Flash Point (16 page)

The hot coral of a paradise flower in a tropical bouquet flashed in. Reminded her of the shocking pink of boldness, but it was distinct. Brazen. Bold, yes. But confident without shame.

‘Um, excuse me,' Jenna said, clutching the phone tighter. ‘Who
is
this, and how did you get this number?'

‘McKenzie McClendon,
New York Herald.
As for the number, you have your people, I have mine.'

Strawberry red flashed in as Jenna pictured the short, sassy auburn girl-next-door image the papers had splashed all over a few years back when the up-and-comer had chased a wild lead that had turned into the scoop of the century. The more Jenna had heard about the hungry young reporter, she had associated the color with her. She was apparently a firecracker, too – took a bribe to keep quiet, then outed the person responsible for the assassinations of the leaders of the free world anyway, all on the front page.

Jenna let out a half-laugh.
Pushy, too.

‘I'm so sorry, Ms McClendon, but we have no comment for the media at this time.'

‘Don't hang up, Dr Ramey. Trust me, you'll regret it,' the cheeky voice replied.

Jenna raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that a reporter threatening a federal agent? That wouldn't look pretty on the front page.'

‘No, that's a reporter telling a federal agent if she's smart, she'll ix-nay the theatre, turn back around, and come to the parking lot across the street to talk to
me
.'

Jenna whipped around, the hairs on her arms standing up. ‘How the hell did you know where we were? And why are you—'

McKenzie cut her off. ‘This
is
a high-profile investigation, and I
am
a reporter. Flew in as soon as the bank story broke. I've obviously been following your team's every move since I got into town. Looking for a scoop. Or I
was,
anyway. Point is, you're good at your job. I'm good at mine.'

But Jenna was stuck back at the words where the yellowy-tan hue of butterscotch had flashed in. It was a color that popped in when a casual comment thrown into an ordinary conversation set off Jenna's radars as alluding to something important. ‘What do you mean you
were
just a reporter trying to get a scoop? You're not anymore?'

A wicked cackle. ‘I don't remember saying ‘just a reporter,' but yeah, I guess you could say I've been upgraded to front row seats,' McKenzie said.

Jenna squinted into the distance, first at the parking lot where the team had left the SUV, then to the next closest lot – a tiny rectangle of gravel to the left of the theatre parking lot. A gray sedan was parked facing the road. Sure enough, leaning into it with her hip and holding her phone to her ear was auburn-haired McKenzie McClendon in jeans and hot pink high heels.

McKenzie gave a little wave. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? I'm sure the theatre puts on great shows, but I've got something they could never offer you on a weekday afternoon.'

Jenna and Porter crossed the street, leaving Dodd behind to babysit Grey. From what she knew of McKenzie McClendon, Jenna's hands would be full
enough
dealing with this reporter. She'd have to be an expert juggler to want to add Grey, her made up words, and bird sounds into the mix.

‘Why the backup? You think I'm here to kidnap you or something?' McKenzie McClendon said, giving Porter the once-over.

‘Can't be too careful,' Porter replied.

The redhead nodded. ‘Fair enough.'

‘What do you want, McKenzie?' Jenna asked. She didn't mean to be rude, but nevertheless, if the reporter didn't have a darn good reason for inserting herself into this investigation, Jenna was inclined to bring her in for obstruction.

‘The same thing you do,' McKenzie said, leaning into her open car window and reaching to the seat.

‘Oh, I doubt that,' Jenna said as she exchanged a glance with Porter. Her teammate's hand went to his holster. Girl probably wasn't dangerous, but still, like Porter had said, they couldn't be too careful.

When McKenzie turned back, she had a white envelope in her hand. Her eyes, however, were on Porter's holster … and his hand. ‘Are you guys always so hostile with informants?'

Jenna and Porter traded looks, this time not in secret. Jenna stared at McKenzie. ‘Informants?'

