Chapter Forty-One

Walking along the east side path, Val cursed the dizziness and nausea that slowed her pace. The day before, she’d run this entire three-mile loop in under eighteen minutes. It might take her half that long to walk the quarter-mile from the bridge to the pier.

On one side of her, the river flowed, and on it floated the fireworks barge, surrounded by a flotilla of small, private vessels. On the other side, a wall of dark, decaying buildings lined the path, interrupted by narrow streets connecting the running path to the area’s transitional business district. Loud music emanated from a few of the clubs, attracting crowds uninterested in the family-style entertainment offered by the city’s fireworks show.

Out of nowhere, tires squealed nearby, followed by a Bang! and loud voices. Sounded like a car accident. She should investigate.

Except she had higher priorities at that moment. Val trudged on.

Tires squealed again, and a car engine raced. She glanced down the alleyway that led into the Alphabet Soup district and saw it whiz by. Hit and run. She should call it in.

Except. Except.

Moments later, she rounded a bend, passing a clump of trees, and the pier came back into view. Not a cop in sight, nor any Coast Guard or even private security staff. Just three people: a tall, slender woman facing away from her, a large man, and a kid in shorts, clutching the man’s leg.

Sammy!

Val recognized the woman, even from behind, fifty yards away, as her mother. And the man…

Him.

Despite the urgency of the situation, seeing Milt McCloskey stopped Val in her tracks.

The nausea she’d battled all afternoon and evening rose again, and this time she lost the war. Val dropped to her knees, and her insides emptied into the dirt and weeds lining the path. Val remained there for a solid minute, breathing hard and spitting hot bile, wishing she’d brought a bottle of water.

When the retching stopped, she rolled into a sitting position and wiped her mouth, then cleaned her hand as best she could on a patch of grass. Over the radio, Dispatch issued a Code 982 and ordered the Explosive Ordnance Disposal Team to the east side pier.

The bomb squad.

Then, a follow-up. A 10-22: Disregard. False alarm.

Val recognized the voice. Not Gil’s, and not the officer she’d spoken to twenty minutes before. A haughty, commanding voice.

Special Agent Forrestal. Why would he be handling dispatch? Why would the FBI override—

She realized her mistake. Shelby was right. Agent Powers wasn’t the mole. It was Forrestal, shutting down the city’s response to the threat.

Nobody else would come. If Val didn’t intervene in time, the attack would succeed. She had to make it. Had to.

She regained some strength and straightened up onto her knees so she could see the pier again. Rita—er, Maggie—and Milt continued their conversation. She couldn’t decipher the words, but their voices sounded angry.

Their presence here made no sense. None at all.

Val couldn’t distract herself with that. She needed to stop the attack, in whatever form it would take. Somehow.

She got back to her feet and, despite the headaches and nausea, she ran toward them, taking long, clumsy steps that echoed off the walls of the buildings beside her. She didn’t get far before her mother turned toward her. Rita’s face registered surprise, which made sense, as much as anything made sense right then. Then it changed, showing…what? Anger? No. Fear, perhaps? Shock?

“Val!” Sammy jumped up and down, clapping his hands. “Val’s here, Daddy! Mommy, look!” He ran toward her. Maggie caught him by the shirt collar, and he tumbled to the ground, still in his mother’s grip.

“Stay back, Valorie,” Maggie said, and that didn’t make any sense, either. “Turn around and go back to…wherever you go. Don’t argue. Just go.”

Val slowed to a walk and caught her breath. “Mother,” she said, surprising herself that she didn’t call her Rita. “It’s not safe here. You…need to leave. And Sammy, and…” She pointed at Milt, but refused to make eye contact with him.

“You’re the one who’s in danger, Valorie,” her mother said. “Didn’t your little whack on the head today clue you in to that?”

Confusion clouded Val’s thinking. “How…did you know…about that?” Dizziness overtook her again, and she stopped walking, bending over at the waist to keep from falling over.

Maggie laughed, a sound of genuine surprise. “A mother always knows. Sammy, settle down, please!” She pulled him up off the ground and brushed dirt from his shirt.

“Maggie,” Milt said. “It’s time.”

“Mother,” Val said, “there’s a dangerous situation developing here. We all have to clear out.”

“You see?” Milt said. “I told you! We’ve got to make our move. Now!”

Val’s head pounded again. She winced in pain, dropped to one knee, tried to shake off the dizziness. Sirens sounded in the distance. Backup would arrive soon, if they could fight through traffic.

Still, Milt’s words didn’t jive with what he should have said. Instead of saying, “we need to move,” he said they should “make their move.” Figure of speech, or…?

Her mother turned toward Milt. “Abort. There’s no way to do this without undue risk to at least one of us.”

“No way!” Milt moved toward Maggie. “Absolutely not. We’ve put too much into this.”

Val stared at them, and a fresh wave of dizziness swept over her. “Put too much into what? What are you doing? Why are you even here?”

“See?” Maggie chuckled. “What did I tell you? She has no idea.”

Val’s radio announced an ominous statement. “Sensors at the pier are picking up a radio signal of some sort, very close to Ground Zero,” Dispatch said. Not Gil, and not Forrestal. “We’re guessing a transmitter of some kind.”

“Fuck!” Milt said. “Maggie, it’s time. If we plan to live through this,” and he nodded toward Sammy, “and if we want to, say, continue being parents to this boy?” With that, he shot Val a baleful stare, then lunged for the boy.

But instead of grabbing Sammy, he snatched away his backpack, then shoved him back into Maggie’s arms.

“What are you doing?” Maggie yelled at him. “You can’t do it now. We’re too close!” She spun Sammy by the shoulders to face Milt. “He’s too close!”

