'I'm here,' she told him as she felt her way over to him. On closer inspection she saw that his arms were bound behind him. He was struggling to sit up, twisting and rocking.
'Are you hurt?' she asked.
'I'm okay. Sore. Maybe a bum ankle. How 'bout you? Are you okay?'
She touched his shoulder, startling him.
'You got your wrists undone.'
'We'll do yours, too. Let me just check and make sure nothing's broken,' she told him as she ran her fingers over his arms.
'There's no time, Becca. We've got to get out of here.'
He struggled to stand up and fell against her. She caught him by the waist as he slid to his knees. Her fingers were wet and sticky.
'Oh my God, Dixon, you're bleeding.'
'Becca, we've got to get out. They've got the whole place rigged to blow.'
CHAPTER 67
Maggie braced herself for A.D. Kunze's reaction. From Patrick's initial telling she knew he might have information that could be helpful. She just wasn't sure Kunze would see it that way. Charlie Wurth saved her again. He called Chief Merrick and asked him to send a police sketch artist instead of an arresting officer.
'It might not do any good,' she told them. 'If the man Patrick saw is the Project Manager he'll make sure that he looks different.'
'I won't forget those eyes,' Patrick said. 'Or the way he walked.'
'Unfortunately, he can change both.'
'He may not even be there if he uses another group of young people,' Kunze reminded them.
'I don't think he'll use cutaways this time,' Maggie said, cautiously watching for Kunze to disagree. He cocked his head to the side, encouraging her to continue. 'He doesn't have to go to the trouble. He's already set the stage. Another bombing this soon. Everyone will be looking for young, white, college-aged males.'
It was just the five of them: Maggie, Patrick, Nick, Kunze and Wurth in the room set aside for the investigators. Ceimo was scheduled to join them. The sun was out today, streaming through the window, a welcome sight. Maggie couldn't help but notice how beautiful the glittering snowy landscape was.
'So what are you predicting he will do?' Wurth asked.
When she turned away from the window and back to them, they were all watching her, waiting.
'The bomb expert,' Wurth continued. 'She said the detonator he used was similar to the plans she saw for a dirty bomb. Should I be telling my people that's what we might have here?'
Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. She had changed into trousers and a knit sweater but left her matching blazer in her room. Now she wished she had it. They were looking to her for instruction, for guidance. What if she was wrong? Even Kunze was waiting for her to give them some direction.
'I don't think it'll be a dirty bomb. He's looking for psychological impact, not total carnage. He had the opportunity here at the mall. There could have easily been hundreds killed.' She stopped, expecting comments. There were none. 'My best guess is that it will be a suitcase bomb. He'll bring it in himself and leave it somewhere in the crowded ticket area or in baggage claim.'
'If he puts it on a baggage carousel there's no way we'll find it in time,' Wurth said, shoving his shirtsleeves up. 'Christ almighty, this is not good.'
'That's why we need to catch him as soon as he enters the airport.'
'But you said yourself, he'll look different. Even if we have a sketch,' Kunze said.
'I know I'll recognize him.' Patrick startled all of them. They had forgotten about him, waiting in the corner for the police sketch artist to arrive. 'Just put me someplace where I can watch.'
'You're not going to Phoenix with us,' Maggie said and immediately regretted that she sounded like an overprotective big sister.
She had already explained her rationale for Sky Harbor being the target. Wurth hadn't disagreed with the logic, but said he was putting federal air marshals in every airport on the list.
'You said yourself,' Patrick argued, 'that he thinks he doesn't need to use anyone else now because they'll be looking for young, white, college guys. So maybe he won't walk differently. Maybe he won't need to disguise himself. I'm telling you, I'll never forget those eyes.'
'It couldn't hurt,' Wurth said. 'I say we bring the kid along.'
CHAPTER 68
The trapdoor wouldn't move. Rebecca tried to find something other than her hands to ram it with while Dixon tried to saw his plastic tie. At least she had found a light switch, although the single, low-wattage bulb set between the rafters lit only the area below it.
Dixon had told her not to worry about his bleeding. 'Just a flesh wound,' he called it and Rebecca couldn't help thinking he sounded like one of the heroes in the graphic novels he loved to read.
'How do you know they rigged the place?'
'They told me. They laughed about it.' He sounded out of breath. 'It was right after they let my granddad's phone ring and ring. They told him if he called back at a certain time he'd get to talk to me again. But they wouldn't let me answer. It was still ringing when they threw the phone up on one of the shelves where I couldn't reach it.'
He shook his head, then started sawing at the plastic again.
Then Rebecca smelled something besides gasoline. It was seeping down from the air vents.
'Dixon. Do you smell that?'
He sniffed the air.
'Holy crap,' he said. 'Smoke.' He tried to saw faster.
Rebecca banged on the trapdoor, using her battered hands. What if the fire was already in the room above? They didn't have to rig a bomb. With all the spilled gasoline, all they had to do was light a match. It'd explode once the flame reached the fumes down here. It was hopeless.
She heard Dixon's plastic snap. He rushed over to help her. That's when they heard someone yelling above. Boots stomped. Wood cracked. Maybe they had decided to come back and kill them before they left them to burn. Rebecca crouched with Dixon in the corner.
The trapdoor started to split and the metal point of an ax came through. The smell of smoke was stronger. The voices louder. More boots thumping. A bright light shined down as the last of the trapdoor came away.
'Dixon Lee,' someone shouted. 'Are you down there?'
Rebecca held onto his arm as Dixon started to crawl forward. Above them, surrounding the hole where the trapdoor had been, were three men in SWAT team uniforms.
CHAPTER 69
Nick almost didn't recognize David Ceimo. He came into the hotel conference room wearing a leather bomber jacket and aviator sunglasses pushed up on top of his thick mass of hair. And he was smiling.
Patrick had just finished with the police sketch artist, who didn't really sketch but manipulated the bomber's face on a computer screen, using a special computer program. Wurth had been on the phone nonstop, using one of the hotel's landlines instead of his cell phone. Kunze and Maggie pored over more files. Everyone, however, stopped what they were doing when Ceimo walked into the room.
