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Viper hooked her Bluetooth into her ear and pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. Stephanie called again over half an hour ago but didn't leave a message. That was the third call in an hour and a half. Now was as good a time as any to call her back. She dialed with one hand and raised her military binoculars to her eyes with the other, studying the house in the distance. The single story rancher was set back from the country road by about half an acre, accessed by a dirt driveway. Surrounded by farmland, the house had the squat, solid appearance of a structure that had weathered many years of alternating care and neglect. The ground around it consisted mainly of dirt and patches of crabgrass mixed with scrub. Aside from a detached garage in the back, there was nothing to recommend it to a potential buyer. A quick search online revealed that it was a rental, and had just come off the renter’s market a month ago.
Viper shifted her gaze to the left, a mile down the country road, and studied a dilapidated old factory with gaps in its roof and a sagging chain-link fence blocking the entrance. Graffiti marred the front of the building and nature was in the process of reclaiming the parking lot at the side and the walkway in front.
“Hey,” Stephanie answered her phone. “I have news.”
“Is it good news?” Viper asked, turning the binoculars back to the rancher.
“Not really. Michael thinks he's figured out what they're targeting and, based on what I'm looking at right now, I'd say he's right.”
Stephanie paused and Alina suppressed a sigh.
“Do you want me to guess?” she asked dryly.
“I was waiting for you to ask,” Stephanie retorted, disgruntled. “Do you know what today is?”
“Sunday.”
“Yeah, I didn't remember either. It's Palm Sunday.”
Viper lowered the binoculars slowly.
“They're hitting churches...or church-sponsored events,” she said flatly. “Hell, I should have realized that.”
“That's what we're all saying,” Stephanie admitted. “Michael realized it and called Blake from the burn phone the Bureau gave him. When Blake told me, I was already on my way into the city, trailing Ricardo.”
“Where's Blake?”
“He's following Tito. We had to split up because they went in different directions. Tito's headed south.”
“South?” Viper asked, pulling her tablet out of the messenger bag slung across her body.
“Yes. Blake said they crossed into Maryland and they're heading into the country. I have no idea where he's going. Blake's concerned, though. He said Tito put one of the coolers in his own trunk. If he's got a bomb, then we have five to worry about.”
While Stephanie talked, Viper swiped her tablet and opened her customized tracking software. She pulled up the two trackers she loaned Stephanie and inputted their serial numbers into the software. Within seconds, she had both trackers displayed. One was stationary in South Philadelphia, and the other was moving across the north central farmlands of Maryland. Viper's eyes narrowed and she looked up thoughtfully.
“Where are you now?”
“Across the street from Christ Church,” Stephanie told her. “This place is swarming with people. They have North American Street blocked off, but both streets on either side of the church are open. Ricardo's parked right at the corner. Someone must have been saving his spot because the closest I could park is two blocks away.”
“Christ Church?” Alina said thoughtfully, opening a browser. “Why do I know that church?”
“I've seen it in a couple movies,” Stephanie offered helpfully. “It's been used a lot.”
“Benjamin Franklin,” she announced a moment later, staring at the church on the tablet. “He's buried there. That's why I know it...and that's why they picked it. It's not only the start of Holy Week, but it's also one of our Founding Father's final resting place!”
“Just fabulous,” Stephanie muttered. “I've called the bomb squad. I'm watching Ricardo now. It's weird. He's just sitting there. He's not getting out of the car.”
Viper's eyes narrowed, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Is there another car near him?” she asked.
“No. There's a minivan behind him, but it was there when he pulled in.”
“And there's nothing else around him?”
“Nope. He's parked on the corner, so there's nothing in front of him except a food truck,” Stephanie said. “A lot of people on that side, though. There's some kind bouncy house set up for the kids, and games and food tents.”
Viper sucked in her breath.
“The bomb’s staying in the car,” she told Stephanie urgently. “He's not getting out because he was told to stay with the car. They're going to detonate the whole car!”
“What?!” Stephanie demanded sharply. “That car is probably loaded with NOS. If the bomb goes off in it....”
“You need to get him out of the car and get the bomb squad in there.”
“They're on their way. ETA is three minutes. Should I get the people out of there?”
Stephanie sounded breathless. She was running.
“You can't risk it. If someone is watching, they'll detonate as soon as they see you evacuating,” Viper told her. “Right now, they're waiting for something else. Get him out of the car, but make sure it appears harmless.”
“Then what?”
“Pray your bomb techs get there in time.”
Michael glanced at his watch and pulled the clean phone out of his pocket.
“Anything?” he said by way of greeting.
“Nothing,” Tommy Bryant told him. “Both Trinity Church and St. Paul's Chapel are clear. Broadway is blocked off for the procession from St. Paul's to Trinity, and there's no sign of the target anywhere.”
“Same with St. Patrick's,” Michael said. “That leaves St. John's.”
“We'll meet you there.”
