The Windy City

by Roland Smith

  “Sure,” Mom said.

  “All right,” Boone said. “I guess I’ll see y’all in California.”

  I knew we would.

  I also knew he wouldn’t be flying there.

  Boone ended the call and Angela and I went back to our rooms. We would have to wait around until we found out when the flight grounding would be lifted.

  “Q, I’ve got about a million questions,” she said. “But the most important one is, are you all right?”

  “I think so. I mean I don’t feel sick or anything anymore.”

  “Q, how … what … did you really do what Boone does? Did I really see what I thought I saw?”

  “Angela, I wish I knew how to answer that. I looked up and saw a laser dot on your forehead. You were milliseconds from getting shot. And the next thing I knew, I’d pushed you out of the way. Then Croc threw the guy off the roof. After that, I barfed.”

  “Did you feel anything?”

  “Not until afterward. I had a headache and got sick to my stomach. Like I’d ridden Space Mountain at Disneyland twenty times after eating a double order of chili cheese fries. Which reminds me. Are you hungry?”

  I wasn’t changing the subject. I was hungry.

  “Don’t change the subject. Do you think Boone had anything to do with it?”

  “Well, obviously he did because I think I did the exact thing he and Croc do.”

  “I mean, do you think he gives off a field of energy or something? And you figured out how to tap into it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you do it again?”

  “No way! Okay, at first, I thought—cool illusion or trick or whatever. But then it happened. And it wasn’t fun. It was kind of scary, actually. And I’ve been thinking about it. Suppose it’s like running really fast somewhere. What if I hadn’t stopped and pushed you out of the way? What if I’d run right off the roof?”

  “But you didn’t. So you must have some control over it.”

  “I’m not taking any chances. Not unless I’m someplace on the ground, with wide-open spaces where I won’t run into a tree or something.”

  “But what happens if you don’t have control over it? And like you say, something dangerous happens? Don’t you think we should talk to Boone?”

  “Yes. Probably. But there’s a big giant emergency going on and he’s kind of busy. So I’m just going to stay calm and try to avoid blinking my eyes and ending up in front of a train or something. Then I’ll talk to Boone when we get to California.”

  Angela didn’t know what to say; she did her chewing on her lip thing, which meant she probably had a lot to say, but wasn’t going to say it. I just let it pass. I was still confused and a little afraid.

  I lay down on the bed and shuffled and cut my deck of cards. Just to be sure, I blinked my eyes. Several times.

  But I stayed there on the bed. Not moving. And I was glad.

  Resolve

  There was one number Boone didn’t store in his phone. He had it memorized. Someone who had been around as long as Boone had, who’d done the things he did, had enemies. If he ever lost his phone, he didn’t need someone calling up J.R. on a number only a handful of people in the world had access to. Boone knew J.R. would be up to his ears in this crisis so he’d waited as long as he could before he called.

  When he dialed, J. R. Culpepper answered on the first ring. Almost like he was waiting for Boone’s call. And he didn’t sound happy.

  “I’m a little busy, Boone.”

  “I know. I just need a couple things.”

  “You can’t have a satellite. They’re all tasked right now.”

  “I know. Do you have everyone looking for Buddy T.?”

  “Everyone I can spare. There’s a lot going on, in case you haven’t heard. I’ve looked through the file. We didn’t find anything more than your guy did. Buddy T. is a ghost. I’ll find a way to get your team to California as fast as possible and you find this guy. But it’s going to be a couple of days. Only fighter jets are going up right now.”

  “We’ll find him. Buddy can run all he wants. He’s never had to worry about being hunted before. He’s smart. But he’s gone soft. He can’t fly either. If I had to guess, I’d bet he took a train. Lot less scrutiny on a train. If you can, you might have people check the westbound passenger trains. Slow ’em up a little. Trains are delayed all the time anyway.”

  “I can do that. But apparently he hasn’t gone soft enough. If it hadn’t been for you he would have killed a lot more people.”

  “Did they ever find out what the chemical was?” Boone asked.

  “Not yet. Something the squints at Quantico and Langley haven’t seen before. But it’s bad … Boone. What you did in Chicago? With the wind there? Who knows how many you saved?”

  “I had help.”

  “Well, they’re going to get a medal when this is over.”

  “No. No, they’re not. They’re going to school.”

  “Are you kidding me? Angela and Q were there on this?”

  “Yep. Q figured it out. They’re smart kids. But once this is over, I want them to go back to normal. Although you might want to consider Angela for director of the Secret Service before your term is up. She’s going to be heard from someday. And Q, too. That kid is way smart. He just doesn’t want anyone to know it.”

  “Wow. If Malak knew she’d be incredibly proud. Then she’d shoot you in the knee for putting Angela in danger.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “Look, Boone, national emergency here. I’ve got to address the nation in thirty minutes. What do you need?”

  “I’ll need a C-5 Galaxy cargo plane at Great Lakes Naval Station to haul the coach and our other vehicles to San Francisco. And when you cancel the no-fly order, Heather Hughes has a corporate jet here in Chicago, at Midway airport. Let them be one of the first ones out of here.”

