Black Friday

CHAPTER 80

Monday, November 26

Federal Bureau of Investigation

111 Washington Avenue South

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Maggie waited though her patience was wearing thin. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. Nothing she said would change things. No amount of debriefing could remove the guilt and regret.

A.D. Raymond Kunze came in alone this time. He sat down across from her. He didn't say anything. Instead he folded his hands on top of the table, intertwining the fingers, a gesture Maggie recognized. What was it, again? She tried to access her memory to psychology of body language. Cupped hands, at the beginning of a conversation, often meant holding a fragile idea. It made her tense up even more.

"There was no way any of us could have known about a second bomb," he finally said.

She nodded. Shifted in the hardback chair, stiff from sitting too long. She wanted to stand, pace, burn off her nervous energy.

"It damaged a parking garage. Almost a hundred vehicles. Dozens of injuries but only two fatalities."

He said it like it was a scrape, a minor mistake. She agreed that next to Oklahoma City, next to Mall of America, this one was minor, indeed.

"It could have been so much worse," he said when she didn't respond.

"Any leads to catching him?"

"He's like a ghost. Gone. Vanished. We think he blew up the parking garage to destroy the vehicle he may have used."

"What about the black sedan?"

Kunze looked away. Stared at his hands. Glanced at her but wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I got the license plate number," she insisted. She had tried to look up the number herself, using her security clearance and still she came up short. Each time she was denied access. A reference code was given instead.

"You were upset," he said, but the tone was way too gentle for Kunze. "You must have remembered the number wrong. It happens. Nerves. The adrenaline. Makes us transpose a number or two."

She stared at him. She knew even he didn't believe what he had just said. And she couldn't help wondering if that's how it had happened in the Oklahoma City case. Is that how they explained away evidence that didn't fit their theory? Someone must have gotten it wrong?

"I looked up the number myself."

He didn't seem surprised.

"It gave me a reference code. I don't have the clearance to track it, but I think it may have been a federal government vehicle."

This time he met her eyes and held them. "Leave it alone, O'Dell. Just leave it alone."

"Did you know?" she asked him.

"I still don't know," he told her frankly without hesitation. "And I don't want to know. Neither do you. Go home. Take some time off. Be glad we saved an airport full of people from being blown to pieces."

"But the case is far from finished."

"It is for you," and again, he said it much too gently for Kunze. "You're officially off the case. Too personal, considering what happened with your brother."

She wanted to challenge him. Was it because it had become personal or had she gotten too close to the truth? A truth Kunze seemed willing to ignore.

He pushed his chair away from the table, scraping and screeching across the floor and closing the subject. He stood and opened the door, dismissing her before she could argue.

She followed him into the hallway. Charlie Wurth and Nick Morrelli were three doors down. They had just come out of their debriefing rooms. A door clicked behind her. She turned around to see another agent bringing Patrick out of his room. He looked exhausted and she caught him unconsciously rubbing his wrist where the handcuff had bit into his skin and left a mark.

The gesture brought back that feeling again, the one that took her knees out from under her like a roller-coaster ride with the bottom falling out and the walls spinning out of control. She thought the suitcase bomb attached to Patrick's wrist had exploded. But instead, it had been the parking garage, a second bomb.

Within seconds after Maggie raced for the exit, the bomb squad had already cut the handcuffs off of Patrick. Several more seconds and they had the suitcase contained and transported it to a deserted airstrip. The lead safe container prevented the wireless remote from detonating the bomb.

"Congratulations," Charlie Wurth said to Kunze, offering his hand. "I just heard the news."

Everyone's eyes were on Kunze and he suddenly looked a bit embarrassed by the attention. Maggie figured he had received some commendation; she didn't expect what came next.

"A.D. Kunze is officially your new boss," Wurth said to Maggie with a genuine smile.

She looked to Kunze. It was true. He was nodding, trying to smile as he accepted the other men's congratulations. And all the while Maggie couldn't help thinking that he had sold out again.

"We're finished here," Kunze said to them, ready to change the subject. "I'll get someone to drive us back to the hotel or the airport."

"Thanks, but Patrick and I have a ride." She was glad that she had an excuse.

Charlie Wurth shook Patrick's hand, then Maggie's, holding Maggie's a bit longer as he said, "You come work for me anytime, Agent O'Dell. Homeland Security would be honored to have you." He held her eyes and she could see he meant the offer.

"Thanks. I'll think about that."

She didn't look back at A.D. Kunze.

Nick insisted he walk them out. Maggie led the way, stopping in the lobby.

"I guess this is goodbye again," Nick said as he gave Patrick a one-armed hug, that guy-thing that looked awkward but friendly. When he hugged Maggie he held her close and she felt his lips brush against her cheek before he released her.

She checked his eyes and shouldn't have been surprised to see the sparkle had dimmed. He hadn't gotten over the hurt, the disappointment. She wondered if he meant this was goodbye for good.

"When do you head back to Omaha?"

"I've got a flight later today. My dad's been in the hospital."

"Is he okay?"

"It's all part of the process since the stroke. Looks like he'll be home for Christmas."

"Can we give you a ride?" she offered. "I rented a car this morning."

"Thanks, but no. I actually have someone picking me up."

"Take care," she told him, feeling like the short phrase was inadequate.

As Maggie and Patrick made their way down the steps she thought she saw Jamie, the blond bomb expert, parking in one of the visitor's slots out front.