It had been his plan to simply divulge the pictures, relate the details that he recalled from his dream, and get the hell out of there. Socializing hadn’t played a part in it. The crinkle of the bag drew his attention back to Jim. The man had returned to his seat and without asking, opened the bag and withdrew the contents.
Jim gave the camera a cursory look, but when he shuffled through the photos, his mouth set in a hard line, the only sign that the pictures registered. He went through them twice before he glared at Mark and slapped the prints down on the table. “What did you do this time?”
The accusation in the words hit Mark like a punch and his jaw clenched so hard he thought he’d crack a molar. The bastard!
Jessie pushed a glass of water towards him. “Here. You look hot from your walk here.” Her eyes flashed a warning to him. While he gulped the cool liquid, she slid the pictures in front of her and flipped through them. “Mark didn’t do anything. He got these pictures the same place I got those ones last year. You were there, Jim. Don’t act surprised.” She raised an eyebrow at him.
Jim shot a look at Jessie. “Come on. That was a set-up and you know it. I still haven’t figured out how you pulled it off, or who the leak was, but I’m not going to fall for it a second time.”
Mark set the glass down, sloshing water over the side and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Well, that was that. He reached out, grabbed the bag on the table and swept the camera into it then snatched up the prints. “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” He pushed his chair back and stood.
Jessie grabbed his hand and gave a tug. “Mark-”
“You’re not leaving until I find out where the hell you got these photos.” Jim rose, cutting off Jessie’s plea. Eyes hard, he held Mark immobile with his look.
Mark refused to back down as he and Jim glared at each other like two alpha dogs. He was determined to win this time. Jessie had come to stand beside him and said something, but he heard only his own blood pounding in his ears. Without warning, images from last night’s dream shot through his mind, overwhelming him with their intensity. Like a flashback, he was there again, just as vividly as he’d been in his dream. He locked his knees to keep them from buckling, and grit his teeth as he tried to maintain his rage. It was no use. Screams of the children ricocheted through his head. A shudder swept over his body.
His anger died when he realized the truth. This meeting wasn’t about him. It was about saving people-regular folks just out enjoying a game. About saving them from crazed gunmen who thought killing innocents earned them a place of honor in the afterlife. What he had been through in prison paled in comparison to the fate that awaited hundreds of people leaving the ballgame tonight.
Mark had to convince Jim that the pictures were real. Or would be real. It was the only chance anyone in the photos had. If he couldn’t control his anger, he’d fail. Again. It might not have been his fault on September 11th, but it would be today.
To stop this, he needed help and Jim had the resources to get the bad guys. He took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax. “Can we start over?”
Jim blinked. His stance softened and after a beat, he stuck out his hand. “Jim Sheridan.”
He stared at the hand. His plea was meant to erase the last few minutes, not their whole past. Mark wasn’t ready to forget those fifteen months, but he’d go along for now. He’d do whatever it took to fix this if it meant not having another tragedy hanging around his neck. Swallowing hard, he clasped the other man’s hand. “Mark Taylor.”
The handshake introduction did more than calm the waters. With a shake of his hand, Jim gave Mark back something he’d been missing since being arrested. His dignity.
They returned to their chairs as the waitress arrived with their pizza. She paused in puzzlement as if sensing the residual tension in the air. “Um, cheese and sausage, right?”
Eyes burning, Mark avoided eye contact with everyone and covered his emotion by putting the photos back in the bag before the waitress saw them.
Jessie moved the water glasses out of the way so the waitress could put the hot pizza in the center of the table. “Yes, that’s correct. It looks great.”
What the hell had just happened? One minute Jim was sure Taylor was going to attack him, but the next, anguish flashed in the man’s eyes followed by something else. Resolve? Jim took the spatula and lifted a slice of pizza onto Jessie’s plate. He slid the utensil under another and raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he nodded towards Taylor’s plate. The guy looked wrung out, but he accepted the pizza and poured water for all of them while Jim served up the food.
“This is good pizza.” Jessica dabbed at her mouth.
Taylor glanced at her but didn’t react to the statement. He looked distracted and hardly touched his food.
“Yeah. It is. I’ll have to remember to come here more often. Who’d have thought an Irish pub would have decent pizza?” Jim took a sip of water and wished it was beer.
She glanced at Taylor briefly, and apparently communicated something to him because he nodded and took a bite. Turning back to Jim, she shrugged. “No kidding. But hey, it’s Chicago. We love our pizza.”
Jim took another slice. The pub was busy, and background noise covered the uneasy silence that hung over the group as they ate. Taylor’s leg bounced under the table, occasionally it bumped into the bottom. It was something that seemed beyond Taylor’s control. Every time they’d interrogated him, the leg would jump. At first, Jim had taken it for a sign that the guy was lying, but later, realized it was stress related. The fact it was going like a piston now meant the guy was extremely keyed up. When it seemed the other two were finished, Jim balled up his napkin and tossed it on his plate. “It’s time to get down to business. Level with me. What’s this all about?” He gestured to the paper bag on the fourth chair.
Taylor sighed and reached for the bag. “I have no reason to lie to you, and every reason to keep this to myself.” His mouth twisted and he gave a shake of his head. “I hope I don’t regret it.” He withdrew the photos and went to put them on the table, but the pizza pan was in the way, so he stood and came around next to Jim’s chair. “Forget about the camera for a minute. Just look at the pictures. Really look.”
“Okay, fine.” He’d go along with him. When he’d first looked, all he’d noticed were bodies and blood, but this time he took note of the setting. It looked familiar. He picked up one photo and angled it towards the light. It appeared to be a gangway. The victims were every age and race, but he saw a theme, a commonality. Most were wearing Cubs gear-T-shirts, jerseys or hats.
Taylor pointed in the upper left corner of the photo. “See the white flag? The one with the ‘W’ on it?”
Jim squinted. It was hard to make out but he could just see it. “Yeah.”
“Well, the good news is, the Cubs win tonight. The bad news is, nobody’s going to care.”
“Okay, so you did some photo editing. It’s a damn fine job too, Taylor. You might think about doing something useful with your talents.” Jim glanced at his watch. He had a meeting in thirty minutes.
“Goddamn it! Would ya listen to me? Why would I go to all this trouble? Huh? To take another chance that you’d lock me up?” Taylor turned away, his hands on his hips, the muscle in his jaw flexing. He waved a hand at Jim. “Shit. Whatever.” He snatched up the photos and returned to his seat.
Jessica folded her arms and leaned on the table. “Mark’s telling the truth. I’ve seen it. I’m the most skeptical person you’ll ever meet, but sometimes we have to admit that we don’t have the answer, do we? There are still mysteries in the world.” She waved a hand towards the photos. “Do you think I want to risk my career? Hell no. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am. But, this is real.”
Jim shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
She shook her head and darted a look at Taylor, who was sorting through the pictures before returning her focus to Jim. “Look, even if you don’t believe us, could you at least arrange for tighter security at Wrigley Field tonight? Tell them you got information from a source you can’t reveal. You’ve been doing this a long time. They’ll believe you.”
He almost considered her suggestion. If nothing else, it’d be a good training exercise, but training exercises took planning and cost money. There were channels to go through, he coudn’t just announce one on a whim.
Mark leaned across the table and spun a picture in front of Jim, stabbing a finger on it. “Before you go accusing me of having anything to do with what’s going to happen in about eight hours, I suggest you take one
