Chapter Thirty-Two

Val arrived back at the WAVE Squad to find Grimes, Shannon, and Price huddled around the coffee pot. They spoke in hushed tones and cast worried glances at the closed door to Petroni’s private office.

“What’s up?” Val asked.

“Shush!” Shannon tamped the air with open palms. “Come here and we’ll fill you in.”

Petroni’s door burst open before she could reach them, and the two FBI agents, Forrestal and Powers, traipsed out with smug grins on their faces. Petroni followed them with her arms folded across her chest and a deep scowl on her face.

“Listen up, peeps,” Forrestal said, clapping his hands together. He looked like he’d spent a week in a spray-tan bakeshop, his face a ghoulish orange with reverse-raccoon white circles around both eyes. “We’ve got new intel to share.”

“What new intel?” Grimes said, refilling his coffee cup. “From where?”

Forrestal flashed a Cheshire-cat smile. “Our anti-terrorism unit believes Antifa is planning a major raid on the Armory tomorrow morning to steal up to five hundred functioning firearms and several thousand rounds of ammunition. We believe that will be the major focus of their activities tomorrow. At least, if we’re successful in stopping them. Which we will be.”

“And if not?” Grimes leaned back against the coffee counter.

Forrestal sneered at Grimes and locked eyes with Powers, who smirked and shook her head. Val wondered if the woman ever spoke aloud in Forrestal’s presence.

“There is no ‘if not’ scenario,” Forrestal said. “Because we will succeed.”

“How do you know that for certain?” Val asked. “No plan is perfect, after all.”

“I’m sure that’s been your experience with planning here at the local level,” Forrestal said. “At the Agency, our plans work.”

“Humor me,” Grimes said. “What are the details of this failsafe plan?”

Sighing in exasperation, Forrestal gestured to Powers with an open palm. “Agent Powers, would you do us the honors of briefing Officer Mayberry here?”

Val rolled her eyes. Forrestal couldn’t even get his insults right.

“First, we’re locking down the Armory and canceling all public access for the next forty-eight hours,” Powers said. “No tours, no restroom access, nothing. We’re doing it without public announcement, so Antifa won’t know until it’s too late.”

“Assuming they don’t know already,” Shannon muttered.

“Second, the Armory is securing their ammo into armored safes and functioning weapons into a secure state facility, which we won’t disclose here for security reasons.”

“What?” Grimes slammed his cup onto the counter, spilling its contents everywhere except, by some miracle, on himself. “You aren’t even telling us? What, you expect someone here is going to go blab to freaking Antifa?”

“Doesn’t moving the munitions expose them to even greater risk?” Val asked. “All they’d need to do is hijack a single vehicle—”

“And face a convoy of armed federal marshals? Doubt it,” Forrestal said. “But hey, that’s not a bad way for this to go. Somebody call Antifa and suggest that. We can end these bastards once and for all.”

Val, disgusted at Forrestal’s ethics and baffled by his scrambled logic, hung her head in dismay.

“Third,” Powers continued, “we’re doubling down on patrols. All available hands will be assigned shifts and issued riot gear. We want a show of force strong enough to discourage even the craziest of terrorists.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Val said under her breath.

Forrestal shoved his hands into his pockets and ambled toward her. “Got something to say, rookie?”

Val met his gaze and stood with her hands folded behind her, feet apart. “With all due respect, Agent Forrestal,” she said, “doesn’t this play right into the hands of Antifa?”

“Explain.” A shred of doubt crept into Forrestal’s voice.

“Antifa stands for ‘anti-fascist.’ Their message is one of suppression by a fascist dictatorship. Doesn’t the presence of armed riot squads facing off against unarmed civilians support their narrative? If they want to incite public terror—which is, by definition, every terrorist’s goal—wouldn’t it serve their purposes to instigate a shootout between citizens and police?”

“Especially nutcases who don’t mind sacrificing a few human bodies to advance their cause,” Grimes said. “Great point, Dawes.”

