CHAPTER 33
The wind stung Maggie's face with tiny ice pellets. It was bitter cold and yet she could feel sweat trickle down the middle of her back. Wurth and one of the SWAT members led her along a breaker wall that separated the parking lot from the hum of interstate traffic.
Deputy Director Wurth walked hunched over, probably from the cold. He had joked earlier that, at least, he didn't have to worry about freezing his ass off in New Orleans, but Maggie couldn't help thinking his trained, hunched-over stride may have been a precaution against getting his ass shot off. Maybe she had been wrong about him being a novice to a Kevlar vest.
An area in the back corner of the parking lot had been cordoned off. Despite what had happened, people still had to be pushed back. Looked like mainly media?cameras and microphones, trails of breath from reporters doing live feeds.
Maggie could see slivers of the scene over the hoods and roofs of cars and SUVs. They had the suspect pinned down between the lanes of parked vehicles though she couldn't see him. Back here, yellowed light streaked with glittering snow pellets was all they had to break up the darkness.
It looked like two different groups of law enforcement. A guess from the different colors of jackets and hats. Most likely county and state. Rifles leveled on bumpers or hoods. Every officer would have his or her service piece drawn. She wasn't sure who had jurisdiction. It didn't matter to her as long as they played by her rules.
She glanced back at Wurth. He wasn't even armed. How could she trust him to keep these guys from firing? They didn't even know him. Most of them were locals and it would be tough to keep the emotion out of this. On the day after Thanksgiving, every single one of them probably knew someone in that mall today: a mother or wife, sister, brother, best friend, neighbor. They thought they had a live one. Adrenaline would be pumping. And the cold would only add to the rush.
'Ready when you are.' A voice startled her, crackling over static and coming from her shoulder. She'd forgotten about the two-way radio the SWAT team had strapped to her upper arm. At first it had felt too tight; now she couldn't feel anything.
'No one fires unless they see red,' she shouted into her shoulder, the stream of breath tracking to the radio like visible sound waves.
'Roger that.'
'Any weapons?' she asked, this time keeping her voice lower.
'Haven't seen any. Only the backpack.'
'I'm gonna let him see me, hands out to my sides.'
'Roger.'
Maggie stood up straight as she came around a set of officers crouched behind an SUV. They acknowledged her presence with only a nod. One of them pointed, indicating the young man was just on the other side.
She saw a piece of camouflage move and realized it was the suspect, right there. He was only five feet away. He glanced at her, did a double take and scooted back but was trapped between two vehicles. He had the backpack clutched to his chest like he knew it was the only thing keeping them from firing.
'It's okay,' she yelled to him, holding her hands out from her side to show him she wasn't armed.
His eyes darted around. He was tall and rail-thin. She could see him shivering. God, he was young. And scared.
'I just want to talk to you,' she told him. It was hard to keep her voice soothing with the cold air sucking her breath away. His eyes met hers and she recognized something in them.
'Hold your fire,' she shouted. 'He's not one of them,' she yelled to the officers just as the boy pounced at her.
He shoved her back and bolted past her. She hit hard into a car grill. 'Don't shoot,' she managed to scream, scrambling to regain her balance.
She took off after him, expecting to hear gunfire at her back.
CHAPTER 34
Patrick didn't think the man in uniform was a cop. There had been plenty of cops in the mall. From what he remembered, all of them had their guns drawn and their badges displayed prominently, strapped to a thigh, tacked to a vest. One even had his fastened to the side of his knit stocking cap. This guy didn't have a badge. Just a uniform and an embroidered name tag that read FRANK. Patrick guessed security. Was he with the fake paramedic guy? How hard was it to get a uniform? He wondered if his name was really even Frank.
One thing for certain, the guy was big, burly, solid. One side of his jaw looked crooked. He looked like the type of guy you could hit and he'd never even feel it. He reminded Patrick of a bully who picked on him in junior high. He'd gotten plenty of blackened eyes and bloodied lips. This guy towered over Patrick, too. But maybe he wasn't so fast. And if he didn't have a gun
'Just think it's odd,' Frank said. He had an accent, but not a Minnesota accent. More like Brooklyn which only increased Patrick's paranoia. 'Why you coming out the side door like you're sneaking off?'
'It was the first door I came to.'
'You get hurt?' He pointed to the blood on Patrick's sleeve. He hadn't realized it was there.
He glanced up at Frank, gauging what direction to go with this guy.
'Yeah, but they patched me up.'
'You look a little bit woozy, yet. Might not wanna be slipping out the back until you have all your wits about you.'
Okay, maybe Frank was a good guy. That was the downside of not trusting people. Sometimes good guys slipped through the cracks and you didn't recognize them.
'Actually, I was looking for my girlfriend,' Patrick confessed. 'She got hurt, too. I'm hoping she didn't go wandering out into the cold. Did you see anybody else come out this door?'
Frank stared at him hard. Had Patrick been wrong about him? He glanced around the parking lot and shook his head.
'Some commotion going on around front. Nobody back here.' Then he grinned at Patrick, coffee-stained teeth, a gap between the front two. 'Just you.' Despite the grin he was still examining Patrick. 'They found another bomber.' His eyes stayed firmly planted on Patrick, watching for his reaction.
'Another??' Patrick asked.
'Out in the parking lot,' he continued, warming his gloved hands together in front of him, as if to show Patrick how huge his hands were. 'Asked us to keep a lookout for any others.'
'Oh man, I can't believe there're more.' Patrick grabbed at his arm as if it suddenly hurt. 'Haven't they done enough damage?' Then he rubbed at his eyes as if they were starting to blur. 'You know, you're right. I probably should go back in. I don't feel so good.'
'What about your girlfriend?' Frank wasn't convinced.
Patrick shrugged and continued to hold his arm right over the stain of Rebecca's blood. 'Maybe she didn't come this way. You said you didn't see anybody else. She's probably still inside looking for me.'
He turned to go back into the hotel.
'Hey, kid,' Frank said and Patrick winced.
He stopped. The door was so close, about five steps away. Maybe he should just make a run for it. But what if the door was locked from the outside?
When he glanced back, Frank had a long nightstick in his huge gloved hand, slapping it against his other hand. Where the hell did that come from?
'Don't go sneaking out any back doors anymore, okay?' Frank told him. 'Everyone's a little on edge right now. You know what I mean?'
He flipped a switch. The nightstick was actually a long-handled flashlight. And then Frank turned, shined a tunnel of light in front of him and left into the dark.
