Black Friday (25 page)

M
aggie dropped Patrick off at the hotel after they had lunch at The Rose and Crown. She had a couple of errands to run before their evening flight to Washington, D.C.

She had typed the addresses into the rental car’s navigation system and let it guide her while her mind raced off in other directions. A.D. Kunze was satisfied to leave some unanswered questions in exchange for the official title he was only supposed to hold as interim. He’d done it before after Oklahoma City. His conscience had stumbled when he confided as much to her, handing off his own debriefing file. So what happened? Maggie wondered if maybe it simply got easier each time you sold a chunk of your soul.

Was he setting up CAP to take the fall from the very beginning? Would Chad Hendricks and Tyler Bennett get blamed for blowing up Mall of America and killing what now amounted to forty-three innocent people? And although there were no cutaways, no scapegoats to blame for Phoenix, Kunze hadn’t stopped local law enforcement from conducting a search for two young white males, possibly college students, who were suspected in stealing the now incinerated Chevy TrailBlazer.

And what could Maggie do? She was officially off the case.

Late last night when sleep wouldn’t come, she had pored over more documents, more files and news articles, Congressional amendments and proposals. She had hoped A.D. Kunze would be willing to hear her out. She hadn’t realized he had already made up his own mind.

After leaving the FBI building, she’d made several phone calls going only on hunches, calling in a favor and counting on a promise. Not much, certainly not enough to bet an entire career on.

She found herself back downtown, back on Washington Avenue, less than four blocks away from the FBI building.

Charlie Wurth was waiting for her in the lobby.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked her as they went through the security checkpoint.

“Absolutely. But I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind.”

“
Au contraire, cheri.
I figure I owe you one. Besides, I got my job by being a rabble-rouser. But do you suppose our friend may have changed his mind?”

“He said he’d meet us here.” Even as she said it Maggie wasn’t sure it was a promise that would be kept.

They took the elevator and rode in silence. Now with their coats over their arms, Maggie noticed that Wurth had changed from this morning into a steel-blue suit with a lemon-yellow shirt and orange necktie. It made her navy blue suit look bland and official. Shoulder to shoulder, they marched down the hallway to the set of office suites at the end.

“Hello. Do you have an appointment today?” a young woman asked as they walked around the huge reception desk, ignoring her and going directly to the open doorway behind the desk.

“Excuse me,” she said, trying to stop them.

“It’s okay,” Senator Foster said from inside the office.

“Come on in, Deputy Director Wurth, Agent O’Dell.” He stood up behind his marble-topped desk and waved them in. “So glad to see you’re back safe and sound.”

“Actually we have some questions to ask you.” Wurth was cool and calm. “About the bill you’re cosponsoring among other things.”

During Maggie’s frenetic search through Internet documents she discovered that Senator Foster was one of the cosponsors of a Homeland Security bill with a hefty price tag, due to Congress before the holidays. The same bill Kunze had mentioned that would elevate security requirements in airports, shopping complexes and sports stadiums. The one Nick had said would send federal funds to Phoenix.

“Certainly,” Senator Foster said. His fingers smoothed his silver hair while Maggie looked for any sign of him being nervous or anxious. He had the role of distinguished down pat.

Wurth nodded to Maggie, his own sign for her to take the reins.

“We know you helped him get away.”

“Excuse me?” There was maybe a flash of surprise. Nothing more.

“The Project Manager. You had a government-issued car pick him up. Tough to trace. A lot of security codes in place but we were able to do it.”

He was shaking his head, a grin—or maybe a grimace—on his face.

“That’s ridiculous. I had my government-issued jet fly you to Phoenix, but I don’t know anything about a car. Do your superior officers know you two are here making these wild accusations?”

“We know about your secret organization.” Wurth took his turn. “We’re getting a list of all the businessmen and politicians.”

“This is absurd. I’ll have you both shoving paperwork next week. I’m calling security.”

Senator Foster reached for his phone but stopped. His eyes widened as he stared between their shoulders. Maggie glanced back to see Henry Lee in the doorway.

He had shown up, after all. Kept his promise.

“It’s over, Allan,” he said. “It’s time to come clean.”

Monday evening
Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport

P
atrick started to yawn, caught himself just as Maggie noticed.

“Maybe we should have waited for a morning flight. We haven’t had much sleep. We’re both exhausted,” she told him.

“Hey, neither of us is piloting the plane. We’ll be fine.”

They’d been sitting at their gate for maybe twenty minutes. It felt like hours.

“And it’s okay if you want to sleep the whole flight.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m a bit of a nervous flyer.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

“We’re in first class. Maybe a glass of wine?”

He wanted to kick himself even before she shook her head.
Stupid.
He knew she didn’t drink, couldn’t drink.
Whatever.
He had to admit he felt a bit fried. Still running on adrenaline. Looked like Maggie was, too.

“Do you ever get used to it?” he asked her. “I keep thinking about that guy being out there somewhere.”

“Sometimes they get away.” She shrugged but he saw her absentmindedly touch her jacket where her gun and shoulder holster usually sat just underneath the fabric. She had to check the gun for the flight. Looked like she missed it.

“Criminals don’t change just because they got away,” she told him. “Typically it emboldens them, makes them a little cocky, sometimes reckless. Maybe he’ll get caught for speeding or a broken taillight. Timothy McVeigh was stopped outside of Perry, Oklahoma, by a state trooper, only hours after the bombing. All because his car was missing a tag.”

Patrick listened but he wasn’t sure he believed the Project Manager would ever put himself into a situation like that. He couldn’t get the man’s eyes out of his mind, that dark blue that seemed to pierce you and pin you down. He’d tried to sleep but couldn’t do it without the guy showing up, grinning at him as he slipped the handcuffs onto Patrick’s wrist. Sometimes the bomb actually went off and blasted Patrick awake.