“You’re assuming that they’ll control the narrative.” Forrestal’s face reddened. “Which they won’t. We’re releasing info to the press now, warning of Antifa violence planned for tomorrow. Anything that happens reflects badly on them, not us.”

Val glanced at Grimes, Shannon, Petroni, and Price. The expression on each face reflected her own feeling: Forrestal was delusional, if not downright stupid.

“We’ll post duty sheets within the hour,” Forrestal said. “Good news for you union schmucks. All of you will earn plenty of overtime this week.” He laughed and earned a half-hearted grin from Powers and eye rolls from each of the locals.

“What’s your communications plan?” Shannon asked. “Assuming we find something, how do we alert the other squads as to what’s going down?”

“We’ll coordinate all comms via your dispatch unit. Anything you hear, report in through regular channels, and vice versa.”

“Coordinating?” Grimes laughed out loud. “You mean taking over.”

“Potato, tomata,” Forrestal said. “Speaking of which, Agent Powers, we need to head down there next.” They strutted out the door, Forrestal in the lead, chatting in low voices and laughing.

Val, disgusted, kicked the door shut behind them. She expected a rebuke from Sergeant Petroni for the outburst, but when she turned to face the WAVE team, they surprised her by clapping. All of them—including Petroni.

***

“What a moron!” Grimes said when the team gathered for a debrief. “Brenda, are you on board with this nonsense?”

“For the record, I’m not,” Petroni said. “Chief MacMahon is, though, and last time I checked, he outranked me.”

“Which shift is he taking?” Grimes said, spittle flying. “Midnight to 4:00 a.m., like Dawes and Price here?”

Val’s eyes widened, but she relaxed when she saw the gleam in Grimes’s eyes.

“Dawes and I visited the Armory earlier today,” Grimes continued. “No way a terrorist group wants their ancient junk. Especially if the building is locked down.”

“The mayor’s speech and the ceremony are still of concern,” Petroni said. “Again, our opinions don’t matter. Orders are orders.”

“So, it looks like you’ll be hanging out with your boyfriend here at HQ tomorrow,” Grimes said to Val. “That’s good. You guys can keep an eye on Agent Orange in Dispatch.”

“Actually, Dawes, you’ll be at the Armory, at Sergeant Blake’s request,” Petroni said. “Probably directing traffic. Nothing too lethal.”

“I think Forrestal is dead wrong about tomorrow, anyway,” Val said. “If this group is after publicity, the Armory event is too small potatoes to serve that purpose. What’d they draw last year, maybe a hundred people?”

“Half of those were the mayor’s staff,” Shannon said, nodding. “What are you thinking, then? The parade?”

“That makes sense,” Grimes said. “It’s so spread out, we couldn’t possibly cover it all.”

“Again, if they seek publicity, the parade won’t cut it,” Val said. “At any given spot you’d have a hundred or two people, tops, and virtually no media. The big gathering is the fireworks show at the Waterfront. That’s where they can make the biggest statement.”

“If that’s the case, they won’t want to scare people off with smaller displays of force during the day,” Grimes said.

“We can’t afford to ignore any of it,” Petroni said. “We assume everything is a target and defend accordingly. So, I’m afraid our friends from the FBI are going to get their way. Everyone’s on duty, round the clock except for brief meal and sleep breaks. Sorry, gang.”

“Crap.” Grimes plopped down into a chair. “There goes our softball game.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Petroni said, “you won’t have to forfeit. The fire department’s on full alert, too. The whole Armory thing has City Hall spooked. It wouldn’t surprise me if they call in the National Guard, the Navy, and the freaking Boy Scouts.”

Frustrated, Val returned to her desk to resume her research. Despite Forrestal’s obsession with Antifa—or perhaps because of it—she redoubled her focus on right-wing groups. Before she got going, though, she noticed a text message from her brother: Dinner tonight with Mom?

She texted back: Can’t, have to work. Bad stuff going down.

After a long pause came his reply: Mom asking: What stuff? Should we be worried?

You’re with Mom? Why?

