24
The news coverage was merciless. Networks broke into their regularly scheduled broadcasts-pissing off more than a few sitcom fanatics-to tell the country about the federal agent and his kidnapped daughter and the savage but clever fugitive struck down by police gunfire.
The moment Donovan was pulled off Fogerty, the leaks had begun, and soon the sky above the train yard was filled with those dreaded newscopters, their pilots dutifully reporting the massive sweep for land mines.
Three cops were dead and the girl was still missing, and none of it looked good for the grieving father and the ATF. Donovan was painted as a rogue agent. Fogerty was considered by some to be a hero, and by others to be a complete idiot.
Reporters were waiting for them both outside the train yard, where uniformed cops did their best with crowd control. Donovan had no comment, but Fogerty, playing it up for the cameras as he was loaded into the back of an ambulance, shouted that he was just doing his job and would be speaking to his attorneys tomorrow.
Somewhere in the suburbs, the families of slain security guards Walter O’Brien and Samuel Kingman thanked God for answering their prayers.
But how sad about the little girl…
25
Rachel knew she wouldn’t be going home tonight. No way she’d walk out that door knowing what Jack was going through.
Two years working for the man wasn’t the only thing that kept her here. She felt his hurt. In the pit of her stomach. Like a mother feels the hurt of a child. Or a wife the hurt of a husband.
Sure, they all felt it. But not like Rachel.
She stood in the doorway of the Situation Room, watching Jack struggle to contain his torment. He stared down at a conference table covered with the contents of Gunderson’s train car: guns, knives, convenience-store receipts, Polaroids, a half dozen cartons of Marlboros, an assortment of candy bars, pamphlets touting antigovernment propaganda, a handful of battered-looking books on metaphysics and cult religions.
The yard had been thoroughly searched, a dozen or more land mines uncovered and defused by the CPD bomb squad. But there’d been no sign of Jessie anywhere, and none of the items on the table gave them the slightest indication of where she might be.
The oxygen tank from Gunderson’s train car had been traced to a recent warehouse theft at Clayman Medical Supply. Seven portable E cylinders had been stolen, containing about 680 liters of oxygen each. The manager of the supply house estimated that, depending on the rate of intake and barring any leakage, each tank could last between five and ten hours. If Gunderson had used the remaining six tanks rigged to an automatic switchover system, the most optimistic projection gave Jessie approximately sixty hours of air. Two and a half days. And the clock had already started.
An eternity for Jessie.
But for Jack…
He was trying to cover, but Rachel could see the look of hopelessness in his eyes as he stared down at the evidence spread across the table.
“This is it?” he said, speaking to no one in particular. “This is all we’ve got?”
He was surrounded by most of his team: Sidney, Al, Darcy Payne, Franky Garcia. A.J.’s absence was a palpable, living thing dulled only by shock and disbelief.
“CPD’s still looking for the Suburban,” Sidney said. “Maybe they’ll get lucky.”
“I don’t want lucky, Sidney, I want results.” Donovan looked around the room now. “Has anybody bothered to contact A.J.’s folks?”
“I talked to Bill Klein in Austin,” Rachel said. “He’s on his way over right now.”
“What about my ex? Has she been notified?”
“The Caymans are in the middle of a level-three hurricane. Phones could be down for days.”
“Son of a bitch!” Donovan exploded, sweeping an arm across the tabletop. Weapons and evidence flew everywhere. The agents around the table jumped back to avoid the debris, staring at Jack in stunned silence.
After a moment, Rachel crouched down, gathering up a handful of books and returning them to the table. The Book of Changes. Metempsychosis in the Modern World. The Doctrine of Eternal Life. Gunderson’s choice of reading material was interesting, to say the least, an odd counterpoint to his public persona.
It also, strangely enough, reminded her of her grandmother, a woman who took great stock in ancient folklore and the promise of eternal life. She could just imagine the conversation the two would have…
Among the litter were a half dozen washed-out Polaroid photos, shots of Gunderson and Sara standing in front of the Lake Point Lighthouse.
Funny, Rachel thought. She’d never really looked at them as normal people. Yet here they were, happy and smiling like a pair of love-struck high school kids on an all-day field trip.
Setting the Polaroids on top of the books, she looked at Jack. His eyes were bloodshot.
“Maybe you should take a break,” she said.
Donovan glared at her. “Why are you even here, Rachel? You’re off the clock.”
Heat rose in Rachel’s cheeks. The words stung and Jack knew it, but at the moment he didn’t seem to care. She’d seen him in a dozen different moods, but had never known him to be cruel. She felt tears coming on and held them back.
Be tough, Rache. He didn’t mean it.
She wished she could say something to him, something that would ease his mind-a bit of Grandma Luke’s wisdom, perhaps. But she came up empty.
Lowering his gaze, Donovan stomped past her and exited the room.
She found him in his office, sitting at his desk, head slumped forward, eyes closed. The newspaper clippings, police reports, and photographs that normally covered one wall had been ripped down and scattered across the floor.
Rachel looked at them, then at Donovan.
She closed the door behind her.
“Jack…”
He didn’t open his eyes. His voice was soft, faraway. Filled with regret. “What the hell have I done, Rache?”
“Don’t start thinking like that. This is all Gunderson.”
“Is it?” He looked up at her now. “I knew what he was. I should’ve protected her. If I was any kind of father…”
“Stop,” Rachel said. She moved around to his side of the desk, perched on the edge. “Let’s just concentrate on finding Jessie.” She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, a gesture of comfort, but somehow more than that. “You will find her.”
Donovan nodded absently, but she could sense that he didn’t quite believe it.
“When I was in that train car,” he said, “Gunderson asked me how it felt knowing I’d abandoned my own daughter. What do you say to a question like that? Truth is, when Jessie needed me most, I let her down. Made her feel like she didn’t matter.”
“For God sakes, Jack, quit beating yourself up. You’ve changed things, you’ve tried to make up for it. None of us can claim sainthood.”
He stared at her a moment, offered her a wan smile. “Guess I’m way beyond grumpy now.”
She returned the smile, held his gaze.
He didn’t look away.
