Читать книгу The Target - Kay David - Страница 8

Three months later—January

“YOU STILL HAVE THAT little black dress hanging in the back of the closet?”

Quinn paused beside Hannah’s desk and she looked up at him. Her eyes were a startling shade of light blue. Sometimes when they were in bed, they almost looked translucent, but right now, as she glared at him, they went dark with suspicion. They’d had another “discussion” about a family the night before and she was still angry. But he hadn’t budged and he wouldn’t. He’d been around a lot longer than Hannah, and he knew their profession much better than she did.

In the flash and heat of a single second, he’d seen friends—people he cared about—disappear in a pink cloud. She didn’t understand, and frankly, he hoped she never would. The knowledge was costly, to your body and your soul.

“I think it’s in there somewhere,” Hannah answered. “Why are you asking?”

“I want you to wear it tonight.” He forced aside his grim thoughts and concentrated on the present. “We’re going to Galatoire’s.”

The name of her favorite restaurant brought an involuntary smile, but then her lips tightened. “If you think taking me somewhere fancy is going to make things okay, you can forget about it. Crab cakes and deviled oysters won’t do the trick this time, Quinn.” She shook her head. “And I mean it.”

She’d said these words last night and he’d heard them before, as well, but a new resolve seemed to be growing behind them. Someone else might not have noticed, but Quinn had picked up on it instantly.

Sometimes he hated his instincts.

Life would be much simpler for him if he was more like Hannah. She didn’t intuit things or emotions—if it wasn’t before her in black and white, it simply didn’t exist. Everything had hidden nuances for Quinn; he could read the tension in a room by simply walking into it. Hannah’s way was better. What she didn’t know, she didn’t worry about. What she didn’t accept, she changed.

Until she’d hooked up with him.

He leaned close enough to smell her shampoo and see the freckle on her right cheek that she always tried to hide with makeup. Being this near was all it took to make him want her. His concern over their fight evaporated.

“This is more than just dinner. A lot more.”

She arched one blond eyebrow. “Like what?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Hannah said flatly. “And I think we need to talk about last night. I’m not going to let this drop, Quinn—”

“No talking.” He stopped her words with a light kiss and shook his head, saying, “Tonight. Dinner.” Then he walked away, his surprise intact.

He’d given the evening ahead a lot of thought. When Quinn told Hannah his news, he wanted to do it right, not blurt it out in the middle of the bullpen. Bill Ford, their boss, had told Quinn that morning he’d been selected to be the new team lead. Bill was moving on to Washington. The announcement would be made next week, but for the moment, no one knew about the promotion except Quinn. And Bobby Justice.

Quinn made his way down the hall to his office, the tall, black tech on his mind. Bobby had been the only other serious candidate for the job. Well-respected and just as competent as Quinn, Bobby had been on the team even longer, fourteen years to Quinn’s twelve. He was a quiet, steady man whose life revolved around his wife and children, but he—and everyone else on the team—lacked the one essential Quinn had in abundance.

He had a mysterious, indefinable touch. However much he downplayed the ability when others mentioned it, Quinn couldn’t deny the truth to himself; he had a sixth sense about bombs. The others on the team were all terrific, especially Hannah, whose strength was analysis. But Quinn’s skill was unique. Consequently no one really understood it. Including him.

He reached his office, stepped inside and went to work. The mundane details always piled up—reports to read and file, examinations to be studied, fragments to examine… This was his least favorite part of the job and he tended to put it off. That technique might have worked in the past, but as the boss, he’d have to be better at dealing with it all. He worked steadily until noon, then stopped for lunch.

The call came in right after one.

Bobby appeared at Quinn’s door, every line in his face drawn with worry. “There’s a problem off the Central Business District,” he said. “CBD dispatch caught a suspicious package and sent out a coupla uniforms. It looks bad.”

“They all look bad,” Quinn said.

“Not like this. It could be Mr. Rogers….” Bobby paused. “That’s why they called and gave us a heads-up.”

“Oh, man…are you sure?”

“The box is propped up against the back door of a day-care center, adjacent to a school. Kids everywhere. Metro’s dogs alerted on it…all the pieces are in place…”

At Bobby’s words Quinn felt his stomach roll over. EXIT had been tracking a serial bomber for what felt like ten lifetimes. They’d linked him to three bombings across the South, each occurring every two years for the past six; one in Georgia, one in Mississippi and one in South Carolina. Day-care centers in run-down neighborhoods were his targets, hence the “Mr. Rogers” nickname. The team had been on edge for the whole month. The bomber didn’t always strike on the exact same day, but the month—January—never changed. His devices were frighteningly potent, and it’d been a miracle that no one had been killed. Yet.

