David Rosenfelt - Airtight

“I know the timing better than you,” he said. “I just need to confirm something, and maybe save some lives in the process. You’ll be a goddamn hero.”

“I just want my brother alive,” I said. “That’s all.”

“Then hang tight.”

“I will.”

He was quiet for a while, and I thought he might have hung up. “Hello?” I said.

“I needed to know that Steven hadn’t done anything,” he said. Again there was a long period of silence. Then, “I knew, but I needed to know. ”

“Please tell me where Bryan is,” I said, but Gallagher ignored my plea.

Instead he said, “Have you ever crossed the line?”

I knew exactly what he meant. “No, I’ve gone to the edge a few times, but never crossed it.”

“Think long and hard before you do,” he said. “Because there is no way back.”

Bryan … we’re making great progress. I just had a conversation with Gallagher that was very promising. He said he was soon going to be telling me information that I’d “want to hear.”

You would have made a great cop, and it’s not too late. All you have to do is give up any hope of ever having a decent house or car, but the upside is that you’ll start getting shot at.

You’re handling this amazingly well, Bryan, and I’m proud of you. You’ve always been miscast as the younger brother, because I’ve always looked up to you.

See you soon …

“What the hell happened here?”

It was the question Tommy Rhodes asked as soon as he walked in, but he had a pretty good idea already. He had seen the car leaving, and gotten a look at the driver.

The door to Carlton’s house had been ajar when Rhodes came in, and the scene was fairly chaotic. William, who had been assisting Carlton throughout this operation, was bleeding slightly from the mouth, and had obviously come in second place in a two-person encounter.

Carlton was doing quite a bit worse. He was screaming in pain, yelling at William to get the car, and holding his arm at an awkward angle. It was obviously broken, and Rhodes saw it as a good bet that the driver who had just left was the source of the break.

“I’ve got a broken arm, that’s what happened.” Then, to William, “Let’s go.”

“Where are you going?” Rhodes asked.

“The hospital, where do you think?”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“That I fell, that I slipped, what the hell is the difference? If you got here on time, maybe this wouldn’t have happened at all.”

He started moving towards the door, but Rhodes closed it.

“What are you doing?” Carlton asked.

“I’m trying to find out what that guy wanted, and what you told him.”

For a brief instant, Carlton’s face reflected some worry along with the pain, but he recovered quickly. “He thought I had Brennan killed.”

“What did you say?”

“That I didn’t, what do you think I said? Damn idiot, he didn’t even know the cops shot the killer.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know,” Carlton lied. He wanted Rhodes in the dark as much as possible; he didn’t trust him.

“What else did you tell him?”

“Nothing. This hurts like hell, you understand? If they don’t operate on it right away, it won’t heal right.”

“Carlton, you’re not in this alone, OK? Tell me what else you told this guy.”

“For the last time, Rhodes, I didn’t tell the guy anything. Now get the hell out of the way.”

But Rhodes was no longer looking at Carlton; he had nothing more to say to him. Instead he turned to William, making eye contact without saying anything.

William understood the unspoken question, and slowly shook his head from side to side. Carlton didn’t notice the connection between the two of them; he was already heading for the door.

He got his hand to the doorknob when the three bullets hit him in the back, pushing him into the door, before he slumped to the floor.

“Leave him right here; I want him found,” Rhodes said to William.

“He will be.”

“Just the latest victim of the outraged citizens of Brayton.”

William smiled. “They’re out of control.”

Barone had done an impressive job.

Whatever he had said to his counterparts in the three northwest New Jersey counties had certainly motivated them. By the time I got to state police headquarters, officers from all three counties had gathered there. There were probably sixty in total, more than I would have expected could have been spared from other work.

“We’re looking for someone who has been kidnapped and is being held in what we believe is an underground room. Our assumption is that it is a bomb shelter, though we cannot be absolutely positive about that.”

One of the officers asked what made me think it was a bomb shelter, and I said, “The room seems to be soundproof, and fits the design typical of shelters in the sixties. C rations were also found in a metal cabinet, though they have apparently expired.

“We have reason to believe that the shelter has been occupied recently, as there is a satellite television hookup that is operable and in use.”

I showed them pictures of Bryan; I didn’t mention that he was my brother, but it’s likely that some of them made the connection because of the name, and the rather slight resemblance between us.

“There is a complicating factor,” I said. “A major complicating factor. There is a limited air supply, scheduled to run out soon. So there is no time to lose.”

“What’s the plan?” an officer asked.

“The plan is to go door-to-door, asking everyone if they have or, more importantly, know of bomb shelters in their area. We can then cross-check that against our list of homes with satellites.

“Every single possibility must be followed up on immediately, and if we need more manpower, I’ll make sure that we get it. I am aware that this is a difficult assignment, but we are one knock on a door away from solving it, and saving Bryan Somers.

“There is no time to lose, ladies and gentlemen. This situation defines ‘life-and-death.’”

Lucas … I am very, very anxious to hear more about your progress with Gallagher. I don’t have to tell you that time is running short.

I keep imagining that I’m having trouble breathing, that the air is running out prematurely. But I’m still alive, so clearly I’ve been mistaken. So far …

Hoping that someone gets me out of here before I run out of air is definitely the textbook definition of “waiting with bated breath.”

Hurry …

Alex Hutchison was gratified, but not surprised, at the response.

People were scared, and they were frustrated, and they were looking for someone to help them find a solution. Alex was providing, if not a solution, then at least a plan of attack. No one had a better idea, so they followed her.

People had started showing up the day before, bringing their tents and sleeping bags with them. Underneath them was the natural gas that Hanson was planning to bring up, in Alex’s mind destroying the environment in the process.

But no one would be able to drill while the land was inhabited by so many people, and it was Alex’s intention to keep a good number of protesters there 24/7.

Alex had confidence that the Brayton police would not attempt to evict them; those officers were the friends of the protesters. Their children went to the same schools, breathed the same air, and drank the same water. They would not turn on the protesters and do Hanson’s bidding.

Alex spent as much time as she could at the site, keeping morale up, and making sure as best she could that everyone was well behaved. Logical speculation was rampant that the recent violence was committed by protesters, so Alex wanted to keep these demonstrations as peaceful and law-abiding as possible.