Thirty-Four

The white cables of the Zakim Bridge flashed overhead as Special Agent Mel Hunter drove toward Everett. Jael had wanted to go back to her Fortress of Solitude to re-arm, but Mel had insisted on moving.

“There’s no telling when he’ll run,” she’d said.

“You are correct,” said Jael.

“But you don’t have your gun,” I’d said.

“Special Agent Hunter is armed,” said Jael. “That is enough.”

We’d climbed into Hunter’s Ford Escape, Jael and I engaging in a no after you dance that resulted in my riding shotgun and her sitting in the back seat. I looked out the window as the bridge’s cables gave way to a view of Charlestown and the Bunker Hill Monument.

It’s time for @Anonops to show we mean business and stop @TuckerInBoston #TuckerGate.

The remembered tweet launched the hamster wheel in my head, its repetitive clatter driven by endless and circular speculation. I hadn’t had a chance to log on to the chat rooms under a fake nickname to monitor the proceedings, but the public nature of the tweet suggested that a small group of hacker leadership had decided upon a course of action and were now ready to rally their Anonymous minions.

What could they do? I didn’t have a website to flood with spurious requests. I didn’t own a fax machine that could be sent millions of pages. I supposed they could all send me e-mail, but I don’t use e-mail for much. Maybe they’d just badger me on Twitter forever, but while I enjoy Twitter, I’ve always been meaning to take a break. I don’t have a Facebook account, so there’s no chance of a life ruin in that direction. They had to have a plan. The public nature of the tweet suggested that a small group of hackers … the hamster wheel spun again.

Mel let me brood in silence until she reached the long curving exit.

“Thanks,” she said, disrupting the hamster wheel.

“Huh?” I said.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For backing me up in that meeting. They were all ignoring me.”

“No thanks needed. You would have handled them.”

“I’ve got the double whammy.”

“What double whammy?”

“I’m young and I’m a woman.”

“You forgot to mention that you’re pretty. That makes it a triple whammy.”

“Yeah,” Mel said. “So thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

While Boston is no Pittsburgh, we do have three rivers converging on our city, and so we have our share of bridges. Mel swung off the Zakim Bridge and onto the Tobin Bridge. The Tobin towers above the Mystic River and connects Boston to Chelsea and other environs of the North. Mel angled the car down the first off-ramp over the river and turned left under the Tobin.

I looked out the window down Second Street and across Arlington at the low-rise industrial buildings, so different from the tightly packed triple-deckers in the rest of the city.

“It started right down this street,” I said to the car.

“What started?” asked Mel.

“A few years before I was born, actually. Almost twenty before you.”

“What started?”

“The Chelsea Fire. A perfect storm. High wind. Low water pressure.” I waved my hand at a passing strip mall. “All this burned in an afternoon. They say you could see the smoke for miles.”

“It looks like it came back okay.”

I pointed at a city block consisting of nothing but brown April grass ringed by leafless April saplings. “Not everywhere.”

“It’s a park, right?”

“More like a vacant lot.”

“It’ll come back.”

We drove on down Second.

“One spark. One flame. The right wind. The right conditions. The whole neighborhood was gone.”

“This burned too?”

“Have you crossed the railroad tracks?”

A sign appeared warning of railroad tracks ahead. “No,” said Mel.

“This burned too. All the way to the railroad tracks.” We bumped over the tracks. “Welcome to Everett.”

“You’re in a cheery mood,” said Mel.

Let us know when you plan to suicide … got to chill the champagne. #TuckerGate

The hamster wheel started squeaking again.

Sons of bitches. All of them.

Jael said from the back, “We need a plan.”

“Plan?” I said.

Jael said, “I will watch the back door. Agent Hunter will go in the front.”

“And what do I do?”

“You stay in the car,” they both said.

I looked from one to the other. “I’m not staying in the car.”

“It is safer for you in the car,” said Jael.

“It is safer for you both with more people.”

Mel said, “I can’t watch out for you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Jael snorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she doesn’t think you can take care of yourself,” said Mel.

“I know what it means.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I’m going in with you,” I said.

Mel headed for the front door. “You are ridiculous”

“It’s my funeral.” Maybe I should let Twitter know.