Hannah came up behind Bobby. She already had on the black leather jacket they wore when they were called out, with EXIT embroidered across the back in bright yellow letters. Right behind her was Mark Baker, the newest member of the team. Baker grated on everyone’s nerves, making up for his lack of experience with bluster. Without conscious effort, at least on Quinn’s part, a rivalry seemed to be developing between the two of them.

Bobby ignored the other techs and focused on Quinn. “I’m going over there. If it’s him, we need to know. I can take a quick look, then tell the rest of you what’s up with it.”

Quinn understood the reaction—he’d like to do the same, but he held up his hand. “Hold on. Did Central request our help? I thought you said it was just a heads-up call.”

A federal agency, EXIT primarily dealt with two situations: explosions at government facilities or cases that proved to be unusual in some way, such as the serial bomber. With five offices nationwide, they only went to local sites as a courtesy, and even then, their expertise had to be formally requested.

“Well, it was but—”

“Then it’s their baby until they want to give it up.” Quinn spoke calmly, sending Bobby a look that only the two of them understood. Before now they’d worked by loose consensus, Ford more intent on getting to Washington than forging a team. Quinn wanted something different. “Let’s wait. I don’t want to piss off the guys over there—”

Hannah spoke up, disregarding them all. “We’ve never had a potential site this fresh. I’m going now.” Interagency rivalries were meaningless to her. She only wanted to get the job done. She zipped her jacket, then looked at the men expectantly. “Who’s coming with me?”

Baker spoke instantly. “I’m ready.”

Bobby hesitated. He obviously wanted to go, but he just as clearly didn’t want to upset Quinn.

Hannah headed for the door, then paused at the threshold. “You in or out, Bobby?”

The big man sent Quinn an apologetic look and shrugged. “She’s goin’, I’m goin’.”

Quinn cursed, then he jumped up from his desk and grabbed his own jacket. What the hell, he thought. Monday I’ll be a big-shot manager. I’ll make this call and it’ll be my last one.

He had no idea how right he was.

FIVE MINUTES LATER, striding through the parking lot of EXIT’s headquarters, Hannah asked herself the question that had plagued her ever since she’d joined the team.

What kind of sicko would leave a bomb at a day-care center?

The very idea made her want to simultaneously throw up and shoot someone. They were just little kids, for God’s sake! How could anyone be so twisted, so evil? And now it’d happened here in New Orleans, right under their noses. The fact that one day she might have to put her own children in a facility like the one they were headed for made the whole situation even more difficult for Hannah.

If she ever had any children of her own…

Quinn jumped behind the wheel of the response vehicle, and Hannah climbed in the back with Mark, leaving Bobby to go up front. She didn’t want to be any closer to Quinn than she had to be. At the moment, he also made her feel like throwing up and shooting someone, preferably him.

Their fight still stung. Why in the hell couldn’t he commit? She was too damn old for the hot-and-cold, up-and-down, crazy connection they shared. They’d argue, then he’d charm his way back into her good graces. A month or so later, they’d repeat the cycle. Their romance was becoming as unstable and erratic as the bombs they encountered, and she was getting tired of it. The only constant between them—their lovemaking—had yet to suffer, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? When Quinn touched her, Hannah put everything else aside, including, she’d determined lately, her brain.

Buckling her seat belt, she recalled the previous night’s argument. It’d been the same as always: she wanted kids, Quinn didn’t. He’d used the old excuse of their jobs, but other techs had families—look at Bobby.

It was time to make a decision.

And this time, she actually meant it. She’d had her fill. She wouldn’t succumb to Quinn’s lingering kisses and slow hands anymore. After dinner tonight, she’d tell him exactly what she wanted and if he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change, then she had to move on. They’d been together two years and she loved Quinn so much it frightened her, but she refused to continue this way. She wanted a husband, a home and children.

The decision to abandon the relationship made her world sway. All at once, she remembered something Quinn had told her…how when a bomb exploded, the universe shifted, and things were never the same again. Ever.

She usually didn’t get Quinn’s mystical pronouncements and this one had been no different, but she suddenly understood. Turning as if to stare out the window, she blinked rapidly and told herself she was doing the right thing. She had no other choice if she wanted to keep her self-respect and have the family she’d always dreamed about. After a few painful seconds, she forced everything to the back of her mind—she had to concentrate on the moment. Nothing could take away her focus from what was ahead.

That’s how bomb techs got killed.

They headed northeast, speeding up South Broad, toward the rough side of New Orleans and the Central Business District, Quinn taking the corners on two wheels, the sidewalks still busy with a late-lunchtime crowd of locals who flashed by the window in a blur. Ten minutes later, as the truck neared the site, they were forced to a crawl on a street already packed with TV cameras and excited reporters, each hoping for some blood for the five o’clock news. Hannah cursed the milling crowd under her breath—half the thrill for the bomber was witnessing his chaos on television. She was convinced EXIT’s number of calls would be drastically reduced if the nuts who made the bombs were deprived of their publicity.

