Every Second

85

New York

Kate smiled as Strobic guided the Silverado south on the Thruway, keeping it within the speed limit.

Her story and his pictures had been filed.

It was over.

They were going home, and the tension melted with each passing mile, allowing Kate to relax as she watched the scudding clouds filtering the sunlight over the sweeping forest hills.

“It was a helluva story,” Strobic said, smiling at her. “You did some nice work, Kate.”

“You, too, Stan.”

“What’re you going to do when we get back?”

“I’m going to have a girls’ day out on the town with my daughter, my sister and friend. What about you?”

“I’ll log my overtime and mileage, maybe get Yankees tickets. Hey-” He reached for the radio. “How about some country music? I know deep down you love it.”

She shook her head, smiling.

“Sure, Stan. Whatever.”

Dan was going to make it.

In the hour before dawn, when he’d squeezed her hand, opened his eyes and gave her a tiny smile, Lori knew she had him back.

Billy was going to make it, too.

We’re going to be okay.

Lori held on to that assurance later when Varner and Tilden arrived.

With Valachek and a nurse nearby, Lori sat up in her bed and told the investigators everything, from the night of the invasion by the four men, to Dan’s heroic action, to her last memory of being rescued at the riverbank.

Varner’s and Tilden’s phones vibrated with messages but they ignored them as Lori continued, telling them of her connection to Jerricko Blaine and his brother. She recounted the abduction and how the suspects intended to record their beheadings as part of the planned attacks.

“It was all on their laptop, the targets were-the Staten Island Ferry, Times Square, Penn Station and Grand Central Terminal. They’d made martyr videos condemning the US government and Americans. They were using the money from Dan’s bank to fund other operations and had a list of homegrown radicals to share with their leaders.”

“Hold on, Lori,” Tilden said. “You said the targets were the Staten Island Ferry, Times Square, Penn Station and Grand Central?”

“Yes.”

“You’re absolutely certain?”

“Yes. I saw their file on their laptop.”

Tilden threw a glance to Varner.

“That’s four targets, Nick. We can only account for three IEDs.”

The Silverado’s headlights gleamed on the white-tiled walls of the Lincoln Tunnel.

Strobic guided his pickup along one of the two eastbound lanes that curved under the Hudson River from New Jersey to Manhattan.

Kate was looking at Grace and Vanessa on her phone, estimating how much longer before she’d have a few days off to spend with them.

“So,” Strobic said, “we’ll go to the newsroom first. Wrap things up there?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Okay, then I’ll drive you home.”

“Sounds great, thanks.”

Daylight was glowing as they neared the end of the tunnel.

“You’re certain there were four targets?”

“That’s right. Four,” Lori said.

“Didn’t that trooper say he saw them carry four backpacks into the diner?” Tilden asked.

“I thought he wasn’t sure,” Varner said.

Tilden turned to study messages on his phone as Varner continued questioning Lori.

“Did you see the press conference, Lori? It was broadcast live earlier this morning?” Varner asked.

“No, I didn’t watch it.”

“Okay, I’m going to show you some photos.”

Varner started with a photo of Todd Dalir Ghorbani.

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“We’ve confirmed him as deceased at the diner. He was the bomb maker from Springfield, Massachusetts.”

Varner showed Lori photos of Doug Gerard Kimmett.

“Yes, that’s one of them,” Lori said.

“He’s deceased at the diner.”

Then he showed her photos of Jake Sebastian Spencer.

“Yes, he’s one of them.”

“Deceased at the diner.”

He then showed her photos of Jerricko Titus Blaine.

“That’s Jerricko Blaine.”

“He’s also deceased. He detonated the IED.”

Then he showed her the last photo, a clear picture they’d taken of Adam Chisolm Patterson while in custody.

“Who’s that?” Lori asked.

“Adam Chisolm Patterson of Chicago, one of the four men who abducted you.”

Lori looked again, then shook her head.

“No, I’ve never seen him before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Their faces are burned into my memory. Trust me, I’m sure.”

“Nick, look at this.” Tilden held his phone to Varner.

The message said that the forensic techs found a finger at the scene and had obtained an impression from it. Chicago FBI and Chicago PD were able to compare it with a latent found in Adam Chisolm Patterson’s last known Chicago address.

“Nick, the guy who detonated the IED was Patterson, not Blaine. And look at this supplemental message from Canada. The kid we have in custody-the RCMP confirms his identity as Thomas Randall Thompson!”

Varner’s gut heaved.

They had the wrong guy.

Jerricko Titus Blaine was missing, along with one bomb.

After leaving the Lincoln Tunnel, Strobic headed for Newslead’s headquarters.

He’d wheeled on to West Thirty-Third Street when the rear cab window slid open, and Jerricko Titus Blaine stuck his arm through it and held a Glock pistol to Strobic’s head.

