Explosive Dreams

by Hadena James

  With that, they were gone. Lucas and I were alone in the control room with seven computer monitors hooked to wireless cameras that Michael had instructed be set out. Someone had hidden them well, I had even looked for them a few times and couldn’t find them.

  “About earlier,” Lucas started.

  “Nope, Doc, we are not going there,” I held up my hand. “If you want to go through that part of my head, you are going to have to buy me dinner first, probably several times.”

  “It was a memory, a happy memory,” Lucas prodded.

  “Funnel cakes accepted since we are at a fair,” I answered.

  “I didn’t realize you could have happy memories,” Lucas justified himself.

  “There are very few and while I respect you and am glad we are friends, my happy memories are mine and they are private.”

  “I can respect that. I was just wondering if death was involved.”

  “No, just the opposite,” I told him.

  “But you can have happy memories?” Lucas asked.

  “I can feel happiness, Lucas, it just takes a monumental event to make me happy.” That was incorrect. The trip I had taken with my parents’ hadn’t been monumental, it had been a small thing, a weekend away. However, despite being born a sociopath, my killing a serial killer as a child had changed me. It was the reason that memory was sacred, it was the last happy memory before ending up in the hands of a predator. Two months is a long time to go without a happy memory to fill the void.

  Like all little girls, I had spent those two months going to school, doing homework and spending time with family. I hadn’t had many friends, even at that age, so I hadn’t attended a spectacular princess themed birthday party or gone to the movies with a group of kids my own age or even gone over to a friend’s house for an afternoon of goofing around.

  Most people assumed I was a lonely kid. That wasn’t true. Loneliness was beyond my scope of emotions, it required you to long to be around others and I never had that longing. I preferred to be alone, it was one of the hallmarks of being a sociopath like me.

  My attention was drawn to the bank of computer screens. Not because something was happening, but because nothing was happening. A huge flaw in our thought process became visible to me. We were sitting around waiting to find someone taking lots of photos or sneaking drawings onto napkins or in their notebook full of craziness. These were tools of the trade only if you didn’t have a eidatic memory. Malachi Blake had one. He was scary accurate at recalling everything. His girlfriends faded from memory only because he choose for them to disappear. They took up unnecessary space in his memory bank. However, the man could draw you an accurate map of my house when I was eight, including all the furniture, knick-knacks and photos on the wall. More frightening, he could draw it to scale, perfect scale, not even a millimeter off on the positioning of anything.

  Most eidatic memories weren’t quite that good, but most didn’t belong to functional psychopaths. A normal person with a eidatic memory would still be able to build a replica of this fair and the positioning might only be a few inches off. Without knowing the state of mind for our bomber, it was hard to pinpoint how good his memory was, but if it was even three-quarters the ability of Malachi’s, he would never need to take a picture.

  “This is pointless,” I said, leaning forward and resting my head on the counter. I made sure that the entire team could hear me. “We’d be better off with planning maps that showed the setup and scale of the fair.”

  “Why?” Xavier asked.

  “If I was blowing up a carnival, I would need to know where to start,” I said. “I’d need pictures.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Gabriel crackled in my ear.

  “I know, but if Malachi was doing it, he’d just need to attend the fair and then go home and spend an hour thinking about it. If he had a bad night, he might have to draw a map while sitting on his couch drinking a beer,” I answered.

  “You think he has a photographic memory now?” Michael sounded out of breath.

  “It is something we should entertain,” Lucas put his hand on my back. “Ace seems to have had an ‘ah-ha’ moment about it.”

  “Getting you maps. Adams should be able to get us aerial photos of it tomorrow,” Gabriel said.

  “For the record,” I didn’t look at Lucas as I turned off my communicator. “This is not a happy memory. This is a ‘feeling like an idiot’ memory, I have a lot more of those than happy memories.”

  “You are many things, Aislinn Cain, but an idiot isn’t one of them,” Lucas said. “We all have IQs over genius level and none of us thought of a eidatic memory for our bomber. Well, maybe not Michael.”