With Quinn blasting the horn, they finally got past the media, and Hannah spotted the Metro Bomb Squad’s rig, two blocks down. The two-ton truck carried the local team’s equipment: their suits, X ray equipment, the PAN disrupter and demo kits among other things. It also pulled the TCV—the high-impact steel globe could suppress an entire explosion inside its inch-and-a-half-thick walls. All the techs had to do was pick up the bomb with their Andros robot, put the package inside the basket, then move the TCV to a safe place for controlled detonation. Contrary to the movies, no one grabbed the device at the last minute and tossed it out a window to save the day.

Unless, of course, they had to.

Mark cursed loudly and Hannah turned. He pointed to the neighborhood and she nodded slowly. It was a dismal and depressing place. A elementary school in need of paint sprawled directly across the litter-filled street from the TCV. The buildings were ringed by a chain-link fence, but in too many places to count, the wire had been pulled away and folded back to create gaps and holes. Gang graffiti decorated the walls.

On the other side of the ragged pavement, an even sadder building sat, fronted by a lopsided sign that announced Tiny Town for Tots. Built of concrete blocks with a low flat roof above, the day care gave off a shimmer of almost visible hopelessness. The windows were locked and barred, the empty playground filled with dilapidated toys. Hannah felt a wave of sympathy for the “Tots” who visited this “Tiny Town.” Their mothers must have felt the same way, but with no other options nearby what could they do? Another pang hit Hannah, this one even harder, but again she pushed it aside.

Spotting the commander of the local city team, she jumped from the SUV before Quinn had time to fully stop. Tony LaCroix had a little too much testosterone floating through him for Hannah’s taste, but he did a good job. She decided he looked relieved when he saw the team this time, though. With EXIT there, he was no longer responsible for the situation; they were the feds. The other techs caught up with her as she reached Tony’s side.

“Am I glad to see you guys,” LaCroix confessed, confirming Hannah’s suspicions. “I think this might be the guy you’ve been tracking. I was just about to put in a request for assistance.”

“Give us the rundown,” Quinn ordered.

NOPD-Central had caught the call about the suspicious box first, LaCroix explained, then a second telephone warning had come into the Metro bomb squad itself. The messages were the same, short and to the point. There’s a box by the back door of the Tiny Town Day Care. It’s got a bomb in it. Tell them to leave from the front and do it now.

The uniforms who had responded confirmed the caller’s story. In the alleyway, leaning against the rear entry of the center, was a shoe-box-size container. Wrapped in stained brown paper, the unlabeled, lopsided package definitely looked suspicious.

“Everyone’s out?”

LaCroix looked at Hannah as if she’d lost her mind. “Yes, Hannah. Everyone’s been evacuated.”

Quinn spoke. “Have you X-rayed yet?”

“There’s not enough room to get the machine in there.”

“So Arnold’s too big, too.”

LaCroix nodded at Quinn’s assessment of the robot they used. “Way too big. Our mini’s out of service and the four-by-four won’t fit. The alley’s less than three feet wide.” A pained look crossed LaCroix’s face. “We can’t ray it and we can’t bring the damn thing out.”

“How about BIPing it?”

LaCroix shook his head at Mark’s idea. “We blow that puppy in place, and the shit’ll hit the fan.” He jerked a thumb toward the back of the building. “There’s low-income housing behind that fence. The mayor would have a cow.”

Everyone’s stress level increased. “Have they been evacuated, too?”

He nodded at Hannah’s question.

“Then we’ll have to try the PAN,” Bobby said. “It’s all we’ve got left.”

Bobby was a specialist with the bomb disrupter. The device fired a variety of projectiles and was designed to disarm bombs without detonation. So far, they’d had no luck with it on any of Mr. Rogers’s bombs.

“I don’t think we can get it in there, either. The damn alley is so full of trash and crap—” Before LaCroix could continue, a minor riot seemed to break out near the perimeter of the cordoned-off area, then someone screamed—a piercing shriek that sent a sharp chill down Hannah’s spine. She turned in time to see a black woman in a flowered housedress push past a uniformed officer, her face contorted with agony.

Mark cursed again, and Hannah cut her eyes to Quinn. He was staring, too, but of all the people there, he would know what to do. He was great at his job, but he was even better with people. His ability to connect with them amazed her; Hannah would rather deal with a live bomb than an upset civvie.

The woman half ran, half stumbled to where they stood. Quinn stepped out to meet her and she collapsed in his arms, tears and sweat streaming down her face, her words coming so fast they were unintelligible. Hannah stood by helplessly, the same way, she imagined, Bobby felt as he looked on, his dark eyes rounded with concern for the clearly distraught woman.