Milt sneered. “You’re the one who decided I’m expendable, that I should push the button. Well, I’m pushing it now. And you’re going down with me.” He laughed. “What is it you always say, Mags? Sacrifices must be made. Now it’s your turn.”

“Mac, wait. Think about this. You’re really willing to sacrifice your own son? For what? A job?”

“A job?” Val said. “You’re here because of a job?”

“What’s the difference?” Milt said. “You’re leaving me, and taking Sammy. I have so little time left. I won’t spend it without you, Mags, and without him. I can’t.” He reached into the backpack and removed a black rectangular object, about the size of a cell phone.

Val’s heart skipped a beat when she realized what the device was: a radio transmitter.

For blowing up the barge.

***

Val realized in that moment what they meant by the “job.” She cursed herself for her blindness, for not seeing the obvious truth this whole time. Her mother and Milt planned the attack. They planted the bomb. Milt and her mother were about to kill or maim thousands of people, including Val and her nine-year-old brother that, until a few days ago, she didn’t even know she had.

And she had no idea why they wanted to do this.

“What are you talking about?” Maggie said, continuing her argument with Milt. “I never said I would take him from you. Hell, I’d rather you keep him. But you said yourself. You’re out of time.”

“So are you.” Milt poised his finger over the transmitter, and he glanced at Val. “So is she. And…all of us.” His face grew sad. “Sammy boy, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Sammy said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Val climbed to her feet. Must. Stop. Him.

“How much time?” Maggie asked. “Once you press the button.”

“The signal gets sent sixty seconds after,” Milt said. “Then, instant detonation. Not enough time to get away.”

Milt’s finger remained a few inches above the device. He hadn’t pressed the button yet. Val lurched toward him—

Her mother stepped in front of her, aiming a pistol at her chest. Ten or twelve feet away. Too far for Val to reach and disarm her. Too close to miss. “Stop, Valorie.”

Val met her mother’s gaze. Pure steel shone from her dark eyes. “Really, Mother? You’d shoot your own daughter?” She gestured at her little brother, clutching Rita’s leg. “Would you kill Sammy, too?”

“Sammy’s innocent. You…” Mom spit. “Tell me, daughter. What would you do to stop me? Would you sacrifice my life to save the lives of all those people over there?” She swept an arm toward the bridge, the boats in the water, and the crowded west-side Waterfront. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“I’ll…” Val swallowed. Her mother always could tell when she lied. “I’ll do my job.”

Mom scoffed. “Thought so. You’re too far gone, Valorie. Such a believer in the all-powerful State, here to save us. You’re brainwashed.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it, even as late as yesterday. But seeing you has changed my mind.” She waved the gun at Val. “Back up. Slowly. Now.”

“Pushing the button in five seconds,” Milt said. “Count down with me. Five, four…”

“Three-two-one!” Sammy shouted, laughing. “Ready or not, here I come!” He let go of Mom and ran to Milt, slamming into him. The transmitter flew out of Milt’s hand and clattered across the parking lot. Milt cursed and twisted his body around, searching for it. His legs got tangled up with Sammy’s body, and he fell with a heavy Oomph onto the pavement.

“Sammy!” Val shouted. “Get the phone! Quick!”

“Shut up!” Mom stepped closer to Val. “Sammy, run somewhere safe. Run and hide!”

“Yay! Hide and seek!” Sammy laughed and ran in circles. “Who’s It?”

“Sammy, wait,” Val said. “Hide the backpack and win a big prize!”

“No!” Mom grabbed for him, but he eluded her grasp.

“I wanna win!” Sammy scooped up the transmitter, shoved it into his backpack, and zipped the device inside. “I win! I get a big prize!” He ran toward the water’s edge.

“Don’t just lie there, go with him!” Mom yelled at Milt.

“I…can’t,” Milt said. “I mighta pulled a hammy or something. Help me up.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Maggie turned toward him. “Don’t be so damned useless!”

Val saw her opening and took it. She dove at her mother, going low, staying under the gun’s line of fire, and slammed into her knees. Maggie crashed to the ground with a loud grunt, Val landing on top of her. The gun skittered across the pavement, inches from Milt’s outstretched hands.

Val untangled herself from her mother and stood. And…fell. The world spun around her, a feeling not unlike the Tilt-a-Whirl at the amusement park. With the same intense nausea that ride always gave her.

She lifted her head. Milt’s hand stretched toward the pistol. So close. She couldn’t let him get to it.

Finding strength from God-knows-where, Val crawled on hands and knees across the asphalt. Breathing hard. Belching. Aching.

Val reached for the pistol, missed. Milt’s hand closed around the handle. He drew the gun in toward his body, aimed it at her. She lunged toward him, her hand reaching for his wrist as she fell.

Then her insides exploded again. Not, as she feared at first, from a gunshot wound. The other kind, the kind that plagued her all day, from the inside. Hot bile and vomit gushed out of her and onto Milt’s face, into his open mouth and eyes.

He gagged, spit, swore, and rolled onto his stomach, with Val tumbling along for the ride. She couldn’t reach his pistol hand, but she had other options. She raised her body into a crouch, jumped up, and landed on his back with both knees. His body slammed onto the pavement. Air whooshed out of his lungs, and a satisfying crack sounded from his ribcage. He screamed. Val pushed off of him, finally able to stand.

Milt rolled over, holding his ribs. His legs splayed out, providing an easy target. One that Val had waited ten years to destroy.

With all her might, she pulled back her leg, one that kicked countless soccer balls and cleared endless hurdles, and drove her toe hard into his crotch.

Val ignored his howls of pain and whirled around in search of her mother. She spotted her twenty yards away, running, gun in hand, more or less in the direction in which Sammy had disappeared.