pretended to ignore it all and she stomped toward the door. This time the line parted for her long before she had to ask or squeeze through.
CHAPTER 46
Asante finished the cheeseburger and fries, leaving a reasonable tip. An ordinary meal that wouldn't stand out and an ordinary tip that wouldn't leave a negative or overly positive impression. Ordinary, he had learned long ago, was the key to being invisible.
As he headed back to his gate he noticed groups of people at all the other gates amassed under the television monitors. He stopped, as did the others walking in front and behind him even though he already knew what the commotion was. The local television station had finally decided to release the photos his crew had anonymously submitted. He watched for a while then continued through the terminal, turning his head as he passed other televisions. He had to, at least, pretend to be interested and surprised and appropriately disgusted.
The waiting area for his gate was full, not a single seat available. The regulars who raced to board first were already standing near the door, their oversized carry-ons left in the way, making it impossible for anyone to overtake their position or even pass by.
Asante had always hated airport travel. In recent years it had become only worse. There were no longer manners or etiquette. People treated the waiting areas like their living rooms, tossing coats and bags on seats that should be left for other passengers. They gobbled down fast food while talking on their cell phones, carrying on conversations that others shouldn't have to listen to. They let their kids scream and crawl and run around. It was almost as bad as a mall. And yes, though he treated each of his projects as professional assignments, it had brought him a slight pleasure to blow up the largest shopping mall in America. Likewise it would give him considerable pleasure to blow up one of the busiest airports during the busiest travel day of the year.
As he drew near the information desk he was pleased to see he wouldn't have to ask any questions or depend on eavesdropping on others as they questioned the airline clerk. Posted below their flight number and destination was now a departure time. He still had an hour wait, but the posted time meant the plane had left?or at least been cleared to leave?Chicago.
He settled close to one of the television monitors. It was only an hour. He could pretend to be interested in the calamity for an hour.
CHAPTER 47
Patrick shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets. His cell phone stayed buried in his fist. How could he trust Maggie? He barely knew her. It hadn't been that long ago that he discovered she existed. That they shared a father. She got the legal version. He got the illegitimate one. Both their mothers kept them from knowing about each other, some twisted pact Patrick's mother said was 'a profound mistake.' Of course she called it that only after the secret had been found out.
Now Patrick stood under the awning of a restaurant adjacent to the mall. He had walked into the place hoping to finally get out of the cold, sit down and have something to eat. The restaurant was packed, but he had found an empty bar stool in the lounge and ordered a Sam Adams. He was taking the first sips while he looked over a menu. That's when the news alert came on.
The television monitors were back behind the bar, high up, and everyone was watching or pointing.
Patrick almost choked. He still couldn't believe it was his picture, his name. He had just taken a drink of the beer. Could barely swallow. Why did the police think he had something to do with the bombing? And now Maggie did, too. He didn't even know Chad and Tyler. Had never met them. Dixon pointed them out at the mall this morning. That was it.
Now here Patrick was out in the cold, again, shivering, teeth chattering. Soaking wet from his head to his toes. He made his way back to the hotel, avoided making eye contact with anyone, keeping his head down. Though he honestly wondered if anyone could recognize him in his present condition.
By now he figured he knew the hotel better than anywhere else. If he needed to hide, it seemed the best place. He took the stairwell to the fourth floor, knowing from his previous search that this was one of the quieter floors. He waited to make sure no one was in the laundry room before he went in. Helped himself to enough towels to dry himself off. He even found a pair of work coveralls.
He peeled out of his wet clothes, rolled them up in some towels and threw them into one of the dryers. The coveralls were a size too big. He had to turn up the cuffs. But they were dry and warm. He decided to take off his wet high-tops and his socks and threw them into the dryer, too. If any of the maids caught him he knew enough Spanish to make up a good story. At this time of night he didn't expect to see much housekeeping staff.
From the laundry room, he heard the freight elevator. It was stopping at the fourth floor. He recognized the screech of the doors sliding open. He looked into the hallway but ducked back into the laundry room just as he caught a glimpse of the man stepping out. A huge man in a blue uniform. Patrick's stomach did a flip as he pressed himself against the inside wall, hidden partially by the racks of folded towels, and held his breath.
He didn't think he could fool the security guard named Frank a second time tonight.
CHAPTER 48
Maggie hadn't gotten far and her phone started to ring. She didn't recognize the number. The area code was local. Could Patrick be calling from a pay phone? Or perhaps a friend's?
'This is Maggie O'Dell.'
Silence.
Then a man's gravelly voice said, 'Special Agent Margaret O'Dell?'
That was what the television reports had called her. She shifted her weight, crossed her arms, exhaustion giving way to alarm. It was someone who had seen her infamous chase. Someone who could access her unlisted cell phone number.
'Who is this?' she asked, none too politely.
'I have some information about the incident?at the mall. What happened there.'
The caller sounded out of breath, fatigued, hesitant. Maggie guessed from his voice that he was older than the college-aged young men the news media said were responsible for the 'incident.'
'Are you saying you saw what happened?'
'No.'
'But you were at the mall.'
'No?no, I wasn't there.' He was getting frustrated. She needed to wait. People revealed more during silences than after questions. 'I know things.'
Silence again.
'I'm listening,' she finally said when she thought she might lose him.
'I have information. That's all that you need to know right now.' He was almost angry and definitely frustrated, physically exhausted. 'Look, my wife just had surgery. I'm a little tired,' he said, not an apology, Maggie thought, so much as a way to calm himself down. 'I'll tell you everything I know. Only you. Nobody else. You're the agent that saved that boy, right?'
Before she answered, he continued, 'But you have to come to me. You have to come to where I say, so I know they won't be listening.'
'Okay,' Maggie told him. Did he really have information? Or was he a conspiracy theory nut, trying to hone in on some attention for himself? And how did he get her cell phone number?
'They have my grandson,' he burst out without prompting. 'That's where the bastards crossed the line.'
