by Randall Wood
Jack walked past the confused driver of the second truck, and proceeded to the first. He tapped on the back and it was soon opened. He was met by a few officers in SWAT uniforms, and a few technicians in front of computer screens.
“Mr. Randall? James Lear, SWAT team commander.” He stuck out a gloved hand.
“Good to have you here. What do we have?”
“We have cameras on both houses. Looks like one person in the garage at house one, nobody in house two.”
“How do you confirm that?”
“They’re thermal imaging cameras. Unless they’re in the basement, we can see them. Right now, just the guy in the garage is showing. He’s been in the basement once, so they could both be in there. What’s he doing, Johnson?”
“Changing his oil, looks like.”
“We have covered approaches from two directions, here . . . and here.” He pointed to an overhead photo on the wall. “I have enough men for a two-prong assault. Two dog teams, a helicopter, and EMS are all standing by. All we need is the word from you.”
The group of men and one woman in the truck were now looking at Jack. He thought it through from all angles, one more time. He didn’t know if it was Sam or Paul in the garage. Would grabbing Paul now do any good? Was Sam even here at the moment, or was he on his way to the next target? Could Jack afford to wait? Could he afford not to?
“Chief, you have an extra vest? I’m an XL.”
The chief frowned, but what could he say? It wasn’t his show. He looked around the truck. “Jacobs, go to my car and get my vest out of the trunk. Bring the black bag with the toys in it, too. It’s the heavy one.” He returned his gaze to Jack. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Positive. Show me your plan.”
• • •
A half hour later Jack found himself jogging through the snow in a borrowed vest and pair of boots that were a little on the small side. His breath came in rasps as the cold air burned his lungs. He fell into his place behind the rest of the team up against a neighboring house. It had been emptied earlier with a phone call. He watched as the leader carefully peered around the corner, keeping his head at knee level. From this point, it was a twenty-yard sprint to the front door.
The second man in line, or The Stack as they called it, carried a breach. Nothing more than a large, heavy piece of pipe with some handles welded to it. It was used for smashing in doors. At first, Jack had been confused by the overly large handles, but now that he saw them held in the gloved hands of the breach man, Jack understood. Without the gloves, his hands might stick to the cold metal.
Jack had barely caught his breath when the lead man held up five fingers. Jack heard a double click of the microphone in his ear. He counted the seconds down in his head. On four, he rose with the others, and a second later was sprinting through the snow again. As his feet hit the shoveled walk, he flicked off his safety, but kept his finger on the trigger guard. They paused until they heard the word “Go” from the team at the back of the house. The breach man put his weight behind the swing, and the door burst open with a shower of splintered wood.
• • •
Paul had just thrown the second can in the trash, and was on his way to the shelf for another, when he saw the shadow fall across the window of the back door to his garage. Before he could react, the door burst open with a shower of splinters. He immediately spun and ran for the door to the house. Reaching in his pocket, he felt for the remotes. Before his hand could determine which one he needed, an explosion of light and sound rendered him both deaf and blind.
The pavement suddenly rose up to meet his face, as he was tackled to the ground and his arms were yanked violently behind him. He struggled to reach the remote in his pocket as more hands grabbed hold of him and pinned him to the cold concrete. He fought them until he was brought up short by a voice cutting through the ringing in his ears.
“Paul! It’s Jack! Stop it. Stop fighting.”
Paul’s vision returned, and he looked up from his position pinned to the floor. He saw the face of Jack Randall staring back at him. Cuffs were snapped around Paul’s wrists, and he was dragged to his feet. As the team members lifted him and walked him into the house, his eyes never left Jack’s.
“You’re too late,” was all Paul said.
The police quickly searched him and emptied his pockets out onto the counter. Then he was gone. Jack was left looking at a picture of Sam with his wife and daughter on the wall as the police continued to clear the house.
