Jack disconnected and sprinted to his own car, sick with worry over Beth. Tearing out of the parking lot, he nearly took out a light pole. En route he called dispatch, identified himself, and asked what the status was on the explosion.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know who you are and I can’t release anything without proper authorization.”
“I’m an FBI agent, goddammit.”
“Yes, sir. But I have no way of verifying that. Right now, you’re a voice on the phone. No disrespect.”
Jack pounded his steering wheel. “Connect me with Deputy Chief Ritson.”
“He’s out of the building at the moment.”
“Probably on the way to the explosion, where I’m trying to get. What about Nolvia Borjas? She’s the RHD secretary.”
“That I can do. Have a nice day.”
A second later, Nolvia came on the line.
“Nolvia, Jack Kale. Have you heard anything on Beth or Dan?”
“No, it sounds horrible. We’re listening to it on the scanner. The television’s calling it a possible terrorist attack.”
“That’s because they’re idiots. I need an address.”
Thirty seconds later Jack had what he wanted. A minute after exiting the highway he knew which way to go. It was just a matter of following a line of fire and emergency vehicles, their lights flashing, and their sirens going at full blast. He kept redialing Pappas and Beth’s phones, praying one of them would answer.
Skidding to a halt at the scene, he parked against the curb so as not to block the ambulances. Everything was a mess. At the end of the cul-de-sac people were running, a cop was trying to direct traffic, and water was being pumped onto the side of a ruined two-story home. A gray cloud hung over it like a shroud. The blast had taken out not only one side of the house, but the bushes and a red Japanese maple that was now lying on its side on the lawn.
Jack dodged emergency workers and cops and made his way to where the firemen were fighting a blaze at the garage. Inside, he caught a glimpse of what looked like a white Audi sedan, the lawyer’s stolen car.
There was still no sign of Beth, Pappas, or Todd Milner. He caught a fireman by the arm and asked about the casualties.
“I’m not sure, man. EMS is treating the survivors at that house across the street,” he said, pointing.
A cluster of SWAT officers were gathered around a body on a stretcher, watching the medical techs work. Jack started toward them but only got a few feet before a strong hand closed around his arm. He found himself looking into the scarred face of Dan Pappas. The detective’s shirt and jacket were ripped in several places.
“Where’s Beth?”
“She’s okay. They’ve got her in the back of that ambulance on the end.”
Jack was already moving.
“Yeah, I’m okay, too!” Pappas yelled to his back.
Jack waved over his shoulder.
A technician was applying a butterfly bandage to Beth’s forehead. She was sitting up. Her face was streaked with dirt and one of her shoes was missing. The moment she saw him she jumped up and into his arms. When they finally separated, Jack turned his palms up in a silent question.
“I can’t keep losing shoes like this,” Beth said.
Jack let out his breath. He didn’t know whether to be angry at her for not leaving the house sooner or relieved. He settled on relieved.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“It was bad. After you started yelling to get out, I screamed for Dan to run, then dashed into the bathroom and jumped in the tub. It’s cast iron and shielded me from the blast. I’m a little deaf right now.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped. “Who’d we lose?”
“I saw them carrying Todd Milner away on a stretcher. He may still be here. I’m not sure. Three of Glen Sheeley’s people definitely didn’t make it.”
Jack closed his eyes. They were men and women he knew. Beth lowered her voice and said, “Uh oh, here comes the deputy chief.”
Six-foot-five Noah Ritson, survivor of four mayoral administrations, moved through the crowd accompanied by his aide, stopping to check on the wounded and speak with the officers. He and Jack made eye contact. When Ritson was finished, he motioned with his head for Jack to join him.
Ritson said, “Todd Milner gave me a rundown on what happened. He has a bad gash on one arm and got pretty banged up, but I think he’ll be all right. I’d like your assessment of the situation.”
“Basically it’s what it looks like, Chief. The Sandman rigged a delay fuse hoping to take as many of us out as he could.”
“Why?”
“Hard to say. The woman whose house this is . . . was, is Mary Quinn, who has no apparent connection to the case other than that missing case file. At least none I can see. Neither did the attorney representing her.”
“Wrong place, wrong time?”
Jack watched a tech wrapping a bandage around Bobby Sanchez’s stomach. He’d met Sanchez before. The officer winced, saw him, and nodded a greeting. Jack had to push the anger and frustration building inside him away. At the moment, he wanted to punch someone. Oddly, he felt his face go red as a sense of humiliation settled over him. He realized the Sandman had outsmarted them. The deputy chief was still waiting for an answer.
“It’s possible, but I don’t think so. The Sandman doesn’t leave things to chance. Not even the little details. The lawyer’s office was selected because it’s directly across the street from the medical practice.”
“What about Ms. Quinn?”