  “Roger on the C-5. But what’s the deal on the corporate jet?”

  “I just need to get Q and Angela to California. We’re close, J.R. I always thought Angela was the key to this. That she unknowingly had something, some memento with a secret code or something from Malak when she was ‘dead,’ that the cell wanted. But now I’m not so sure that’s the case anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of Q. Something isn’t adding up. Not since the cell took him prisoner in San Antonio. And I don’t want either of them out of my sight, if I can help it. And he did something today that I’ve only seen one other person do.”

  “What was it?”

  “Not ready to talk about that yet.”

  “I could order you to tell me.”

  “You could. But I don’t work for you. NOC. No Official Cover. Remember?”

  “All right, Boone. You play it your way. But try not to get a couple of celebrities’ kids killed in the middle of this. After all the truly horrible things that have happened today … I don’t want this to sound selfish. But I’ve got enough explaining to do. Please tell me you’re going to bring these guys down. This …”

  J. R. Culpepper stopped speaking, but Boone could hear the quivering emotion in his voice. Shortly he would go on camera. He would reassure the American people. He would be strong and resolute. But the enormity of the tragedy was tearing at his heart. J.R. was one of the few politicians Boone knew who always thought of people first and politics second.

  “Copy that. Goodbye, J.R.”

  But President J. R. Culpepper had already hung up.

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15

  7:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m. CST

  Out of Options

  We couldn’t get a flight out for four days. Everything stayed grounded. We spent our time in the hotel, mostly with Mom and Roger. We played board games, Roger played his guitar a lot, and they both sang. Art kept pacing back and forth in front of the windows, cracking his knuckles.

  Angela and I had our stuff packed so we could be ready to go at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t all that hard since we didn’t
carry much with us. Most of our clothes and other gear stayed on the coach. But we each had a suitcase and our backpacks ready.

  It’s funny what you think of in the middle of a crisis. I remembered running away from all of the terrified hordes of people in the Hancock building. But I also remembered something else you frequently see in an emergency. It’s people behaving at their best. We’d seen taxi drivers hollering at running people to get in and be taken to the evacuation points for no charge. Drivers in all types of vehicles stopped to beckon those on foot to hitch rides. I remembered a guy driving an empty panel truck pulled over and jumped out of the cab. He lifted the back door and encouraged people to hop aboard until he had as many passengers as he could safely carry. Then he drove off.

  We passed small stores where the employees handed out bottles of water and energy drinks to those rushing by—and collecting no payment while they did it. People who had fallen, tripped, or were injured in the rush were helped to their feet or given first aid by total strangers.

  As we ran that day, as scared as I was, it made me think. What we saw showed why the cell was never going to win. Despite their fanaticism, terrorists always fail. No matter how hard you try to knock us down, we keep getting up. We might be scared or frightened temporarily. But ultimately we keep coming back. We will not stop.

  And that day had been one I’d soon like to forget. But as I’ve learned, in the spy game, a lot of your time is spent waiting. Waiting is bad for me. It gives me time to think. Like about what happened to me on the roof. The fact that all those people died. How it could have been worse if we hadn’t been there. So my mind races, which leads to the fidgeting.

  I knew I was making Angela antsy and was about to apologize for driving her nuts when her cell phone chirped.

  The change in her face as she read the text was remarkable. She smiled and visibly relaxed. She was sitting on the couch and she put her elbows on her knees. It was almost refreshing. Angela had been so wound up since Kitty Hawk I was actually worried about her health. And also, that she might get horked off and kick me in the face if I made a dumb joke or practiced with my cards too much.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “It’s from Ziv.”

  I waited for her to tell me what the text said. And waited. And waited some more.

  “Uh. Angela?”

  Still nothing.

  “Angela?”

  “Oh. What?”

  “You got a text?”

  “Yes! I did!”

  “You sound excited. Want to tell me who it was from?”

  “What? Oh, it’s from Ziv.”

  “Yes. So you said.”

  “My mom. She’s okay. She’s with him. At least I think so. Ziv’s texts are very … cryptic.”

  “What does it say?”

  “‘The Leopard sleeps.’”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. But that’s good, right?”

  “I think so.”

  Truth was, I didn’t know. Boone said Ziv took Malak from the park. But it’s possible they could have run into trouble during their escape. Maybe the cell had other operatives watching and they attacked them as they were leaving. Maybe Agent Callaghan and the others didn’t know about it. She could be wounded. Having met Ziv, though, I thought he could handle any kind of trouble that came along. So they could also be somewhere eating chili cheese fries. Angela was right. Ziv was cryptic. I think he did it on purpose. Also, thinking about chili cheese fries reminded me again that I was still hungry. Nerves and national emergencies make me hungry. I can’t help it.

  “I think it means she’s okay. Boone would have told us otherwise. I’m guessing your mom made Ziv text to reassure you. Knowing your mom, she probably made him do it at gunpoint.”

