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Riley pulled up a chair beside Pete. “How are things going by the lake?”
“Leeds County crime techs are finishing up. No footprints other than the girl’s. Everyone’s okay with keeping the incident under wraps till we chat with our victim tomorrow.”
Relief swept over her. Maybe Ellen’s situation would resolve itself quickly. “Darryl’s still here, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, Alex is babysitting him at the computer lab. The kid seemed jazzed about talking to the FBI.” The communications officer turned to face her. “I’ll bet you a sawbuck that kid won’t keep his mouth shut. He told me he phones his folks every day. What is it with these helicopter parents? He’ll blab to them before sunrise.”
She snorted. “Mom and Dad were lucky if I called twice a semester. When I did, they knew I’d run out of money.” She grinned at the memory. “Usually they said ‘no’ before I even asked. ’Course, we didn’t have cell phones, and we were charged for every call.”
“You went to school here, right?” the officer asked.
“Yep. Mom’s alma mater. My uncle, grandfather and great-grandfather are BRU grads. Mom would have disowned me if I’d picked another school. She hoped BRU would counter the influence of Dad’s boisterous family. Prayed I’d acquire Southern gentility by osmosis.”
Pete playfully punched her arm. “Bet your mom’s still praying.”
“Not exactly. She’s given up hope I’ll master decorum. Now she just prays I won’t scandalize her Sunday school class.”
Like cavorting naked on a golf green with Wolf. Our second night.
“Oh, dang. I’m supposed to drive Mom to the doctor’s tomorrow. I’ll have to cancel.”
And she’ll grill me. I could tell her John Hunter wants to see me. That’d get me off the hook.
Her mom loved John the Gentleman. Too much of a gentleman. He treated her like fragile china when she was closer to Corelleware—heat resistant, unbreakable, utilitarian.
Now her Mom was china—easy to shatter. She’d never been the same since Jack’s death. Whatever glue once held her together had become increasingly cracked and brittle. Poor health didn’t help.
With her dad and big brother gone, Riley felt obligated to look after her mom. Emphysema upped her susceptibility to nasty infections. That was the reason Riley always gave for resigning the FBI rather than accept a transfer to Washington D.C.
“Hey, earth to boss. Anything else to do tonight on this Onward email?”
She snapped her attention back to Pete. “The FBI will call the investigative shots, but we need to beef up campus security.”
She stood and paced. “The FBI will help with an immediate bomb sweep, but given that our bad boys gave us three days’ grace, a bomb could be in transit, awaiting Saturday delivery.”
“Yeah, what’s with these terrorists?” Pete asked. “It’s obvious they’re targeting graduation. Why give us time to prepare? They know we’ll search. Beef up security.”
She frowned. “Good question, and I have plenty more. Any thoughts on how they might attack? A bomb’s the first thing that comes to mind. But maybe they’ve gotten their hands on rockets or anthrax or assault weapons. Who knows?”
She grabbed a pencil. “I know Wednesday is your day off, but can you come in at seven tomorrow morning? I’d like you to sit in on the meeting with the FBI.”
“You bet. Should I call in anyone else?”
“Bill. He has SWAT team experience and knows how to assess security weak points.”
Pete tugged on his earlobe. “Did you talk to Chancellor Harris?”
“No, I gave a full report to Vice Chancellor Sparks. Don’t know whether he’ll roust his boss tonight or not.” She stood. “I asked for a nine o’clock tomorrow with both men. By then I’ll have a better take on the threat and the FBI’s plan of attack.”
Given the administration’s love affair with meetings, she had a hunch what portion of tomorrow she’d squander in yak fests. Hours wasted analyzing and re-analyzing the same teaspoonful of information.
The outer door opened. Jeff had estimated his arrival time perfectly.
She introduced the FBI agent to Pete. “The computer lab’s only a block away. You up for a walk?”
While the cool night air made Riley shiver, she welcomed the sudden quiet.
“Do you miss the FBI?” Jeff asked. “I still can’t believe you resigned.”
Oldfield had asked the same question.
“Sure, I miss it. But you know agency policy. Turning down a transfer is a career killer.”
Riley reminded Jeff that she’d wanted to stay put to look after her widowed mom. “This university job was kismet.”
“I guess.” Jeff didn’t sound convinced.
Riley knew her answer hadn’t satisfied. Agents rarely left the bureau before they put in twenty years and qualified for retirement, usually between age forty-eight and fifty. Leaving early meant zip benefits, and resignations carried a taint of disloyalty.
A large trust fund established by Grandfather Yates took the financial sting out of Riley’s forfeiture. And there’d been another motivation, a clean break from Gary. Ever since her ex-husband led the daring capture of a terrorist group, he was Mr. FBI and could do no wrong. She didn’t need to work inside an agency that worshipped the man who’d betrayed her.
She turned the conversation back to the threat. “You think Onward’s serious or just spewing bile? Any local suspects?”
Jeff shrugged. “These clowns could be serious. I took a quick look at the latest intel. Our experts estimate the militia’s membership at a couple hundred, divided among ten chapters. Larry Burnette, the founder, hails from Alabama. Nobody knows his whereabouts. He killed three people during an armored car robbery before he disappeared.”
“Is there a local unit?”
“Yeah. Upstate South Carolina has a cell. No confirmations on numbers. No source to lean on. It’s frustrating as hell.”
She bit her lip. “Jeff, there’s something off about this threat. If Onward wanted to target a heathen campus, there are higher-profile targets. And what terrorist group gives three days’ warning? Do they know how much time academic committees need to make decisions?”
Jeff chuckled. “They obviously lost their terrorist cheat sheet. Rule number one: don’t claim responsibility before the fact. Rule number two: don’t give your enemy time to think. Twenty-four hours is tops for an ‘or else’ deadline.”
She opened the door to the computer lab. “Hope you can trace the email.”
As Riley listened to Jeff question Darryl, she wondered if the FBI agent felt more confident than she did about catching the morons quickly, before the deadline.
Since campus security became her charge, she’d been plagued with nightmares about the bloody havoc one homicidal maniac could inflict. A psychopath with an automatic weapon could rack up horrendous body counts. Onward made her lone gunman nightmare seem unimaginative.
How long could they wait to send everyone home? Come morning, she’d ask the administration to set a timeline for closing the university.
Jeff finished his interview, and the officer who’d been babysitting Darryl, unplugged the computer that downloaded the threat. The campus cop hoisted the processor to his shoulder.
“My car’s out front. I’ll give you two a lift back to Riley’s office.”
* * * *
At ten after midnight, Riley closed the door to her office. Wednesday, May 6, had officially dawned. Her communications officer gave her a little, two-finger salute as she walked past his desk. “Hope you’re headed home, boss. You going to get gussied up to greet the FBI? You’re gonna wear a dress, right?”
She laughed. “Not unless you wear one.” Her officers had never seen her in anything but tailored black pants and a black blazer. Only the blouse or knit top beneath the jacket changed color. She shared Johnny Cash’s fashion mantra—black simplified life.
Re-entering the chilly spring night her stiffened knee caused her to do a Frankenstein impersonation. The notion that her stiff-legged shadow might scare the bejeesus out of some sleep-deprived undergraduate amused her. Could it be eighteen years since she’d pulled an all-nighter for finals? Had she been as hyper as these kids?
Kids? Gawd, I’m morphing into my mother.
For the second time in the space of three hours, she sensed someone lurking in the shadows. She felt certain it wasn’t Wolf. Her adrenaline kicked in.
Halfway to her car, she put her hand on her gun.