“My babies!” the woman screamed, clutching Quinn’s arm. She jerked a trembling hand toward the center. “My grandbabies are in there! They’re in there! They’re gonna be blowed up—”

Quinn’s voice was low and calm. “We got everyone out, ma’am. The children have all been evacuat—”

“No-o-o-o,” she cried. “They didn’t get ’em. They forgot they were there. They didn’t count ’em when they brought the rest of ’em out! Charles Junior and Sister. They forgot ’em both!”

Bobby sucked in an audible breath as Hannah felt her stomach constrict, a hot sickness suddenly turning her inside out. Above his beard, Mark’s face actually paled.

Quinn held the woman’s arm and spoke gently. “Are you sure, ma’am? Are you positive they didn’t just slip out—”

“Yes, I’m sure!” She flapped her hand behind her and the four of them looked over her shoulder. Another woman, this one younger and better dressed, stood by the uniform, obviously arguing with him. “Ask her! She’s the one done left ’em there!”

Quinn called out and motioned to the cop to let the woman through. She ran to them, then spoke breathlessly, her eyes full of fright. “Two of the children are missing! We counted all of them twice, but Louetta—” she nodded toward the older woman in the flowered dress “—she came in late and I forgot to log them in.” She shivered visibly in the cool January sun, her fingers knotting together. “They must have hidden when we left.”

“How old are they?”

When Hannah asked the question, the woman glanced at her in a daze. “Charles Junior—he’s five—and Sister.” She gulped. “Sister’s only two. She does everything he does. He—he probably told her they were playing a game or something and they hid. They’ve done it before.”

“Where do they go?”

She turned back to Quinn, her eyes swimming with guilt and fear. “Th—there’s a closet by the back…back door. They like to climb inside. It’s where we keep the nap pads and blankets.” She started to shake, then she gathered herself with a visible effort and reached out to clutch at Quinn’s arm. “You’ve got to go in there, mister. You’ve got to go in there and save those babies.”

LACROIX SENT FOR ONE of his team members. She came quickly and led the two women away, making sounds of sympathy and doing her best to calm them. As they stumbled off, even more tension filled the space where they’d been, narrowing the choices the team had of how to proceed. Everything had changed. It was one thing when a building could suffer damage—it was a different situation when lives were at stake. Especially children’s lives.

Bobby spoke first. “I’ll go. This—”

Quinn interrupted. “No.” His voice was firmer than usual and both of them knew why. “I’ll do it.”

“C’mon, man,” Bobby persisted. “I know the area. I think I can get the PAN in there and then—”

“No. I’ll go and get the kids, then I’ll decide how to proceed.”

Quinn felt the curious looks from Hannah and Baker as his authoritative words registered, but he couldn’t take the time to explain. He hurried toward the SUV.

Hannah caught up with him as he swung open the back door. She grabbed his arm. “Let me go, Quinn! Those kids won’t leave that place with a man. I’d have a much better chance—”

“No way.” He pushed aside his heavy protective suit. It took too long to get into. He’d throw on his SRS-5—a lighter outfit—and hope for the best. “They won’t know the difference once I’ve got on the helmet.”

“This is crazy, Quinn,” she cried. “You can’t just crash in there—”

“But you can?” His fingers found his jacket and he turned to her, holding it out so she could help him into it. She responded automatically, and he stiffened his arms as she put the coat on him, the protector hard against his spine, a trickle of sweat already rolling down his back.

She buckled him in and he saw that her hands were trembling. “We haven’t done enough recon yet—”

“Hannah, for God’s sake! We don’t have the time for that.” He plucked his helmet from the rear of the SUV, gave the plastic shield a swipe, then thrust it on his head. “We’ve got to get those kids first. Then we’ll proceed.”

“No,” she said, almost in a whisper. “This is wrong…all wrong….”

He stared at her in puzzled surprise. Her face was flushed and her blue eyes were glowing with alarm. She was the least superstitious, the most logical of them all.

Why this? Why now?

Lifting the visor, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, the silk curl soft and fragrant. “Everything will be fine, baby. We’ve got a date tonight, remember? I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up.” He bent down and kissed her, the taste of her lips lingering against his own. Then he ran into the building.

He was barely over the threshold when the bomb detonated.

The blast was deafening, the force incredible. A shock wave of heat and light sent the back door flying, and then the walls. They exploded upward in a choking cloud of dust and debris, the roof immediately following with a shriek. Wood and metal, concrete and glass, toys and furniture—everything inside the building and outside for a twenty-foot radius was sucked up by the pressure. A moment later, a deadly shower of shrapnel rained down. The noise was unimaginable, then everything went quiet.