Warning Signs

CHAPTER 54

I don't think I hear anything, Sam. Maybe some background noise, but I'm not sure. Is there someplace more quiet we could go?"

Rivera led us into the main entrance of the ballpark, near the ticket turnstiles. We were away from the street noise, but I still couldn't make out much on the phone. In my other ear, I heard Rivera tell Sam that the explosion had been right upstairs in the ball club's office suite.

Again, I said, "I don't hear anything."

Sam said, "Give it to me."

I handed him the phone and the attached recorder.

He listened for ten seconds and shook his head. Finally, he said, "Wait, wait. Maybe a voice in the background. Everything's muted. I wonder if she's losing her battery."

He turned to Rivera. He had a phone to his ear, too. Sam asked, "Can we trace this? Triangulate it?"

"They're trying. The technology's tough apparently. But they're trying. I hope this call doesn't die."

A young woman wearing a bomb squad windbreaker walked toward us and waited until she had Rivera's attention before she said, "Detectives feel confident that the device was under the woman's desk. Or maybe in her desk, in a drawer or something. But she was definitely the target."

Rivera said, "The woman in accounting?"

The young cop nodded. "And we don't think there's a secondary. We did a quick search along with the Rockies people."

"You don't think there's a secondary?"

She grinned just the slightest bit. "That's right. In case you haven't noticed, this is a very big building. Your people can go inside anytime. Detective said to remind you that we're handling the detonation investigation."

Rivera said, "I know. We're merely looking for a terrorist who's holding a cop hostage. I'll stay out of your way." They were interrupted by a young black woman who didn't seem to appreciate Rivera's tone. I couldn't hear what she told him but his reply was clear: "What did you say? Dear Jesus."

Sam asked, "What's going on?"

Rivera answered, "The bomb threat at East High School? They just found a device. He wasn't kidding."

Columbine images flooded my consciousness. Everyone's.

Sam was shaking his head slowly. "I'm picking up a siren. Rivera, you recognize it?"

Rivera took the phone from Sam and covered the microphone with his fingers. He closed his eyes as though he were appreciating some good jazz. "I'd say it's the fire department, but I'm not sure. I wonder how fast we can find out where they have trucks running with sirens right now. Shouldn't be that hard to do."

Sam narrowed his eyes and said, "Damn," under his breath. I followed him as he hustled outside onto the wide sidewalk in front of the stadium. He fixed his eyes to the left. A big pumper, lights flashing, siren blaring, was two blocks away, approaching down Blake from the east. He turned to me. "They're here, Alan. I can smell them. Ramp and Lucy. They're right around here."

The truck killed its siren and glided to a stop a hundred feet away. Rivera walked outside to join us. Bomb squad personnel were running past us and jumping into their vehicles to respond to the fresh threat at East High School.

Sam said, "The siren stopped, didn't it?"

Rivera nodded.

Sam pointed at the electric-green pumper. The dirty-yellow-suited firefighters clustered around it, tugging at equipment. Sam said, "That was the truck, Rivera. They're right around here. Damn."

Rivera gave Sam the phone. Immediately, he handed it to me, ordering, "Tell me if you hear anything important."

Sam stared at the streets while he huddled with Rivera. I shuffled close to the building to mute as much traffic noise as I could.

As I listened hard to the tiny speaker at my ear, there were moments when I was convinced that I could hear faint voices, other moments when I was sure that I was hearing nothing more than the desperate pulses of my hope. The whole time, I watched the traffic funneling down the viaduct from I-25 and the traffic being diverted from Blake Street up to Market and Larimer. Did I expect to see Lucy waving to me from the passenger seat of a passing car?

Not really.

But if she was waving, I wanted to be watching. That was the nature of my hope's persistence.