Michael hung up and slid the phone back in his pocket before raising his hand and flagging down a cab. One pulled over and he got in quickly.
“St. John's the Divine,” he told the driver, slamming the door. “Hurry.”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
Michael stared out the window as the cab pulled into traffic and began weaving its way down 5th Avenue. When he realized what the likely targets were, he called Agent Bryant and the two FBI agents turned around to pick him up. On the way over the bridge from Brooklyn, they all decided the best bet was to split up and tackle three of the largest events at cathedrals first. Tommy already had a BOLO out on the car, and NYPD was keeping an eye out for it. With a little luck, they just might be able to track the bomb down before it went boom.
To that end, Tommy and Mark headed to St. Paul's Cathedral and Trinity Church, respectively, in the southern end of Lower Manhattan, where a procession launching Holy Week was scheduled to go from one church to the other. They dropped Michael on Broadway and he got a cab up to St. Patrick's Cathedral in Midtown. St. Patrick's was hosting an all-day event with music and food. However, when Michael arrived, there was no sign of the Subaru anywhere. That only left St. John the Divine.
Michael glanced at his watch and shook his head. It was just past two, and if there was no sign of the bomb there, he was at a loss. There were simply too many possibilities in New York City. Even if they had a month to organize, it was just too much.
His phone started to ring a few minutes later and Michael pulled it out, glancing at the number.
“I hope things are going better for you,” he answered.
“Define better,” Blake replied morosely. “I've spent most of the day driving and I'm getting sick of it. I have a cramp in my back.”
“Cry a little louder, gunny. I can't hear you over my violin.”
Blake snorted.
“How's it going up there?” he asked, and Michael grimaced.
“Nothing yet,” he replied. “I'm on my way to St. John's Cathedral now.”
“Well, I'm in Maryland,” Blake informed him.
“Maryland?!”
“Yep. I don't know where this guy's going, but I'm looking at cows. Cows, O'Reilly.”
Michael grinned despite himself.
“Ok, you might be worse off than me,” he admitted. “At least I have possibilities. What the hell is out with the cows?”
“Exactly,” Blake said glumly. “I have no idea. I should have let Stephanie take Tito.”
“Why didn't you?”
“I don't trust her not to kill him, and I honestly wouldn't blame her.”
“Fair enough.” Michael looked ahead and glanced at his watch again. They were half-way there. “Any word from her yet?”
“No. She was trying to get hold of your girlfriend last I talked to her. She wanted to pass on the Palm Sunday nugget. Do you have any idea who’s in DC?” Blake asked. “All Stephanie would say was that it was in good hands.”
“I have an idea,” Michael said, “and if it's who I think it is, then it’s in very good hands. I spent twenty-four hours with him last year, and it was exhausting. He's like a machine.”
“Why do I get the impression that he's one of her kind?” Blake wondered. “Oh wait. It must be because no one will say anything except that he's dangerous.”
Michael chuckled.
“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “It's just how it is with Viper.”
“Well, at least I know I can stop worrying about home,” Blake sighed. “If you say he's the real deal, I guess he is.”
“Stop worrying about everywhere else and just keep your eye on your man,” Michael advised. “And maybe pray for a little luck,” he added.
“Yeah, you too.”
Michael hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket, looking around. They were about two blocks away from the cathedral.
“You can stop here,” he told the driver. “I'll walk the rest of the way.”
“Sure thing.”
The cab pulled up at the curb and Michael passed some money to the driver over the seat.
“Keep it,” he said, opening the door. “Have a good one.”
He slammed the door and began striding down the sidewalk toward the church in the distance. His eyes were scanning the streets and traffic, looking for a glimpse of the Subaru. He was a block away from St. John's when his phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Just got a call from NYPD,” Tommy informed him. “The car was spotted on Amsterdam, in front of the People's Garden next to St. John's!”
Michael broke into a run. He could see the wide lanes of Amsterdam ahead.
“They're not approaching it, are they?” he demanded, ducking past a group of tourists gaping at him.
“No, just observing,” Tommy assured him. “Bomb squad's on the way, ETA eight minutes.”
Michael hung up and covered the remaining ground quickly. He reached the corner and stopped, catching his breath. He looked left, then right, and spotted the sports car. It was pulled onto the shoulder with its hazards on, idling next to the curb. People milled around the entrance to the park and music filtered out from behind the fence. There was a large crowd swarming around, but Michael was relieved to see that the bulk of the event attendees appeared to be inside the park itself.
He started toward the car, frowning when he caught sight of a head in the driver seat. The driver was just idling there, making no move to get out of the car and take the package out to place it. In fact, as Michael drew closer, he saw that the guy seemed to be doing something on his phone.
Michael scanned the crowds on the sidewalk and at the entrance to the park, then looked over at the other side of the street. No one seemed to be paying any attention to the sports car, pulled over on the side of the road so it's driver could text on his phone. Michael paused, studying the car, puzzled. Why on earth would the driver just sit in a no-parking zone? He had to know he was inviting a cop to walk up and tell him to move.