McKenzie shrugged, crossed her arms and leaned against the car again. ‘I guess that's what I am now. Maybe witness? I didn't see anything, though, so I'm not sure. But I didn't come to cause trouble. I came to give you an e-mail that was sent to me.'

Salmon flashed in. McKenzie might be telling the truth, but she was withholding something, too.

‘What does the e-mail have to do with us?' Jenna asked.

‘It's from your bank killers, I believe,' McKenzie replied.

Jenna narrowed her eyes. ‘How do you know?'

McKenzie smiled, as if the question amused her. ‘The e-mail address. It came from yourbankstory2_14_1895.'

Porter laughed. ‘Was it from at-yourfairygodmother-dot-com?'

McKenzie stared him down. Without flinching, she said, ‘Actually, it's from Yahoo.' She turned to Jenna. ‘And you can waste time questioning if it's real if you want to, but based on the scene at that bank, I'm guessing you're already worried something else is coming. So I'll save you the time. It's real.'

Jenna stepped forward to take the envelope out of McKenzie's hand, but the reporter pulled it back.

‘Not so fast,' the reporter said.

The salmon flashed in, followed by midnight blue. The color Jenna used to see when Charley held her favorite CD hostage until she agreed to let him have the TV remote, or when Dad used a 9:30 pm bedtime to negotiate Charley into the bathtub when he was little. This was what McKenzie had been withholding. The letter was a bargaining chip.

‘Fine,' Jenna said, stilling. ‘What do you want?'

‘An exclusive,' McKenzie said.

‘With the killers?'

‘With you.'

Jenna froze, ice in her veins. The reporter wanted her to talk publicly. About Claudia, of course. What else? McKenzie McClendon was already famous, could have any story she wanted. This was a terror investigation, but after what she'd covered, maybe it was just another case to her. She was interested in a scoop no one else could have.

Jenna took a deep breath, willing herself not to show her emotions.

‘Fine,' Jenna said. ‘After this case is over.'

McKenzie nodded, stepping forward. ‘After this case.'

Jenna snatched the envelope away, and McKenzie smirked before turning back to her car

‘Thanks, Jenna,' McKenzie said out of her open window, her car rolling past Jenna and Porter as they walked back toward Dodd and Grey. ‘And I wasn't trying to play dirty. I have just really wanted to meet you for a long time.'

‘It looks like a bunch of gibberish,' Porter said, leaning over Jenna's shoulder from the backseat of the SUV. With the letter in play, suddenly the wild goose chase into the Olney Theatre and the people connected to it wasn't the best use of their time.

‘Can't be,' Jenna replied, the canary yellow of relevance flashing in. She scanned the words again:

McKenzie McClendon,

I do not write to you as so many might, appealing to your ambition, drawing on society's fear, or using some boorish, amateurish tactic like blackmail to encourage, incentivize, or intimidate you into becoming a platform for my propaganda. Yes, journalism is a needed profession by those pursuing controversial goals … by people such as myself who have been thrust into leadership positions to spur on others with the same aims. However, I do not need or desire a parrot.

What I need is a voice, and one with a brain behind it.

While the profession of journalism has long been hailed a noble and ethical field, fewer and fewer in the station will watch and listen, learn and think before they decide. That is,
if
they decide of their own accord. We may not live in a world of burned TRANSGRESSORS, but ignorance – willful or not – complacency, and coercion are alive and well today. Each helps our very own current culture of UNSPOKEN WORDS to masquerade as liberty.

I am not so unreasonable or out of touch that I would expect you to take my honest words as such, automatically view me objectively. In fact, most would consider it appropriate and normal to react to this letter in the opposite fashion, vilify me, and disregard the correspondence entirely. So, trust me when I tell you that if your initial reaction is that very natural one I described, I will not take offense. On the surface, it would be logical of you to assume me a monster. And because of that, I would be insolent to ask you to consider that perhaps I am not fully a monster. That of the two natures of man, I can be rightly either. I can be radically both.