  Angela chuckled at that. It was good to hear her laughing again.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  We went to the suite. Mom cupped my face with her hands when we walked in. She’d been doing it a lot ever since what happened four days ago.

  “Are you two okay?” she asked.

  “We’re fine, Mom. It’ll be okay.”

  “Art just went down to the restaurant to see if he could scrounge up some food. The hotel is obviously running on a skeleton staff. You guys must be starved.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. And it really was. I felt a little ashamed. Thousands of my fellow citizens were killed or injured and I was worrying about getting something to eat.

  “Also there’s news. We just got word. Flights in cities except New York and L.A. are allowed to take off. The jet will be fueled up and ready to go in a couple hours.” Roger stood behind Mom, looking at the floor, the ceiling, everywhere but at me and Angela.

  I was getting itchy.

  “Mom, what’s wrong? You haven’t decided to cancel the tour or something, have you?” I asked.

  “No, it’s not that….” Mom was usually pretty straightforward.

  “Angela, Q,” Roger said. “Blaze and I have been talking about it. Like we said, we’re going to go on with the tour, terrorists or no terrorists. But we’re not going to take unnecessary risks. So we’ve decided that when we get back to California, we’re enrolling you in boarding school. You’ll be safe.”

  “What?” Angela said. “Why? You can’t do this!”

  “It’s already done, sweetie,” my mom said. “There are just some things we’re not willing to leave to chance. We have an obligation to finish our tour and do our jobs. But that doesn’t mean we have to expose you to danger.”

  “Mom!” I said. “I don’t want to go to boarding school! We’ve done our homework, we’ve kept our bargain! This isn’t fair!”

  “Q I know you’re upset, but this attack changes—”

  “Yeah. I’m upset. We did everything you asked. And now you’re just going to change the rules?”

  “Q that’s not fair,” Roger said. “Your mother has—”

  “Don’t tell me what my mother has done!” I yelled at Roger. “You’re not my dad. Stop trying to pretend like you are!” I turned around and stalked out of the suite and went back to my room.

  My mom hollered after me, “Q! Come back here! And don’t you speak to Roger like that—”

  But her words were cut off by the sound of the slamming door. I actually felt like I would poof away if could. I closed my eyes and concentrated. When I opened them I was still alone in my room.

  Nothing.

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15

  12 noon to 5:30 p.m. PST

  The Show Must Go On

  We took off from Midway airport and circled out over Lake Michigan. If you’ve ever seen it up close, it looks like an ocean, not a lake. Our flight plan took us north and the city skyline was on the left side of the aircraft.

  I was sitting in the very back seat on the left. Before we boarded, Mom caught up with me and chewed me out pretty good for smarting off to Roger. She made me apologize. Which I did. But I still wasn’t happy about the whole boarding-school thing. I know there were bigger issues at stake. I know they were doing what they thought was best. But I felt that leaving the tour would take us away from helping Boone take down the cell. And the thought of being so close and not able to finish it just pushed me over the edge.

  Angela left me alone at first, but eventually she came and sat down across from me. She was chewing on her lip. Might as well get it over with.

  “Say it,” I said.

  “What?”

  I sighed.

  “We’ve been over this. You’re doing the lip thing again.”

  “I just want to know if you’re okay. You’ve been … I know you’ve been worried about me. Because I’ve been so freaked about finding out about my mom being alive and her being in danger and stuff. You’re a good guy, Q. But you’ve got your own issues going on. If you want to talk about what happened …”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t
. I haven’t—what’s the word? Processed it yet. But there is one thing that is bothering me. Why didn’t Boone take the guy out?”

  “What do mean? Maybe he didn’t see what was happening.”

  “Come on, Angela. The guy is like some kind of freaky ninja. On the island at Kitty Hawk he was all over the place. Do you really think he couldn’t have taken down a single shooter? Right before we got on the elevator, I asked him if he couldn’t just poof up to the roof. He said ‘not yet’ or ‘not right now’ or something. And he was all sweaty and icky-looking.”

  “Maybe he found the weapon and was trying to disarm it first.”

  Leave it to Angela to bring up a point I hadn’t considered. I suppose he could have been busy with the chemical device. But still …

  “Q look, I know you’ve got to be weirded out by this. And it would help to be able to talk with Boone about it. And as many questions as I have for him, I would imagine you have even more. Have you considered that maybe you just got to me first? Maybe Boone was just getting ready to poof and save me or toss the gunman off the roof and he saw you do it first? And now he’s just as confused as you are. Or, if he was sweaty and icky, like you said, maybe his ability has some kind of limit.”

  I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t thought of that either. For whatever reason, having experienced Boone’s little magic trick for myself was freaking me out. And after I poofed, I got sick. Maybe it takes something out of you when you do it and Boone has just learned to control it somehow. So many questions.

  I just stared out the window. We were gaining altitude but down below us I could see a big cargo plane taking off from an airstrip. It was huge. Big enough to carry a bus. Or two. It looked like a military aircraft. I guess air traffic was getting back to normal after the attack.

  Angela knew when I didn’t want to talk anymore. So she remained quiet and opened her laptop and left me alone to think.