Michael sucked in his breath and his eyes widened. The driver wasn't getting out of the car because he had instructions to wait. That could only mean the bombs weren't moving either. They were going to detonate in the cars!
Michael forced himself to stride instead of run to the blue Subaru. He stepped off the curb and rounded the trunk to walk up to the driver's door. With one hand on his Beretta, he knocked on the window with his knuckles. The driver started, then glanced up. Michael showed him his badge and motioned for him to roll the window down.
“Good afternoon,” he said as the window slid down. “I'm Special Agent O'Reilly. You know you're in a no parking zone?”
“I'm not parked,” the driver retorted with a flash of teeth. “I'm just waiting for someone.”
“You'll be waiting for a while,” Michael told him. “Did you know you have a flat tire?”
Brown eyes widened in the dark face and the driver quickly undid his seatbelt.
“No way, man,” he exclaimed. “These are new tires!”
“Take a look for yourself,” Michael said, motioning to the back of the car. “It's the right rear. I saw it when I was walking by.”
He stepped back as the young man opened the door and got out, turning to walk to the back of the car. In one motion, Michael closed the driver's door and grabbed his arm, swinging him away from the car and propelling him around the hood and onto the sidewalk.
“Hey, what the hell, man!” the driver yelled, trying to pull free. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Moving you away from your car,” Michael replied calmly, his grip like iron as he pushed him toward the park. “I don't trust it.”
“You can't do this!” The driver tried unsuccessfully to break free again. “I've got rights!”
“But I am doing it.” Michael propelled him into the entrance of the park and stopped, not releasing his charge. “You can discuss your rights with the FBI when they get here.”
“FBI!?” the guy squeaked. “Your badge said you're Secret Service.”
“It's a joint operation,” Michael said shortly, looking up as a black armored SWAT van pulled up behind the sports car, “and that's the bomb squad,” he added. “They're going to take a look at the bomb you have in your trunk.”
“Bomb!? What bomb?!” The driver was almost wild-eyed now, but no longer struggling. “I don't know nothing about no bomb!”
“What's in the cooler?” Michael demanded.
“I don't know, man! I never look. I pick up stuff and I pass it on,” the driver exclaimed sincerely. “I swear, that's all I know.”
“You just pick stuff up and transport it? And this seems like a good idea to you?” Michael asked, watching as the van opened and a couple of men in vests climbed out. They spotted him and gave him a thumbs up. Michael nodded and they went over to the trunk.
“I get paid to drive,” the kid said, “not ask questions.”
“Well, next time you might want to,” Michael muttered. “Why were you just sitting in the car?”
“I was told to sit and wait for pickup.”
“What time was that supposed to happen?”
“2:45,” he answered morosely. “I was early.”
Michael watched as Tommy's black SUV pulled up behind the van and the two FBI agents jumped out. They looked around and spotted him, starting towards them quickly.
“Well?” Tommy called.
“2:45!” Michael called back. “Sounds like they're on a timer!”
Tommy nodded and turned around to jog over to the bomb crew at the car.
“What do you mean, on a timer?!” the driver yelped. “You mean, it was going to blow up at 2:45?!”
“Keep your voice down, kid,” Michael said, glancing around self-consciously. “We don't want a stampede.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, chastened, and lowered his voice. “They were going to blow up my car?!”
Michael glanced at him, somewhat amused.
“I think I'd be more concerned that you were supposed to be in it,” he said dryly.
The kid’s eyes widened again.
“Holy shit!”
“Quite.” Michael nodded to Mark as he joined him. “Here's the driver. He had no idea what was in the back of his car.”
Mark nodded and pulled out his badge, showing it to the driver.
“I'm Agent McDonnell,” he introduced himself. “We need to have a talk.”
Michael released his hold on the kid, letting Mark take over, and turned to pull out his phone. He strode a few feet away and waited while it rang on the other end.
“What's happening?” Blake answered.
“The bombs are on timers,” Michael told him. “The drivers were told to stay in the car until pickup. This one was given a specific time. 2:45.”
“How do we know for sure?” Blake asked after a second of silence.
“The bomb team is working on the bomb now. If they find anything different, I'll let you know, but I don't think they will. It makes sense. Put the bombs on a timer, make sure the drivers stay with the bombs, and it's a nice, tidy clean-up.”
“I'll call Stephanie,” Blake said. “I'm still in East Bumblefart with cows.”
“Where's Tito?”
“About a mile ahead. The road curved, so I can't see him, but his tracker's going strong. I'm coming up on the curve now, though, so he should be...Oh my God!” Blake suddenly exclaimed.
Michael scowled at the shock in Blake's voice.
“What?” he demanded sharply. “What is it?”
“He's off the road and slammed into a tree!”