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Riley phoned Dr. Sparks to report on Rosie’s condition and the attack.
The vice chancellor cut her short. “Sorry, Riley, I’m en route to meet Rosie’s parents, and I need to tell you about another, uh, situation.” He cleared his throat. “It needs to be handled with . . . delicacy.”
Oh great, delicacy. Nine months of interpreting academia-speak enabled her to translate: someone had stepped in it so deep, he’d need a derrick to hoist him clear.
“Reverend Jimmy held a press conference and announced a prayer meeting tonight on the BRU green—”
“He can’t. We issued a statement hours ago restricting campus access. We’re only admitting people with student or faculty IDs and authorized service personnel.”
“Yes, yes, I realize . . . but the original Hillman grant included a stipulation his descendants would have access to BRU whenever they wished. The reverend says his prayer meeting is at Doris Hillman’s invitation. Dr. Harris doesn’t want a fight over this. The university might be seen as interfering with prayer. . . . With this court case pending . . .”
Three pregnant pauses in thirty seconds. Oh, boy.
Sparks continued. “Denying any type of religious service . . . well, it could give ammunition to the people claiming BRU has turned its back on our Christian foundation.”
“We’re risking student lives for good evangelical PR?”
She’d moved beyond anger. She needed to protect students from the psychopaths threatening to wreak death and destruction on her campus. One coed already died on her watch. Another might not live through the night. How could the administration buckle?
She didn’t hide her contempt. “Maybe we should issue our own statement. Terrorists, y’all come. Sure, we’ll bend over.”
“That’s quite enough,” Dr. Sparks barked. “Our policy hasn’t changed. We’re simply making a one-time exception. Mr. Jacob has given the FBI’s approval. Agents will mix with the crowd, use the opportunity to potentially tag and bag bad guys.”
Good God. Had Gary lost his mind? The situation had FUBAR written all over it. She’d complain to Director Stewart, force Gary to revoke his blessing.
The vice chancellor’s clipped tone told Riley she’d pushed her boss beyond displeasure. He expected ladylike debate and demure acceptance. After all, BRU was a cultured institution of higher learning. Well, screw that.
Dr. Sparks cleared his throat. “TV crews are coming. The Onward threat is national news. Far better for the media to broadcast a prayer meeting than a nasty confrontation. If we’d kept Reverend Jimmy out, things might have gotten out of hand.”
“Things wouldn’t have gotten out of hand,” she shot back. “Our officers are pros.”
“Fine.” Her boss spat the word as a period. “Then they’ll handle tonight’s security professionally and diplomatically. Coordinate with Mr. Jacob.”
She forced a calming breath. Her bosses had talked this to death—without her—and decided. She wouldn’t change their minds.
She longed to employ a few action verbs to say how she really felt. But Dr. Sparks might fire her. She cared too much to jump ship with the campus as a potential theater of war.
“Okay.” She sighed. “When is this religious extravaganza to begin—and end?”
“Reverend Jimmy announced an eight p.m. start, presumably to give TV crews ten o’clock footage. Mr. Jacob said the preacher’s media fixation would help us retain our eleven p.m. curfew.”
Now that’s one bet she’d take. If the reverend stayed one minute past eleven, he’d think God had sent a new plague.
Back in her office, she retrieved Gary’s business card. He’d acted like a Tupperware saleslady as he handed them out. Fighting fear-induced nausea, she dialed his cell.
“Are you nuts?” Her words were darts, sharp and piercing. “Onward’s threat arrived last night. We’ve had no time—zip, nada—to beef up security, hire extra guards, probe weak spots in our defenses. And you give the go-ahead to open campus to anyone who claims to have a prayer on his lips? If this is the kind of help you’re offering, the FBI should butt out.”
“You through?” Gary asked.
Riley hated that deadpan tone. The same pitch he’d used to confess a pregnant girlfriend. Too bad he was out of range for a contemptuous spitball.
“We’ll videotape everyone coming through the gates. Agents and sheriff’s deputies will join your officers and mingle with the crowd. Our FBI profilers are confident Onward won’t act before their Saturday deadline. It would violate their sense of honor.”
“What if they’re more flexible about honor than you think? What if the three-day deadline was a lie from the start?”
“Riley, think rationally. You’re upset because your bosses agree with me. If you’re considering calling Director Stewart, forget it. He’s in full accord.”
She slammed down the receiver, glad she’d called on her landline. Disconnecting a cell call wasn’t nearly as satisfying. Would Gary fib about the director’s seal of approval? Could be a bluff. Then again, she was a civilian. The director would back his own man.
She choked off her anger. Time to think clearly. How many people might show for this carnival? What kind of screening could her staff do? She’d ask Pete to get details on FBI staffing since she was too spitting mad to call back.
Riley tasked Patty with phoning off-duty officers. Over the next two hours, she worked like a demon to allocate BRU’s scarce resources. At quarter past five, her stomach rumbled.
No wonder. I haven’t eaten since . . .
She checked her watch. Wolf would arrive at her house in less than forty-five minutes. Should she call and cancel?
She tugged on one of her curls, a sure sign of jangled nerves. She seized a lock of her hair and yanked it. Hard. Get real! Nothing more to do if you stay.
Riley rolled her eyes imagining how Reverend Jimmy would gloat if she fainted from hunger at his prayer fest. A fantastic finale to this day.
Besides Wolf would be waiting.
She needed to return to campus by seven-thirty. That left a two-hour break. She smiled. Eat fast and maybe I can give Wolf’s motor a few starter cranks.