  “If that was an attempt at humor, it failed.”

  “This must be what it’s like for you to be depressed,” Lucas said. “You have an interesting supply of emotions, even if it isn’t that large.”

  “The good news is we have once again outwitted Homeland Security who believes every perpetrator requires a camera.” Xavier walked into the room. “Gabriel is currently arguing with Adams about the photos and maps.”

  “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Xavier said. “I might have head trauma, but I’m not deaf.”

  “Permanent brain damage isn’t head trauma,” Lucas asked. “It’s brain damage.”

  “Semantics,” Xavier waved the argument away. “Even with brain damage, I’m smarter than you.”

  “That’s true,” Lucas said. “Ace, go lock the door.”

  I did as I was told. Lucas stared at Xavier. I stared at Xavier.

  “I haven’t had a chance to ask,” Lucas finally continued. “How are you doing knowing we have a serial killing sniper?”

  “I’m fine, Lucas,” Xavier answered. “No nightmares, no flashbacks, nothing to indicate post-traumatic stress disorder beginning to manifest. If it does, I’ll have Gabriel remove me.”

  “You’ve giggled less,” I told him.

  “I haven’t had you around,” Xavier answered. I considered that. There might be some truth to it. While Xavier found a lot of inappropriate things funny, he controlled it better when I wasn’t around. I brought out the worst in Xavier’s damaged sense of humor.

  “You had him giggling earlier,” Lucas pointed out.

  “Yep,” Xavier leaned back in his chair. “I’m fine with this, but thanks for caring.”

  “I always care,” Lucas answered.

  “Meh,” I shrugged. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “You care,” Xavier said. “In your own twisted way, you care. My dearest Ace, I believe that you would throw yourself into the fires of hell for me. You may not be able to tell me that or even show it in a way other than actually doing it, but I know.”

  “That was very sweet,” Lucas said.

  “It is getting deep in here and I did not bring my waders,” I said. “Can we move to something less mushy?”

  “There’s the Ace we know and love,” Xavier leaned a little further back.

  “Don’t tip over or you’ll end up with a skull fracture, like me,” I told him.

  “See, proof you care,” Xavier put the chair back down on the floor. “How do we figure out the ride he’ll target?”

  “Easy, everything has a lynchpin,” I answered.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Finding the lynchpin had indeed sounded easy enough. Look for a big ride in the center of the carnival that would cause chaos, destruction, death and horror. Six hours into it, it was turning out to be far more complicated than that.

  It seemed that something called a Gravitron was the central ride. This did not go up and down. It did spin, very fast, but it was all enclosed. Inside a capsule were boards that moved up and down based on centrifugal force. Unfortunately, even if the hull was breached, the boards with the people on them were not going to go spinning out and into other rides. We all agreed it would just kind of collapse.

  Looking for the largest ride also didn’t help. T
his was the Ferris wheel. The map had it close to the road, as an enticement to come join the festivities. However, it was one of those with the big, heavy gondolas that only swung so much and the rides next to it were much smaller. The Ferris wheel and gondolas would collapse onto the bumper cars and a carousel, neither of which would cause further damage bringing down the entire carnival. Now, if the Ferris wheel could be knocked over, into the middle of the fair, it would do more damage, but it still wasn’t going to destroy all the other rides, like we had seen at the previous fairs.

  Our next step was to look at the rides he’d targeted in the past. This again was a dead end. The carnival had a midway with the majority of rides, but it also had more game booths and food stalls. His previous targets were blocked by these obstructions of non-destruction.

  The hotel was letting us use a small conference room as our temporary headquarters. Everyone had gone to bed, leaving me alone in the darkening space. Nothing on the maps was jumping out at me. My brilliant plan was floundering. There just didn’t seem to be a lynchpin ride.

