Warning Signs

CHAPTER 57

I was relieved that Sam had the phone. I was terrified by what he was reporting to Rivera.

"Listen to this, listen to this. Ramp's at the Supreme Court Building. He says he's going to kill them, the justices. He says he won't get them all, but that he should get a few. That's his last stand. This is where it's going to end."

Sam made a perplexed face, then nodded to himself as he listened intently to the phone. When he winced, I did, too.

"Jesus. He's taped a shaped charge to Lucy's chest. He says he'll set it off if she does anything… They're in a truck. He's going to the back of the truck to do something. He can see her through the window. He's in a truck, Rivera. Tell them he's in a truck, okay? Do that."

Sam stopped talking for a moment, then his mouth fell open.

"Oh my God. He says he has a dead-man switch on the bottom of one shoe. We shoot him and Lucy dies ten seconds later." He raised his voice. "Ten seconds. Rivera, tell them a cop is wired with explosives. You tell them that, you hear me? Tell them that if they hurt him, a cop dies. You hear me?"

Rivera waved at Sam in a manner even I found dismissive. I assumed that the gesture left Sam homicidal.

Sam's eyes closed in an effort to shut out the chaos that was growing around us. He mumbled, "Oh no, oh no. Fuck me. No, no, no." He faced Rivera one more time. "He knows that we're listening to him, Rivera. He's been feeding us all this stuff. Who knows if it's true."

Rivera hustled next to Sam.

Sam went on with his report. "He's talking to us now. He says that the Supreme Court Building's wired. Chambers, courtrooms, elevators, staircases, exits. The whole thing. He wants everyone to evacuate through the front doors. Justices have to come out last, wearing their robes. We have ten minutes to get everybody organized, but nobody comes out until he says so. That's it. Ten minutes."

Rivera stared at Sam. Finally, he said, "Ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes to get everyone organized. Justices have to exit last. In their robes, Rivera."

Five seconds passed. Ten.

Sam's eyes burned into his colleague. "That's a cop in that truck with him, Rivera. You understand? She dies if we shoot him. You understand what I'm saying?"

Rivera's face was impassive.

Sam handed me the phone. "Line's gone dead. Where the hell's the Colorado Supreme Court Building? Anybody know?"

The motorcade of emergency vehicles plowed up Seventeenth Street like the leading edge of an assaulting battalion. Rivera's gray sedan was behind a phalanx of motorcycle officers. I was alone in the backseat; Sam was up front next to Rivera. Traffic cleared in front of us like delicate fish fleeing a school of sharks.

The sirens were deafening. Every sound reflected a thousand times off the glass, aluminum, and stone towers of the central business district. We weren't trying to sneak up on Ramp. That much was certain.

The procession headed south on Broadway before stopping at Fourteenth. Six or seven Denver Police cruisers and at least one fire-rescue vehicle were already in place at the corner. Rivera screeched to a stop and we popped out of the car.

The Colorado Supreme Court was housed in a modern, six-story building at the corner of Fourteenth and Lincoln, across the street from Denver's new main library and a block away from the state capitol. A wide plaza separated the building from the Colorado History Museum. I'd driven past the complex many times without realizing that the chambers and courtroom of the Colorado Supreme Court were inside one of the two buildings.

Everyone's attention was locked on a flatbed truck parked against the curb on Broadway. The truck was relatively new. There was an emblem on the door that I couldn't read. A man was standing on the bed in the back. He was partially obscured by a large metal equipment box and a steel rack filled with tall green gas cylinders. The tanks appeared to have been placed into the rack upside down.

The windshield on the truck was screened by a sunshade. I wondered if Lucy was inside the cab.

Someone with binoculars walked up to Rivera and said, "Everyone's concerned that he could have a big device-a fertilizer and fuel-oil type thing-in that equipment box that's on the back of that truck. He may be planning an Oklahoma City rerun. We need to move this perimeter back."

"Do it," snapped Rivera. "And get me somebody from the bomb squad to advise me."

"I'm trying. They're spread all over the city chasing the other bombs. A bunch are on their way to East High School. Some are still at Elitch's and Coors Field. And some are still searching for secondary devices at the train station."

"Damn it," Rivera cursed. "Screw Elitch's and Coors Field. Screw the train station. Get everybody who's not at the high school back down here. I want the containment vehicle here, everything." Rivera lifted binoculars to his eyes. "It's a kid. Just a kid. The truck is from a company called JT Welding Supplies. Somebody call them. The kid's wired from head to toe. He has something taped to his wrist. Looks like a garage-door opener. And some other switch-type thing at his waist. We have to take him out while we have a chance."

Sam said, "You can't. You shoot him and a cop gets blown to bits. You can't do that, Rivera."

"The alternative? He kills half the justices of the Colorado Supreme Court? It's a tough call, Purdy, but I'm not afraid to make it. Sorry. Columbine taught us all the consequences of waiting too long to go after the bad guys."

Ramp leaned over and briefly disappeared from view. The rack of gas cylinders on the back of the truck slowly pivoted forty-five degrees so that the bottoms of the tanks were directed toward the entrance doors of the Supreme Court Building. I was still wondering why the tanks were upside down.

Sam said, "What the…? What's he doing with that thing? How many tanks are on that rack?"

I counted the blunt ends that were pointing toward the plaza. I said, "Nine."

"What's in them? Anything toxic? Explosive?"

I said, "If they're for welders, they could be a lot of things. Oxygen, acetylene, helium. I don't know. What's weird is that the tanks are loaded into the rack upside down, Sam. Does that mean they're empty?"

"I don't know anything about welding. What's he doing? I need some binoculars."

Rivera handed his field glasses to Sam. Sam stared at the truck. "What the hell is that kid up to?"

"Can you see Lucy?" I asked.

"No. I bet she's in the cab."

Rivera was busy listening to a report on the readiness of his sharpshooters. It sounded to me as though the snipers were ready.

My phone rang.

Sam had the binoculars glued to his eyes. I could tell he was staring at Ramp. Loud enough for everyone to hear, Sam told me, "Answer it, Alan. It's him."