[Quinn 03] - Shadow of Betrayal

Quinn could feel a chill run up his arms. The police sketch, he thought. It was a question he wasn’t used to, so it caught him off guard.

“He’s an actor,” Orlando said. “Does a lot of commercials.”

“I’ve done a couple movies, too,” Quinn added, trying to sound appropriately defensive.

“But no one’s seen those,” she said. Then, to the officer, she added, “Straight to DVD.”

“No wonder you’re not my publicist,” Quinn said.

“That must be it,” the officer said. He took a step back. “I’m going to need to take a look in your trunk. Do you mind popping it for me?”

“No problem,” Nate said.

There was a dull thunk as Nate released the trunk. The officer walked around back and pushed it all the way open.

“Anything in there we need to worry about?” Quinn whispered through unmoving lips.

“Just the body of the owner,” Nate said.

“Funny,” Quinn shot back.

“I checked before I picked you guys up,” Nate said. “Standard stuff.”

A few seconds later, the officer closed the trunk and returned to the driver’s side window. “All right. You all have a good day,” he said.

“We’re so glad you made it, Mr. Lee,” Sylvia Stanton, principal of the R. J. Oliver School, said. “Doris in Santa Maria had a child who had a meltdown this morning, so they had to cancel. Since you were coming from so far, I was afraid you’d have the same problem.”

“We’re glad we’re here, too,” Tucker said.

Ms. Stanton was under the impression that Tucker was Harold Lee, director of a school several hours south in Ventura. The real Mr. Lee was indeed supposed to be transporting a group of children to the event, but his bus had been stopped not long after leaving Ventura by the squad of Tucker’s men that had split off and gone south in the dark hours of the morning. Mr. Lee would be thankful later, Tucker knew. At least he and his children would still be alive, as long as no one did anything stupid.

Tucker’s biggest concern had been the security check at the school. Mr. Rose’s tests at the Yellowhammer lab had shown the explosives’ delivery systems would pass through the government’s detectors without a problem, appearing to be exactly what they looked like: dozens of individual juice boxes. But passing tests in a lab wasn’t the same as carrying the containers through the actual screening machines. And all Tucker could think about as they went through the Secret Service check was the fact that for the first month those same tests Mr. Rose performed had all failed.

But they had passed through without a problem, and soon Tucker and his remaining men had their cargo—the children and the explosives—settled in the school’s cafeteria. That was when Ms. Stanton had offered to give him a tour of the facility.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d be honored,” he’d said.

There were classrooms, an indoor gym, the administration office, an outside play area, and even a swimming pool.

“Only three and a half feet at the deepest,” she’d told him.

But it wasn’t the pool or any of the rest of the school that interested him. It was the Secret Service members stationed throughout. Since he’d already passed through the security check and was on the inside, their focus was on other things besides him.

“My God, do you have to feed them all?” Tucker said as they walked out of the auditorium where the assembly would be taking place. Just under a dozen agents had been stationed around the room.

“I know what you mean,” Ms. Stanton half-whispered. “I’m told there are twenty others in the building alone, and more outside that I can’t see.”

Securing a perimeter that’s already been breached, Tucker thought. He had to force himself not to smile. “How long have they been here?”

“The advance team arrived on Monday. But they moved in en masse around six a.m. this morning. And let me tell you, they searched everywhere.”

“Hey, did they have any of those dogs?” he asked. “You know what I mean? The ones that sniff out drugs and explosives and those kinds of things? The kids would love to see that.”

“No dogs that I saw,” she said. “They did have electronic devices with them when they were searching the building. Perhaps those might do the same thing.”

Not only might, Tucker thought, but did. He said, “I don’t know. I guess.”

While they were standing in the lobby outside the auditorium, Petersen entered from the hallway back to the cafeteria on cue. In his arms was the trigger.

Tucker smiled as if pleasantly surprised. “Eric, could you come here for a moment?”

Petersen walked over.

“Ms. Stanton, I’d like you to meet one of my teachers. This is Eric Jones,” he said, using Petersen’s temporary alias. “Eric, this is Principal Stanton. She’s in charge here.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Petersen said.

“Good to meet you, too,” Ms. Stanton said.

“Sorry, I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little tied up.”