  So, there wasn’t one specific spot to detonate a bomb of this size and create the havoc he craved. Maybe there were two or three spots needed. Bringing in three coolers would look strange. Especially the small, soft sided coolers he’d been using. I sighed and rolled up the maps.

  The walk to my room was short, halfway down the hall I entered an elevator, took it to the third floor and exited. My room was two doors down. It was once again sandwiched between the men. What had once seemed a strange arrangement, had become commonplace. It was done not for my protection, but the protection of other patrons. It was rare for serial killers to target the men in my unit. I was much more likely to be a target. Serial killers preying on healthy, heterosexual men were still fairly rare. Serial killers preying on healthy women were a dime a dozen.

  I opened a door on the dresser and shoved the maps inside. My bags were on the second bed and I never felt the urge to unpack them. Nyleena kept telling me I should, it would help me with my feelings of travel weariness. However, travel weariness wasn’t acceptable in my line of work. It was no big deal to fly for hours and on touchdown be ferried to a crime scene or some conference room full of pictures of dead bodies and crime scene reports.

  There was a single lamp on in the room. Shrouded in semi-darkness was a tall, gaunt figure, sitting in one of my chairs.

  “It’s late,” I told the figure.

  The figure didn’t answer me. Instead it steepled its fingers together and made a grunting noise. It stood up and flipped on another light.

  “You should have drawn your gun when you walked into the room,” Malachi said.

  “Very few people wear your cologne and no one wears it like you,” I answered. “Why are you here?”

  “Touching base,” Malachi answered.

  “Checking up on me?” I snorted.

  “How’s your head?”

  “Fine.”

  “How’s Xavier?”

  “Oh, you’re checking in on all of us.”

  “Nope,” Malachi shook his head. “I’m here as a professional courtesy.”

  “What sort of courtesy?”

  “Homeland Security is petitioning to have the SCTU replaced by the VCU.”

  “You’re here to tell me you’re taking over the case.”

  “No, I came here to tell Gabriel that the VCU has declined Adams’ request to join the party.”

  “Gabriel knows about it?”

  “Yep, Adams doesn’t think that Gabriel is telling him everything. I agree, but he isn’t going to get much better cooperation from us. I suggested he withdraw from the investigation and let SCTU and VCU take it over completely, working together.”

  “That would be interesting. How many crazies can you put together before someone goes off the deep end?”

  “The only crazies are you and me,” Malachi sat back down.

  “I would disagree,” I countered. “Xavier, Lucas, and Gabriel are all a little unhinged.”

  Malachi seemed to think about that for a while. He moved out of the chair and began fiddling with the coffee maker. Malachi’s movements were fluid, easy. The man didn’t walk, he stalked, a predatory movement that was graceful and deadly.

  “Ok, you win,” Malachi said as he poured a cup of coffee. “Michael is the sanest of your bunch. And the least useful.”

  “He’s great for entertainment,” I answered, sitting down in the chair Malachi had vacated. It was warm. He’d been in my room for a while, perhaps a long while. For a moment, I wondered what he’d done to pass the time, then I remembered it was Malachi. He was capable of entertaining himself using only his imagination for hours.

  “Well, there is no need to worry. Adams isn’t backing down. He thinks he can handle things. I think he’s delusional, but hey, what do I know?” Malachi cracked a smile and took a drink of the liquid that gushed steam out the top of the cup. Malachi didn’t feel pain the way a normal person did. His tolerance was high, he could lose a limb and keep going.

  “Enough banter, pleasantries and bullshit, why are you really in my room?”

  “Don’t you think this fair is a little large to be a target?” Malachi sat down in the other chair.

  “I had considered that, but then I had a revelation.”

  “Oh really?” Malachi was still smiling.

  “Really,” I told him.

  “And you aren’t going to share?” Malachi asked.

  “With you?” I smiled back. “No, Malachi, I’m not sharing my brilliant idea.”

  “However, you’re convinced it is this fair?”