Val glanced across at Grimes, already working the phones with his softball team. She wondered how much she should tell her brother and how to warn him without causing him needless worry. She thought about how much Ali and Sammy looked forward to the parade and fireworks, and about Mickey Mulroney’s grousing about the department overreacting to the prior year’s minimal protests.

If anything should happen to Ali or Sammy, she’d never forgive herself.

Skip the Armory thing. The parade should be OK, she texted. Maybe watch the fireworks from a rooftop somewhere?

His instant reply: No way. Kendra insists on the Waterfront. See you at the parade. Good night!

She set down her phone. No point trying to convince her stubborn brother otherwise, at least until she had something solid. Which, at the moment, she did not.

But her gut told her she needed to keep him, and her entire family, within easy reach for the next twenty-four hours or so.

***

Gil stopped by the WAVE Squad office at 8:15 with sub sandwiches and convinced a starving Val to join him for a sunset dinner in the park. “I’d hoped we could enjoy this fine warm evening with some grilled steak on my back patio,” he said. “With a bottle of Cabernet and an early bedtime.”

“I’m glad I get to see you at all,” Val said. “Don’t give up on me yet. Save that wine and steak for, say, Friday night?”

“You’ve got a date.” He took a big bite of his Italian sub. “By the way,” he said around a mouthful of meat and bread, “I met your pal Forrestal today. What a piece of work.”

“Isn’t he?” Val tasted her own turkey breast sub, savoring the spicy chipotle sauce. Gil chose well for her, as usual. “Lucky you. You get to work with him tomorrow on Dispatch.”

“I might just kill him,” Gil said, “if he calls us ‘local schmucks’ again.”

“At least he talks to you. He refuses to share any information with us that isn’t a direct order.”

“Ah. Then it’s good you have a mole in his makeshift organization now.”

Val nodded. “I think he’s figured this whole thing wrong, anyway.”

“What makes you say that?” Gil said. “Besides his shoot-first, ask-questions-later mentality.” He chuckled. “He’s the worst example of a federal agent I’ve ever met. Most of ’em are pretty sharp. That guy’s not only the dullest knife in the drawer. He’s a damned soup spoon.”

Val, laughing, spewed tiny bits of chicken all over the sidewalk.

“Sexy,” Gil said, grinning.

Val washed down some Doritos with lemonade. “For starters, he’s got the perps all wrong. He keeps calling Antifa an ‘organization,’ which is a stretch. I’ve explained that until I’m blue in the face, but he doesn’t listen.”

“What difference does it make? Terrorists are terrorists, no matter what their politics.”

“It matters because we ought to understand who we’re up against and what their tactics are,” Val said. “Antifa is as disorganized as it gets when it comes to protests. There’s no actual leader, no real plan. It’s random, which is why their activities rise only to the level of vandalism and rock-throwing. If they’re behind this—and Shannon, who did our research on them, doesn’t think so—we should prepare for window-breaking and looting downtown, not an attack on the Armory.”

“So, who is it, and what should we prepare for?”

“I think it’s the alt-right groups, such as Heroes for Freedom and Patriots Pride,” Val said. “A holiday like Independence Day, with its focus on individual liberty and blowing things up, is right up their alley. I spent the last few hours on some dark web sites, and it appears they’re getting pretty revved up for something tomorrow. Not just here, either. The FBI expects events all along the East Coast.”

“What events?”

Val frowned. “They’re too vague, at least at the level I’ve gotten into,” she said. “I only got access today, and I don’t know what I’m doing. Plus, a lot of the sites require you to create new accounts and passwords, which take hours or days. Probably to shield what they’re up to from people like me.”

Gil rested his hand on her knee. “I’m sure you’ll find something useful. You’re awesome at research.”

“Fat lot of good that will do me in the morning at the ‘Antifa attack’ at the Armory.”

“Wait. They’re putting you in the field? Without a weapon?”

She sighed. “Travis requested me. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Gil slid his hand up to her thigh and squeezed. “Do me a big favor tomorrow.”

“Name it.” She rested her head on his broad shoulder.

He held her tight and whispered, “Don’t die.”

“Okay.” She held him even tighter as the sun set over the western hills.