to the far side of the room, she walked over to the bomb, visually inspecting it. There wasn’t much to see, the box obscuring a true look at the mechanism inside.
The steady red light on the trigger was definitely connected to the door. Any attempt to open it would clearly detonate the bomb. Her movements however, did not seem to affect the trigger. A good sign as far as evacuation was concerned.
She crossed over to the pair of windows and again watched for any change in the trigger light there. It continued to shine steadily, only blinking slightly when she accidentally brushed against the frame.
So far, so good.
She smiled at the group of kids, giving them a thumbs-up, and walked back over to the bomb, debating the wisdom of using the X-ray before trying to evacuate the kids, but decided it would be better to get them out first.
She signaled to the teacher who’d helped her down, and the woman slowly crossed the room toward her, her face a mixture of determination and sheer terror. Sam was impressed at how well both teachers had held it together, and grateful. Hysterical victims could cause a situation to sour faster than any other variable.