Jack stood in the kitchen, and his gaze traveled around the room until he saw the keys on the counter. There was an extra key fob on the ring. Why was Paul trying to get to it so badly? He looked across the kitchen and out into the garage: only one vehicle. His eyes widened as he realized what it was.
“Everybody out of the house! Now! Clear this house! Go! Go!”
• • •
An hour later Jack stood outside the police UPS truck. He watched as the officers and their dogs left the house. The lead man approached the group.
“It’s all clear now, sir. We found a total of five devices, incendiary and explosive, all rigged to destroy the files and computers. It’s safe to go in.”
“Thanks, Tim. I need the barn swept next.” The sergeant turned to Jack. “It’s all yours.”
Jack turned and waved to Sydney and the others waiting in the car, before moving to the front door and entering. Nothing had been discovered on the first floor, so Jack found the stairs and descended to the basement. The carpet was damp and dirty from the police traffic, and things were in disarray from the bomb squad searching the rooms.
“In here, sir.”
Jack followed the voice to the end of the short hallway and entered what looked like a home office. Inside, he found a young technician from the bomb squad standing over the desk. He was holding something in his hand under the desk lamp.
“What do you have there?” Jack asked.
“It’s the triggering device. Looks like he salvaged the parts at a junkyard. He wired the receiver from a car alarm. I think it’s a GM, but I can’t be sure till I run the number. Anyway, he had it rigged to sealed trays of homemade napalm in the bottom of all the file cabinets. Push and hold for a few seconds and all this is up in flames. It was also linked to the computers. Napalm again in the desktop. More than enough. Some actual Comp-4 in the laptops. I guess he needed more bang for his buck in the small space. All very amateur, but still very well done, and it certainly would have accomplished what it was designed to do. He had no intention of anyone ever seeing this. There was a simple trip switch on the doorframe to the basement, but it wasn’t engaged. I figure it was for when he left the house.”
“Homemade napalm?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, it’s simple. You just mix equal parts gasoline and dish soap and stir till you get a thick, sticky mess. Put it in a glass jar with a lit fuse, and it’ll stick and burn to whatever you throw it at. There are all kinds of cool stuff you can make at home. I once—”
“I’m sure there is.” Jack cut him off with a look at Eric. “Can we have the room, please?”
“Oh . . . yeah. Sorry about that.” The man dropped the device in an evidence bag and quickly left.
Jack looked around the room, taking it all in. “All right, people. Pick a cabinet, and start boxing it all up. Pull all the photos off the wall, after you get a few pictures yourself. Eric, the computers are yours. Be careful; I’m sure that if Paul went to all this trouble, he has a few surprises on them, as well. Follow Sydney’s lead; this is her field.”
Sydney jumped in. “Everybody change their gloves regularly, and don’t forget to bag those, too. I’ll be handling the camera, so before you touch or move anything, make sure I picture it first. Otherwise, just do what I said on the plane. Okay?” Sydney got nods all around. She noticed Larry was wearing gloves and booties, yet he still had his tie on. He looked out of place.
“Larry, ditch the tie before you start.”
He looked down, as if just remembering it was there.
“Okay.”
Jack stepped back to let them work. Part of him wanted to go to the police station and start questioning Paul, but he knew it was better to let him get processed in and then left to stew for a while. He looked around the room again as the flash from Sydney’s camera began firing and whining as it recharged. He walked over to the fish bowl. A single goldfish swam in circles. Next to the bowl were a collection of prescription bottles. He looked in Sydney’s direction, but she was busy getting everyone started, so he just leaned down and read the labels. They were all for Sam.
“Hey, Syd—what are these medications for?”
She walked over and took a shot before picking them up and reading the labels.
“This is a red cell booster. This is for nausea. This one is a serious pain med.”
“So, what does that mean?” Jack asked.
“I’d say your friend has cancer.”
• • •
“I can’t discuss his condition with you. I’m sorry.”
