Peterson groaned and looked for William, his son who seemed to find trouble even when it didn’t exist. Over the past few years, William had made an incredible turnaround regarding his drug and alcohol addiction. After a few months at one of the nation’s top rehab centers, William emerged clean and sober for the first time since he was in high school. But Peterson knew his son’s mischief wasn’t limited to substance abuse.
“I hope Little Willie isn’t up to no good,” Peterson said.
William hopped into the convertible and landed on the back seat just to the right of his father. “I thought I told you that I hate the nickname Little Willie.”
“Start acting like a grownup, and I’ll call you William,” Peterson said. He checked his watch again. “Seriously, when is this thing going to start? I’ve got a rally to get to later this afternoon.”
The car lurched forward as it started to roll.
“Looks like we’re getting started now,” Peterson’s campaign manager said.
The convertible turned to the right and eased onto the parade route. Peterson squinted as he scanned the street ahead to see what kind of turnout would be there to greet him.
“Doesn’t look like the crowd is all that big,” Peterson said.
“Just wait, sir.”
Peterson looked at William, who fidgeted with his fingers.
“Do you have a problem, Little Willie?” Peterson asked.
William stared off in the distance before responding. “Look, Dad, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh, Lord,” Peterson said. “Please tell me you haven’t murdered anyone.”
“No, no one’s been murdered.”
“Thank God. What is it, son? I can take anything now.”
William looked at his hands and rubbed them before responding. “I might have done something that might not cast you in the best light.”
Peterson eyed his son closely. “Go on.”
“You know when you said that we need to make sure that the American people know that Noah Young doesn’t care about homeland security?”
“Yes, I remember. That’s an area I am hammering him in.”
“Well, I might have made sure the American people recognize that for sure.”
Peterson cocked his head to one side. “I’m not sure I’m following you, son.”
“What I’m trying to say is that I kind of struck a deal with someone from Al Hasib, who plans to unleash a terrorist strike on U.S. soil in the coming weeks.”
“You did what?”
“I know, I know. In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea.”
“Hindsight? What about foresight? Son, if anyone finds out about this, it’s a disaster.”
“I realize that now.”
“What were you thinking? And what did you do exactly?”
“Here it goes,” William mumbled. “I used your plane to sneak Karif Fazil into the country.”
“I should knock your lights out right now,” Peterson said. “And if the camera weren’t rolling, I’d do it. I’d kick your ass and leave you on the street. You’re lucky you’re telling this to me now.”
“But it’s worse than that,” William said as he stared off in the distance.
“Worse than that? How is that even possible?” Peterson said, his mouth falling open.
“I’ve seen Karif Fazil at the parade site today. I think he’s planning something.”
“Are you serious? You invited that scumbag here, and now he’s going to kill us?”
William cringed and hunched over, appearing to brace for a blow from his father.
“Stop with that,” Peterson said. “I’m not going to hit you now. But I just might beat you senseless later on.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Watch your mouth, Son. You only have yourself to blame for such a ridiculous action.” Peterson peered at the road ahead. “Driver, I think we’re done here. Can you take the next road to the left and return us back to the staging area?”
“No can do,” the driver said. “I’m being paid to drive a route. And if you’re in my car, you’re going with me.”
“Like hell I am,” Peterson said. “We’re all going to die if we stay the course.”
“I’m sorry there isn’t a bigger crowd here, sir, but a job’s a job,” the driver said. “And my job is to drive you along the parade route.”
“Well, I know this is above your security clearance, but there is an active terror threat along this parade route.”
“According to who? I know you’re just embarrassed, sir. And I can’t really blame you. But until I hear otherwise from my superiors, I’m going to do what I was asked to do.”
Peterson hunched down and spoke sternly in the ear of the man seated behind the steering wheel. “Turn this car around right now and get me back to the staging area or else I’m going to beat your ass right here.”
The driver turned around and glared at Peterson. “I’d like to see you try.”
Peterson stood in the back seat before raising his leg and kicking at the back of the driver’s head. The driver grabbed for Peterson’s leg and missed as the car began to weave back and forth across the road. Undaunted by his first failed attempt to stop the driver, Peterson made a second attempt, this time connecting with a solid kick. Dazed by the hit, the driver swayed back and forth before collapsing across the seat. His head rested in the passenger’s seat.
Peterson yanked the driver’s body over to the passenger seat and slipped down behind the wheel. He jerked it to the right and looped back toward the staging area.
In the back, William gasped several times. After the fifth time, Peterson said something. “What’s wrong with you back there?”
William’s voice trembled as he spoke. “Karif Fazil—he’s, he’s, he’s everywhere.”
“What do you mean everywhere?”
“I mean, I’ve seen him five times already.”
“Is this Karif Fazil guy also an Olympic sprinter? I’m not going that slow, but not fast enough that he could circle the block five times since I took the wheel.”
“No, it’s just that—I’ve seen five men that look like him. He’s up to something.”
Peterson glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes.
“I swear, if you weren’t related to me, I just might drive this car over the Brooklyn Bridge and pray that you don’t make it out alive.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,”