“I’ve got a bomb strapped to me that I can explode in one second!”

“Okay! Take it easy!” Strobic held up one hand. “What’d you want?”

“You’ll drive where I tell you!”

“Okay!”

“You!” Blaine pointed the gun at Kate. “Get back in here with me!”

All the saliva dried in Kate’s mouth and her skin prickled as she looked at Strobic without moving. She screamed and spasmed when the cab exploded with muzzle flash as Blaine fired a shot into the console.

“Get in the back now!”

Kate unbuckled her belt, climbed into the back, squeezing through the rear window.

“Drive to Forty-Second and Sixth Avenue!”

Strobic nodded.

“Okay, okay! Forty-Second and Sixth! Okay!”

Kate had to force herself to breathe.

In the back she saw that Blaine was wearing a backpack that bulged and what looked like a pull cord dangling from the shoulder strap.

“Why are you doing this? Why did you pick us?”

Blaine stared at Kate as if she were something to be scraped from the sole of his boot.

“I didn’t pick you. Fate chose you!”

“I don’t understand.”

“After my brothers died as martyrs, God led me into the woods along the road into the first safe vehicle. Back here, I heard you talking. You’re infidel press! You print lies to support your murdering American government! It is my destiny to kill you and all nonbelievers!”

“No, please.” Kate kept her voice soft. “Don’t do this!”

A bright light flashed and pain shot through her brain as Blaine smashed the gun to the side of her head.

The destination was less than ten blocks away.

Strobic searched the traffic and streets for a solution. It was futile. This was not a Hollywood script. Blaine had the upper hand. He had a bomb, he had the gun. He had Kate. He had control and he was going to kill people.

There was no escaping this without deaths.

“Don’t do this, buddy!” Strobic said.

“Shut up!”

Blaine dug his free hand into his pocket then something clinked as he snapped a metal handcuff to Kate’s wrist before locking the other cuff around his own. Blood webbed down her cheek as she regained her senses with the horror that she was now chained to Blaine.

A few minutes later, Strobic pulled along Forty-Second Street and Sixth Avenue.

“Turn down Forty-Second.”

The street was lined with empty school and charter buses at the edge of Bryant Park. Some five thousand schoolchildren from all five boroughs were on the lawn before the stage for a special Broadway in Bryant Park event. The cast of one of Broadway’s running hits was performing a shortened version for free.

Music and singing boomed, reverberating off the nearby skyscrapers.

“Stop beside a bus!”

Strobic stopped.

“Put your emergency lights on, come back and let us out!”

Strobic froze, his knuckles whitening on the wheel.

“Do it now! Or I’ll kill her and I’ll kill you and detonate this bomb!”

“No!” Strobic refused.

Kate screamed as Blaine fired another round into the floor of the pickup’s bed, prompting Strobic to get out of the cab. As he trotted to the back, he saw two uniformed NYPD officers standing thirty yards away. Strobic waved frantically and whistled.

Unsure they saw him, he opened the cap and tailgate of the Silverado.

Blaine charged out, dragging Kate with him.

Strobic backed away, hands up, yelling: “He’s got a bomb!” Then Strobic dove at Blaine.

Kate screamed as Blaine shot Strobic, sending him to the pavement of Forty-Second Street.

The disturbance caused the two police officers to turn just as Blaine ran with Kate into a park entrance.

Officers Rita Muldowney and Elonzo Lang saw the glint of the handcuff, the gun in Blaine’s hand and his bulging backpack.

“Freeze! Police!”

Blaine cut through the lawn with Kate, running, stomping on the small feet and hands of children sitting on the grass, watching the stage show. Using Kate as his shield, Blaine headed to the center for maximum impact as she struggled against him.

Muldowney was fast, gaining on them, reaching for her weapon.

“Everybody down! Police! Get on your stomach! Now! Now!”

Children screamed and got down as flat as they could while some, thinking it was part of the show, giggled and clapped. Kate saw the officer raising her gun, finger on the trigger, then saw Blaine reaching for the cord.

“Down! Down!” Muldowney was ten yards away.

Kate smacked her hand on Blaine’s, then dropped to her knees as Muldowney fired rapidly, hitting Blaine’s head, chest and shoulders.

Blaine and Kate fell on to two boys from Brooklyn.

Blaine was dead before he could detonate the bomb.

The show was stopped.

The NYPD sealed the area and evacuated the park.

The bomb squad used bolt cutters to free Kate from Blaine’s corpse and defuse the IED.

Later, she was still in shock when they took her to the same hospital where they’d taken Strobic. He’d been shot in the thigh and would recover, a nurse told her.

“That’s good,” Kate said, gazing out her hospital window, listening to the never-ending wail of sirens echoing through the city, trembling as tears rolled down her face. “That’s good.”