“Dr. Maher, I understand your unwillingness to do this, but I need to know his condition if I have any hope of helping him. His brother is in custody and won’t talk. My guess is Sam hasn’t made it in here lately. He and I served together in the army; he’s a friend. He’s been sending me letters through this whole thing. Now, why would he do that if he didn’t want my help? If I can get to him fast, he can return to his treatments. But to do that he needs to stop what he’s doing. I need to know what his mindset is. What drove him to do this?”
“I’d say that is pretty obvious,” Dr. Maher said.
Jack was confused and let it show. “I don’t follow you.”
Dr. Maher looked past Jack at the other agents. He nodded to Jack. “Just you, in my office. I need them to wait outside. I have other patients to think about.”
Jack turned to the others. “Do it.” He then turned and followed the doctor down the hall.
After a couple of turns, they arrived at a small and cluttered room. Jack had expected a large, ornate office based on the rest of the building, but Dr. Maher was obviously not a man driven by ego. Other than a couple of diplomas on the walls, the place had zero decorating. One wall was nothing but bookshelves, straining under the weight of multiple textbooks and journal copies. The doc quickly cleared a chair of paperwork for Jack, before settling into his own. He held up a finger before pressing the intercom button and speaking.
“Tyler, can I get Mr. Sheppard’s file in here please?”
“One minute.”
Dr. Maher settled back in his chair and gave Jack a quizzical look. “You really have no idea, do you?”
“We’ve just traced all this to Sam this morning. I was caught up with the raid on his house since then. I’m afraid he and I lost touch since we both left the service. Last I heard, he was married with a young daughter, doing well with his business. I have his file, but haven’t read the whole thing, it’s rather thick. I do know his family was killed in an automobile accident recently, but I can’t see Sam doing this over that. He’s too disciplined.”
Dr. Maher just nodded and waited. Soon, there was a knock on the door, and a tall blond girl came in with the file. It was rather thick, also. “Thank you, Tyler.”
The doctor opened the file and flipped several pages, obviously buying some time to form his words. Jack gave him all he needed.
“Sam was referred to me by Dr. Pone, one of our county coroners. It wasn’t just an automobile accident; it was a high-speed chase. Sam’s wife and daughter were coming home from the grocery store when they were broadsided by an SUV being driven by a man being chased by the cops. They were both killed instantly. The driver of the SUV fled the scene on foot, and was shot and killed about an hour later.”
“Why the referral from the coroner?” Jack asked.
“I’m getting to that. The driver of the SUV was a man with a long criminal record. He had been in and out of jail numerous times. He had links to drugs and automobile chop shops. The SUV was stolen, by the way. He had also been involved in a police chase before. For all these offenses, he’d served less than a year total in jail.” Dr. Maher removed a newspaper article from the file and passed it to Jack. He skimmed it. It showed a mug shot photo of the driver, another of Sam and his family. It was the Christmas card photo that Jack himself had.
Dr. Maher went on. “The man had an accomplice. He bailed out and ran, too, but he was not dumb enough to shoot at the police. They charged him with two counts of murder and a few other things. Strange thing happened. He got shanked while in the lockup. Nobody saw a thing.”
“I still don’t see where the coroner comes in?” Jack ventured.
“Since it was a murder charge, the bodies had to be autopsied. When Dr. Pone performed his on Katie, he found Familial Polyposis. Are you familiar with it?”
“No.”
“It’s a hereditary condition which results in the intestines being covered in polyps at birth. It leads to cancer in nearly all untreated people by the age of forty. As a result, Sam had to be tested.” He pulled a photo from the file and slid it over to Jack. It was a PET scan. It took Jack a minute to get it oriented. “See the red areas? That’s cancer in three places. We gave him a 30% chance at that point. Sam’s one of the strongest patients I’ve ever had. We were all amazed he didn’t break when we told him. It was touch and go for a while. He consented to surgery. I thought we got most of it, and of course there was follow-up chemotherapy and radiation. Sam went through the motions at first, but then one day it was like flipping a switch. He said he wanted to fight. He also wanted to see some things. He had money, so he traveled between treatments. He’d come back with stories about a beach here and a mountain range there. I imagine that’s about the time your shootings began to happen. He hasn’t been back in a while. He’s overdue for his next treatment, and his last blood work wasn’t great. He needs to come in if he’s going to beat this.”
