David Rosenfelt - Airtight

He nodded. “The answer is definitely in Brayton.”

“You’re taking my word for it?” I asked, surprised at his certainty.

“No chance,” he said. “I paid a visit to Kagan’s hotel room, which was just outside Brayton. I found some explosives, but more important were the explosives I didn’t find. The box was mostly empty.”

“What kind of explosives?”

He opened the suitcase and showed them to me. “C-245,” he said. “You can keep it.”

I knew what that meant; I had quite a bit of experience with munitions in the army. “Shit.”

“And Kagan was not working alone. I believe the guy he is working with-”

I interrupted. “Tommy Rhodes.”

Gallagher smiled. “Very impressive. What have you found out about him?”

“They were army buddies. Rhodes would know how to use the C-245; he was a munitions expert in the service. Our information is that he was considered as good as it gets, that if you gave him some hairspray and a bottle of Drano he could demolish Argentina.”

He nodded. “That fits. You should also have someone take a look at this.” He handed me some drawings, which seemed to be some kind of geological maps. “I think it’s the land area that Carlton is selling, but I don’t know what it all means.”

“Beats me, but I’ll find someone who understands it. What I can’t figure out is what Rhodes could have been looking to blow up. If he’s working for Carlton, they’ve already won in court. Who could they be after?”

Gallagher frowned. “I should have stayed there and asked Rhodes when he came back to the hotel.”

“I’ll send some people to pick him up.”

“They may not find anyone,” said Gallagher.

“What does that mean?”

“There were empty timer cases in his room. He might have already planted devices on timers. If not, he could detonate them remotely. He may have been staying around to make sure that there were no hitches. But with Kagan gone, he might bail out of the area. Probably depends on when the next device is set to go off.”

“It’s probably soon,” I said. “Rhodes was booked on a plane back to Vegas Saturday night. I’ll have cops at the airport, but he’ll be aware that we know his name, so I imagine he won’t show up.”

Gallagher smiled. “Then Saturday is a really big day all around. Keep your priorities straight, Luke.”

He was telling me that I shouldn’t spend too much time worrying about what Rhodes might or might not have been targeting, because Saturday was already a big day.

It was the day Bryan was scheduled to die.

One thing you need to do, Lucas … you need to tell me the truth. It’s hard enough for me to prepare for this; I just can’t be taken by surprise. I’ve been thinking about my will … my life insurance … right now everything goes to Julie. Not sure if I should leave it like that. Of course, when you change a will, you need two witnesses to sign it. That might be a little tough in this case.

The moment the court decision was announced, Alex Hutchinson was on the move.

More accurately, she was on the phone, planning a strategy of action to prevent Hanson Oil and Gas from starting to drill on the land they had just purchased. Richard Carlton, as much as she loathed him, was no longer the enemy. He had sold the land to Hanson, which made them the threat.

The loss in court was far from unexpected. Alex was smart, and informed, and she was a realist. Similar cases were being decided with some regularity in favor of energy companies, in New York and around the country. And they had already lost in District Court; the appeal had been something of a long shot.

Her first call was to Mayor Edward Holland. He had been a stand-up guy throughout, even taking on the legal work himself, in deference to the town’s shaky finances. It had served him well; the publicity he received was national, and he was portrayed as a heroic figure fighting big business on behalf of the little people. While she recognized his ambition, in her mind he still deserved most of the accolades, even in a losing effort.

It became obvious early in the conversation that he had no more bullets left in his legal gun. “We don’t have the money to take this any further,” he said. “It’s not the legal fees; hell, I’m working for nothing. It’s the bond.”

As he had privately predicted to her, the court had imposed a bond requirement of five hundred million dollars that the town would have to put up, should they try to delay matters with a further appeal. It was the court’s way of saying that their case would not win on appeal, and that Hanson would suffer financial damages if the process caused a delay in drilling the land.

“We need to take action outside the system,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that we have to prevent the fracking from beginning. Once it does, we’ve lost.”

“Alex, we’ve already lost. Now we need to work with the EPA and other regulatory authorities to minimize the damage.”

“Great, we’ll just partially pollute the air and water supply. That way only half the town will get cancer.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Mayor, I personally appreciate all that you’ve done. But it’s moved to the next level.”

“Which level is that?”

“We are going to organize, we are going to take action, and we are going to stop this.”

“Those are just words,” Holland said. “And with all due respect, they’re not the brightest words I’ve heard.”

“There will be more than words. We have a rally planned for tonight. We’ll have made decisions by then.”

“No violence, Alex. It will be self-defeating.”

“Letting our children die is self-defeating,” she said. “The rally is at the high school at six o’clock in the evening. You are the Mayor, and our leader, so you should be there. People will want to hear you.”

“I’ll be there, but you may not like what I have to say, Alex. I’ll be preaching restraint, and lawful behavior. I share your anger, believe me, but there is no other way.”

“See you tonight,” she said, and hung up.

Holland took some time to think about the phone call, and to decide what to do. He then picked up the phone and dialed his police chief, Tony Brus. “Tony, I think we’ve got a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“People are upset, and I think more violence is a possibility. You’d better be ready.”

“Have you got any specific information?” Brus asked. He was not a big fan of politicians in general, and Holland in particular.

In addition, Chief Brus was harboring hopes of running for Mayor himself in the next election, and had no interest in doing anything that would make Holland look good. He saw no irony in the fact that he frequently expressed his disdain for politicians while angling to become one himself.

“No, but if they blew up Carlton’s guesthouse before we lost, there’s no telling what they’ll do now,” Holland said.

“OK, I’ll keep an eye on it.”

Holland got off the phone and started thinking about public relations. So far the entire situation had been a political plus for him, even with the court defeat. He had been the hero fighting the good fight; it was the other side, and the judges, that bore the blame.

But he was sure there was more violence to come, and he needed to come out against it before it happened.

So he called his high school sweetheart.

Adrienne Horton and Edward Holland had repeatedly expressed their undying love for each other throughout high school, but their commitment actually lasted only a few days past the Senior Prom.

She had only spoken to or seen him a few times in the past couple of decades, mostly at reunions. But they had spoken five times in the last couple of months. She had made the first call, in her role as a producer of prime-time CNN programming. The fight between Big Energy and the people of Brayton made for a compelling human interest story, and she wanted to get Holland on to talk about it.