  “I am. It has to be this fair,” I told him. “Now, go away.”

  “Good to see you Cain,” Malachi stood.

  “Hey, Malachi,” I didn’t get up. “Drop my pilfered room key card on the dresser on the way out.”

  Malachi smiled wider and dropped a key card on the table. I knew it didn’t belong to Lucas and Xavier. I doubted it belonged to Gabriel. My guess was that Michael had been holding a copy. Malachi was slick.

  There was a note under the coffee cup. I sighed. He was such a jackass and he’d left me a note, proving he was a jackass. However, he was who he was and I expected nothing less. I moved the cup and picked up the note.

  Catch your killers. You’re running out of time, things are heating up and it will be all hands on deck soon.

  I hated cryptic messages and this was cryptic. We were running out of time, but why would there be a call for all hands soon? My phone told me it was five in the morning. There was also an alert, a missed text message.

  First confirmed case of Bubonic Plague in California. Source of Plague has been identified as a genetically altered strain. CDC is checking labs, but nothing suspect yet. Confirmed case in San Francesco, transmission appears to be a puncture wound.

  The text was from Malachi and the time was much earlier the day before. That was his reason for being here. He didn’t want in on this case because there was something much worse on the horizon. Bombs would be nothing compared to genetically altered Bubonic Plague. It could be antibiotic resistant or easier to spread. This was a nightmare in the making.

  However, the end of fair season was coming quickly. At least one of our killers would disappear soon. The state fairs were gone for the year. Michael’s geographic profile said he was a northern Missourian. I was entertaining doubts about this. Bombings were for personal causes, personal reasons, but they weren’t actually personal. They were distance killings for effect and attention. I wouldn’t bomb the fair in my home town or some area close to me, someone I know might be at it. No, I’d drive a few hours away and blow up a fair where I wouldn’t know anyone.

  Also, this was the last big fair of the season. He’d missed all the others in the area. This had to be it, his finale. Our sniper could move on to other things, our bomber not so much. There was something that enraged him about fairs. Maybe it was the happiness or some other intangible emotion that caused him to hat
e them, but whatever it was, he had to destroy fairs.

  The pieces clicked together, slowly, rotating as if they were jigsaw pieces moving together. This was his final show of the year. He wouldn’t get another shot at this, he’d have to disappear and wait a year. Maybe I had overthought it. It wasn’t more explosions, it was more explosives. Going out with a bang, so to speak. Without thinking, I tossed the cup of coffee into the sink and grabbed the maps from the drawer. The lynchpin didn’t need to be as big if the explosion was bigger.

  A piece wouldn’t fit any longer. My brain took it out and looked at it. A larger explosion required different ingredients. He was getting all the power he could out of the chemicals he was using. The ingredients would need to change. The delivery system would need to change. At least half a dozen chemicals came to mind, chemicals with worse side effects that would aerosol into the panicked crowd. Chemicals that wouldn’t vaporize with the explosion. They’d burn the lungs of the fleeing fairgoers. They’d blind people. They’d poison people.

  The explosion would be the first disaster. The fallout would be the second. Normal people worried about radiation fallout. Chemical engineers worried about chemical fallouts.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Our bomber is a chemical engineer,” I said over lunch. “This goes way beyond a standard chemistry degree. In order to take down the fair in Quincy, he’s going to need a much larger explosion. He can’t get that with these chemicals.”

  “You’re not a chem engineer,” Michael pointed out.

  “That is true,” I answered.

  “Malachi tell you that?” Michael asked.

  “You are cranky this afternoon. Did someone take away your pain meds?” I snipped back.

  “They did actually,” Michael answered.

  “Malachi didn’t tell her,” Gabriel leaned back, pushing away his plate. “How much bigger?”

  “A lot bigger, like a whole lot bigger. Like astoundingly bigger. And any chemical combination he uses, is going to create serious problems. Think radiation fallout only with hydrochloric acid or some other terrible poison,” I said.