He figured it was post-traumatic stress. It’d wear off in a couple of days, maybe a week.

That’s when he saw him.

Patrick recognized the walk, shoulders back, chest out, that same military stature. His head swiveled from side to side. Patrick’s heart started thumping.
Jesus! It wasn’t possible. Was it?
His hair was still blond, that same bristle cut. He even wore the same golf shirt, navy jacket, khaki trousers and leather loafers. He dragged a black Pullman.

“It’s him,” he whispered to Maggie.

She looked up and he tried to point him out using only his chin and eyes. He could feel her stiffen beside him.

“Is it possible? Would he do that?”

“You stay here.”

She stood slowly, digging her badge out of her jacket. She flipped it open, tucking one flap into her pocket and letting the badge show. Then she started in his direction.

Patrick couldn’t keep his eyes off the man. He could only see a profile of his face. He wanted to get a glimpse of the eyes. He stood up and started to trail along only on the opposite side. Maggie kept glancing over at Patrick as if asking for reassurance. He only nodded. She was following behind him, three people in between.

The guy was making his way toward one of the ramps to another terminal. If he got into a crowd going the same way they’d lose him. Patrick remembered how slick the guy was in Phoenix. In front of him one minute and behind him the next.

Maggie closed the gap between them. Ten, maybe fifteen more feet and he’d turn onto the ramp, into a crowd of travelers. Patrick watched her say something to the man. He stopped but before he could turn around Maggie grabbed the back of his jacket collar and shoved him against the wall. She had one of his arms twisted up behind him and then she yelled for security.

Everything stopped. Two security officers had their weapons drawn. Both of them pointing directly at Maggie.

“I’m FBI.” Patrick heard her yell at them, sticking out her hip with the badge flapping from the jacket pocket while one of her hands twisted the man’s arm behind his back and her other hand hung onto his jacket collar.

In seconds more security officers converged on the area, holding back travelers. Three more joined the two. One had grabbed Maggie’s badge and was examining it. Two of them pried the guy out of Maggie’s hands. They had him up against the wall and were patting him down. No one touched the Pullman.

Maggie waved for Patrick to come over, pointing him out to one of the security officers. He elbowed his way through the crowd that had grown around him. His knees felt a bit wobbly. His heart hadn’t stopped banging. He made his way to Maggie’s side, just as they pulled the guy away from the wall and turned him to face Patrick.

His heart dropped to his feet as he finally looked the guy in the eyes.

“It’s not him,” Patrick said.

Sunday morning, December 24
Newburgh Heights, Virginia

“Y
our decorations are incredible,” Julia Racine said as Maggie led her into the kitchen. Racine stopped when she saw Gwen and Tully, especially Tully, his sleeves rolled up, a red “Grill Baby Grill” apron tied around him. He didn’t look up from the sugar cookie shaped like a reindeer that he was frosting.

“Don’t even say it,” he warned, still not a glance up as he carefully swirled around the antlers. “Where did Patrick disappear? He’s the one who got me into this.”

“He’s out back with Emma and Rebecca,” Maggie said, glancing at her backyard from the kitchen window.

The three of them were throwing snowballs for Harvey to catch. For a minute she had an odd sense of déjà vu, another reminder of the day after Thanksgiving and being pulled away from a houseful of friends. She caught herself taking a deep breath.

“Maybe they can talk her into going to the University of New Haven,” Tully said.

“Still no decisions as to where she wants to go?”

“Too many distractions.”

Maggie decided to leave it alone. It hadn’t been three months since Tully’s daughter Emma had to deal with her father and her mother being the target of a madman. It would take time. Just like it would take time for Patrick.

He and Rebecca had driven down from Connecticut, arriving yesterday to spend the holidays with Maggie and Harvey. Last night he confessed to her—after Rebecca had gone to bed—that he still had nightmares about the Project Manager, handcuffing him to a bomb. She should have had an answer for him. She had gone through the same thing many times, different killers invading her sleep. All she could tell him was that it would take time. That’s all she had to offer.

Despite her efforts, along with Charlie Wurth’s and Henry Lee’s, the so-called secret organization had managed to close ranks and board up doors around itself. It would take additional months to gather evidence and bring charges. Senator Foster was still being investigated, resigning his seat before being officially tossed out of the Senate. However, Senator Foster’s cosponsor pushed through the Homeland Security bill with little opposition. In the wake of two bombings, it became the patriotic thing to do. And Henry Lee would spend Christmas with his wife and grandson, his testimony securing his freedom.

As for the Project Manager, how could Maggie tell Patrick not to worry? The man had vanished.

The doorbell rang again. Maggie left her guests in the kitchen and made her way down the hall to the entrance. She opened the door to find Benjamin Platt, his white West Highland terrier, Digger, up under one arm and his other arm raised, his hand holding a piece of mistletoe over his head.

“Merry Christmas!”

Without missing a beat, Maggie petted Digger and gave the dog a kiss on his head.

Ben laughed and shook his head. “This dog always gets more action than I do.”

He stepped inside and put Digger down to scamper off in the direction of voices.

“Not quite the chick magnet you thought he’d be, huh?”

She helped him take his coat off and while she was behind him she whispered in his ear, “You don’t need a dog or mistletoe.”

The look in his eyes was enough to send a flutter through her.

Patrick interrupted. “We ready to go?”

“You’re leaving?” Ben asked. “I just got here.”

“We’ll be back in about an hour,” Maggie told him as Patrick took Ben’s coat from Maggie and replaced it with her own.

“She’s taking me tree hunting,” Patrick told him. “We’re going to bring back the most magical Christmas tree in the field.”