Jack swallowed this information, and it was a ball of fire in his gut. Sam was once a close friend. They had shared a great deal. But when this happened, Jack had been too busy chasing mobsters to know that his friend needed help. Yet, Sam had chosen him to be the letter’s recipient. Jack knew now it was to prevent copycats. Something a reporter couldn’t do. Maybe there was another reason.
“What are his chances now?”
“I don’t quote odds to patients, but to you, 50-50 if he comes in. Maybe less now, if it’s taken hold again and we don’t know it. It will progress fast if it comes back.”
“If I can catch up to him, I think he’ll listen to me. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“Not a clue.”
“All right. Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”
“Then do me a favor?” the doctor said. He had a command voice of his own.
“What’s that?”
Jack watched as Dr. Maher stood up and walked around the desk. He stopped in front of Jack and rolled up his right sleeve. Jack saw an army medical branch tattoo on the doctor’s forearm.
“If you catch him, take him to the hospital first and call me. The jail can wait.”
Jack looked him in the eye.
“Done.”
The state of Oklahoma holds 22,821 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 15,290 are repeat offenders.
—THIRTY-SIX—
After slipping out of Memphis, Sam had made it as far as Columbus, Indiana, before the need for sleep had finally won. Choosing a small motel outside of town, he paid cash for the room. On entering it, he wasn’t surprised; he had gotten what he had paid for. It did however fit his current look. Sam was in need of a shave and a shower, but all he’d seen was the bed.
His need for sleep had overridden his internal alarm clock, and he had somehow slept till 10 a.m. The activity of the maids outside his door had awakened him, and after determining there was no threat, he rose and stretched before walking to the shower. After a wait f
or hot water, he treated himself to a long soak before exiting and shaving. Reassembling his shaving kit, he tossed it on the bed next to the suitcase before finding the remote for the TV. A quick search through the channels rewarded him with CNN. He thumbed the volume up, while he returned to the sink to brush his teeth.
Unfortunately, his stomach was not cooperating, and the taste of toothpaste set off his gag reflex. As he retched and spit and fought the urge to vomit, his gut sent a sudden wave of pain that brought him to the floor. He curled into the fetal position and gritted his teeth as he waited for it to pass. After a few agonizing minutes, it finally did, and Sam, covered in sweat, lay panting on the floor.
Hearing his name on television brought his mind back to the room. He turned and crawled until he could see the reporter on the screen outside his brother-in-law’s house. Several police were in the background going in and out, most carrying a box of something. He watched and listened in horror as the reporter described the raid and capture of Paul.
The story cut away to some footage of Jack walking through a bevy of reporters as he entered the local police headquarters. He waved them away and made no statements. The reporter reappeared on the screen, and summarized everything she had just said, before sending it back to the newsroom for the next story.
Sam grabbed the remote and changed the channels till he found FOX. After a small wait, he was treated to the same story with a healthy dose of speculation. Paul was in custody. The FBI believed him to be an accessory to the sniper killings over the last few weeks. A warrant had been issued for Sam, and his picture appeared on the screen. It was a cutout of last year’s Christmas card, and the whole thing was shown next. The sight of his wife and daughter on the television brought back a wave of memories, and Sam watched dreadfully as the story of their death was once again news, this time on a national level.
As the story turned to sports, Sam snapped out of the fog he was in. His identity was now public, and he was stuck with whatever he had with him to get by. He did some quick thinking before getting to his feet. The young man who had checked him in last night had been more interested in his movie than what Sam had looked like. Sam was sure he was home in bed by now. He had some time. Rummaging around in the bag, he located the box. The instructions were on the paper inside, and he read them before looking at the clock. He had just enough time before check-out if he hurried.
