Six Seconds

72

Lone Tree County Fairgrounds, Montana

Samara drove some two miles outside of town to the fairgrounds.

Situated on an unbroken stretch of short grass, the grounds consisted of a cluster of pavilions-metal and wooden buildings that were used for horse, cattle, needlework and baking shows. Nearby, the soupy dirt infield of the rodeo park served as the site of bucking horse and demolition derby competitions, crowd pleasers that filled the grandstands.

Today, the grounds were making history as the mar shaling point for the pope’s visit.

Scores of police and emergency vehicles were gath ered here as radio cross talk filled the air. In minutes, the Holy Father’s helicopter would land in the rodeo park.

“Look!”

Logan glimpsed the waiting popemobile amid a perimeter of dark security vans.

“Wow.”

After their passes were scrutinized, Samara and Logan were permitted to park. Then they followed the posted signs and trekked across the grounds to Cowboy Exhibition Hall, where those taking part in the school portion of the visit would be briefed.

A burst of abrupt barking greeted them when they entered the hall.

Three police dogs were at the far end among a dozen armed officers, waiting at walk-through metal detectors and other security equipment set up on tables. The dogs and radios echoed against the building’s metal walls.

Samara eyed them carefully and swallowed hard.

“Those dogs are going to sniff our butts,” Billy Canton said to Logan.

A few of the other boys in the choir giggled.

Samara nodded to the other parents and teachers who were holding cameras and nervous smiles. She es timated three hundred people were gathered here. On the stage, talking and consulting notes were Father Andrew Stone, the choir director, the principal, a few other priests and men in suits who had to be Secret Service.

“Everyone, if I could have your attention!” Father Stone called above the din. “Pretty exciting, right, guys?”

A cheer went up.

“Right, a blessed day.” Father Stone smiled. “With me is Father Rosselli, from the Vatican, who assists the Holy Father. Before I turn it over to him, there are a few things we have to cover quickly. Now, a zone is reserved for all of you for the pope’s Mass and blessing in the Buffalo Breaks. We’ll walk down after the school event. When we are done here, everyone must pass through

418 Rick Mofina security, then on to the school buses that will take us to the school and more security.”

He smiled at the groans.

“You can’t get to heaven without going through security. Okay. We know the agenda. A few greetings to the pope, we sing two songs. The Holy Father speaks and blesses the school. We sing a closing song. Father Nicco Rosselli will give you some important points re quested from the Vatican.”

“Thank you, Father Stone.” The parents loved his Italian-accented English. “When the choir is assem bled, the Holy Father may come to you and say a few words to help you relax before you sing.”

A few parents laughed.

“When you are done, he will thank each of you per sonally and invite you to make a procession to his chair where he will personally give each of you, one by one, a small gift. For the sake of time, please do not open it there. Thank His Holiness and exit. The gift is a very nice blessed rosary. Our staff will help coordinate the procession so it moves quickly. Remember, we have about one hundred and twenty thousand people waiting for him in the Buffalo Breaks to honor Sister Beatrice. From the time you reach the Holy Father’s presence until the time you leave with your gift, you will have six seconds. Parents, everyone, for pictures, we stress, six seconds for an opportunity that usually comes once in a lifetime. I trust you will have your cameras ready.”

He held up his hands and smiled.

“Thank you very much and God bless you.”

The briefing ended, then the security people took over.

They quickly organized everyone into orderly lines

Six Seconds 419 that flowed through the security process, akin to going through an airport. Belts, jackets, shoes, cameras, ev erything was placed in plastic tubs and passed along the conveyor through the X-ray machine. People stepped through the walk-through metal detector; then they were hand-scanned and their items in the tub were swabbed.

The bomb-sniffing dogs patrolled along either side of the queue.

“Watch your butt,” Billy Canton whispered to his friends.

Samara tried not to stare at the dogs as they neared her and Logan. She smiled when one arrived, sniffed her jacket then started sniffing her hand. Samara looked at the handler, the words Secret Service emblazoned on his vest, radio squawking. His eyes were cool to her as the dog moved on.

Then came their turn at the detectors.

Samara and Logan removed their jackets, shoes. Her camera went into the tub.

“You first, ma’am.” A Secret Service agent waved Samara through.

Nothing beeped. A hand scanner was passed over her. Nothing beeped.

Samara noticed the intense eyes of the X-ray scanner operator as he read the screen with her camera. When it passed through, it was wiped with a swab. As Samara collected her jacket and shoes, she watched as the swab was removed and attached to an instrument on a computer for a chemical reading.

A spectrum of colors flashed on the monitor.

“You’re fine,” the female officer said.

A series of beeping alarms sounded behind her. “Hold it right there, son!”

Two men with the letters FBI on their vests took Logan aside.

“Raise your arms, please.”

Worried, Logan looked at Samara.

“Get on the bus, ma’am.”

“But he’s with me.”

Agents passed a hand scanner over Logan. It sounded around his pants.

“Did you empty your pockets, son?”

Logan nodded.

The scanner sounded at the right pocket of his pants.

“Check again.”

Logan reached in and withdrew the rosary his mother had given him.

“That’s the culprit,” the agent said. “Should’ve put it in the tub.”

Logan exhaled.

“Get your things and get on the bus.”