I do not ask you to accept my reasoning that us being in the middle of a raging war should justify allowing the beast inside me – the one inside every man – to come out. That the only Beasts to be feared are those without reason. I only ask in the coming days that you do not abandon your own ideas as some men think all men must. I've read your columns. Know your famous stories. You were able to ignore the din and the raging current to report the valid and not just the popular. The only thing I ask of you, Ms McClendon, is that you remain UNEQUAL to your peers. I ask in the dark days that are coming not for you to think me a hero, but rather, for you to unleash your boundless curiosity, look for a nice tunnel where you can stow away and write … formulate your own opinions about the coming events. whatever those opinions may be. Ignore those too cowardly to seek the truth alone; by watching and listening objectively, you may on some level come to understand that these atrocities are not about the people. The people are not the point. They were – and will only be – a part of the sickness. An aspect of the sickness we will hurry to step over, for we do not kill
people.
We slaughter the principle.

We killed the pipe dream, Ms McClendon. And we are going to kill it again. Too many cowards won't, McKenzie, and that is why we must.

So, what's it going to be then, eh, Ms McClendon? It's your decision, and if we find that tunnel in which to think and hide and write, know that you can be one of the few people who still respects that at all costs and all turns, we must be allowed to make our own choices. You can truly ask yourself whether you believe in making
your
own moral choices. Most people do not have the luxury and are simply told the answer. You still have the ability to make choices – and the ability to remind others over and over again that if they do not ask themselves the same question, and often, they may end up without the option.

The capitalized words in the middles of sentences jumped out at Jenna, seemed to be chosen at random: Transgressors, Unspoken Words, Unequal. There was something she couldn't quite put her finger on about the sentence with the, ‘eh,' in it, too. It didn't fit with the careful, almost overly articulate tone of the other word choices.

She pushed away the light khaki, yellowish color she associated with things seeming out of place, sticking out given the circumstances. The words did, but she already knew that. She needed the color behind it that was trying to push through.

Indigo flashed in.
Deliberate.
She kept scanning:

… My only hope, Ms McClendon, is that you will be a great source of comfort and support and in time, tell the truth as only someone as inimitable, impartial, and undaunted as you can. For I
have
made my decision. Many may think I've lost my humanity in trying to protect our society's potential, but I shall not allow them to turn me into something
other
than a human being where I have power of choice no longer. I shall not lose the power to take meaningful action. At some point, the time for reversing course will be over, and in the meantime, much more irreparable, painful damage will be inflicted.

So, we are coming. I will not tell you when or where, only that we are coming. I ask you to be the one who is vigilant, Ms McClendon. It is hidden, but here. Don't wonder what makes me say that. Because whether they realize it or not, we are not the enemy, but the savior. And when you see it, tell them that, they may decide for themselves.

For all the freedoms our country promotes, we are living in a world where the only freedom we truly have is the freedom to choose how we will react to the ignorant rationalizations that limit our freedoms After all, in this World we live in, we find only strength in numbers. United we stand in those, and divided, we perish.

I trust you will do the right thing.

‘The person seems to want McKenzie McClendon to transmit their message. Implies if she only understands it, she'll come to be on their side, then pass it on to the general public as truth,' Jenna said.

Irreparable damage. We are coming.

‘It also threatens more attacks, like the note at the bank,' she continued.

She glanced back down and read the passage threatening that they were coming again. There was something …

This time, she forced herself to stop focusing on the threat and to pay more attention to the words after it.
It is hidden, but here.

Lapis lazuli flashed in once again. Classical intelligence.

‘My God,' Jenna muttered. ‘The arrogant bastards.'

‘What? What are you talking about?' Dodd asked.

‘I think …' Jenna said, pausing to assess the lapis lazuli once more to be sure. ‘I think they've given a clue in this letter.'

‘Huh?' Porter asked.

‘How'd you come to that?' Dodd asked.

Grey's whistling was loud in Jenna's ears. ‘Don't make me say it.'

‘Ah, Captain Crayon again,' Dodd replied.

‘They're terrorists. They don't want to get caught. It's not in the profile. Why hide a clue in a letter the cops would see?'