“Two possibilities. Either he wanted us out here to create maximum damage to impede the case, or it was a ploy to leave the witnesses unattended.”
“No, they’re on the way to the safehouse. Our decoys left the admin building earlier and should be back at the station by now. You’d think an assault there would be out of the question, but he didn’t hesitate to attack police headquarters in Munich or an army base outside of Liverpool. If he’s coming at us there, hopefully the Ghosts will spot him first,” he said, referring to Atlanta’s elite surveillance squad.
“You really think he’d try the main building?”
“Steve McFadden texted me a few minutes ago. They’ve been watching a man hanging around the front entrance, who appears to be checking things out. We’re taking that seriously.”
Ritson shook his head in disbelief.
Jack continued. “Nothing the Sandman’s done has been predictable, which is fine. We can deal with that. But there’s a second problem. If the lawyer and Ms. Quinn weren’t chance selections, we have to assume there’s a leak someplace. It’s not so much that he knew we were coming. He might have planned for that like he did in Israel and Madrid. It’s that he knew when we’d be here. It’s either us, the U.S. Attorney’s office, or the Bureau.”
Ritson’s blue eyes went as hard as marbles. “Milner just got himself blown up and lost one of his own people. What about further up the line at the FBI?”
“Like Janet Newton?”
Ritson raised his eyebrows and said nothing.
“I’ve known Janet a long time. I can’t imagine her talking to anyone.”
“Donofrio?”
“He wants to take jurisdiction and turn the witnesses over to the U.S. Marshals. We talked him out of it. I don’t see him either, but it’s clear someone’s talking.”
Ritson considered this for several seconds. “I feel comfortable with our people, do you?”
“Completely. That’s why I’m stumped.”
Ritson said, “Donofrio called my office yesterday wanting to know why he wasn’t receiving reports. Personally, I don’t like the sonofabitch. He gives me the creeps. If there’s a leak, my money is it’s on his end.”
“Which may be why he hasn’t been receiving those reports.”
The deputy chief stared at Jack and said, “You’re an odd fellow, Dr. Kale.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I consider myself a monument to normality,” Ritson said. “Art Koster told me what happened yesterday. Tell me why the Sandman didn’t kill Beth Sturgis.”
“To be honest, Chief, I don’t have an answer. I suspect this man doesn’t kill out of emotion, at least now. That may not have been the case in the past. Maybe he didn’t feel the need to just then. Either way, I’m not complaining.”
Ritson paused to watch an ambulance make a three-point turn. His arms were folded across his chest, and his face was somber. He said, “People just died on my watch. I don’t take that lightly. Until further notice, the green light stays on. Am I making myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
“You like being a fed again?”
“I haven’t had much time to think about it.”
“My offer to join our department remains on the table.”
“I know that.”
*
Noah Ritson considered the man in front of him. Jack Kale was a hard fellow not to like. While they were speaking, his eyes were never completely at rest. They continued moving, taking in everything around him, weighing possibilities. If anyone was capable of stopping the Sandman, it was him. Few people were blessed with his analytical abilities. Other cops knew it. The deputy chief believed the FBI was the wrong place for him. That might be self-serving. Jack Kale and the beautiful detective standing a few feet away made a good team. Yes, he knew about them. It was his job to know. Beth Sturgis was smart, savvy, and a fine investigator. More important, she was a good influence on Kale, who at times seemed his own worst enemy.
“Still attending those NA meetings?” Ritson asked.
“I am.”
Jack started to reply, but the deputy chief held up a hand. “Now’s not the time. Tell your girlfriend she can stop pretending to watch them pump water onto the house. It’s really not that interesting.”
Ritson nodded to them and walked away.
*
Using the underground parking garage, Will Landry and Rachel Lawrence were bundled into an unmarked SUV driven by Dwayne Stafford. Ed Mundas was in the seat next to him holding an assault rifle.
Jack assumed the Sandman was monitoring their police frequencies, and probably watching the hospital as well. As a result, the detectives were transporting the witnesses to the safehouse using an unmarked car. He was praying that would be enough to throw the killer off.
By prior agreement, a special SWAT unit known as the Ghost Squad had already been dispersed around the main station. These officers were the best in the business and generally employed to follow organized crime figures. They were so adept, when Jack had asked if there was any chance they’d be spotted, the lieutenant in charge looked at him like he was crazy. Fair enough.
From what Noah Ritson told him when he ran the plan by him, in the ten years since the squad had been formed, they’d never once been made. On two different occasions, they proved instrumental in stopping terrorist plots. This was in spite of the cell’s security people who were supposed to detect if the cops had them under surveillance.
As soon as the decoy van was under way, Dwayne sent a coded message letting the lieutenant know the game was on. It was just a question of whether the Sandman would take the bait. If so, they’d be waiting for him.