David Rosenfelt - Airtight

But Alex instinctively understood that demonstrations could only be effective if there was someone to demonstrate to. Hanson Oil and Gas had paid a fortune for that land, and they were not about to pack up their drills and go home because there were people camping out on it.

Even if the Brayton police were reluctant to do their bidding, Hanson would undoubtedly get a court order, and then some police organization, local, state, or Federal, would be forced to act on it. Alex needed to make it as painful as possible for Hanson to try and do that.

The only chance to accomplish the goal was to win the public relations battle. That was why she had called a huge rally for Saturday evening. Her hope was to get at least ninety percent of the citizens of Brayton, plus many supporters from nearby towns, to descend on the contested land.

By publicizing the rally as much as possible, she hoped to get the media out in force. Interviews with worried parents, their children by their sides, would send a powerful message.

So Alex made the rounds, talking to the people camped out and offering them words of encouragement. It was not easy for them; these were not wealthy people who could afford to take time out of their lives. Husbands and wives were alternating staying on the property, each arriving as the other went back to their job, earning the money that they needed to pay the bills.

As she walked around, she noticed someone she recognized. She had spoken to the man at her diner; he had asked her a bunch of questions. There was a physicality about him that was intimidating.

But he was minding his own business, talking to no one, and in fact paying attention to no one. He seemed to be pacing the land, as if measuring it out. Then, as she watched, he walked over to one of the areas where test drilling had been done.

He leaned down, and although it was getting dark and hard to see, he seemed to be feeling the dirt. Then he walked over to another, similar place, and did the same thing.

Buttressed by the fact that there were a lot of people around to dissuade the stranger from doing anything to her, Alex walked over to him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Bothering no one,” Gallagher said.

“Do you work for Hanson?”

“Go back to your friends.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just kept conducting his mysterious examination of the area. She kept following him, not backing down.

“You’re not going to drill on this land,” she said.

“You got that right,” he said. “No one is.”

She persisted. “Who are you?”

“Lady, I’m the person that’s going to save your life. Don’t make me regret it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Are you always this big a pain in the ass?” he asked. “When the police tell you to leave this property, don’t give them a hard time like you’re giving me. Listen to them.”

“Our police would never try to throw us out.”

“The state police will. Start packing up.”

“We’re not leaving.”

He didn’t bother answering her; instead he headed for his car. The decision had been made; he’d call Luke from the car, and tell him what was going on, and where Bryan was.

There was no longer any need for Bryan to die; justice was going to be served in another way. And Luke would help in that process; Gallagher would use him to get the New York State Police to do what they needed to do, one way or the other.

He turned the key, started the ignition, and shared the fate of Michael Oliver.

It wasn’t until later, after the fires had been put out and the police and firemen were searching the scene for clues, that they also discovered the body of Tommy Rhodes. He was killed in his car, which was almost a quarter mile down the road from where the explosion took place. It was done execution-style, by a bullet in the back of his head.

This was where I would be for the next thirty-six hours.

I took a room at a Holiday Inn in Morristown, but I’d be spending very little time in it. I was there to find Bryan, and I wasn’t going home until he was with me.

And I was going to be out in the field with everyone else. I wouldn’t be making door-to-door cold calls, though. We had gathered data from local real estate agents, showing all homes that had been on the market in the last decade that listed a bomb or fallout shelter among their attributes. It was considered a plus in selling a home, albeit a minor one.

So I’d be going to those places that we already knew had such a shelter, after cross-checking it against our list of satellite homes. Unfortunately, this didn’t provide proof that there was a satellite hookup in the shelter itself, only in the home.

The officers on the hunt were going out in pairs, because finding the home with Bryan could prove dangerous. Gallagher could have accomplices there that might resist a rescue attempt, and the officers had to be prepared for that.

I also had a partner, the identity of whom was a big surprise. Emmit showed up, looking weak and a little worse for wear, but anxious to be of help. Emmit at half strength was a hell of a lot tougher than I was, and I was happy to have him back. I was also very grateful.

We spent a few hours going over our information, and making sure all the other officers knew their assignments. It was complicated, especially since we were doing it on the fly. We didn’t want any duplication of efforts; there just wasn’t time to waste.

I was no longer focused on the situation in Brayton. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe it was connected to the Brennan murder; the fact was that I did. And once Bryan was safe and sound, I would revisit it, and bring in the Feds and anyone else necessary to crack the case.

Brennan wasn’t the only victim in that situation. Michael Oliver had also died, and Emmit had been shot. It still seemed illogical to me. Carlton and Hanson Oil and Gas had the most to gain by preventing Brennan’s ascension to the court, and therefore had the motive to kill him. But the rest of the violence was meant to hurt those companies. Could there be killers on both sides? It seemed very, very unlikely.

But in the court of Gallagher, I had already milked it for all it was worth. Based on my last conversation with him, I think it had accomplished a lot. But he seemed intent on convincing himself without any more help from me, and I could only hope that he’d do so quickly.

But that was just a hope, and I couldn’t begin to rely on it. So Brayton would go on the back burner while we found Bryan.

It was while I was walking through the station that I saw the report on the television. There was another explosion near the site of the property in Brayton. It happened in the parking lot, adjacent to where the residents had set up their protest camp.

One person was believed killed, but either the identity of the victim was unknown or they weren’t yet ready to report it. Another person, identified as Tommy Rhodes, was shot in the head and died at the scene. The Mayor, Edward Holland, was again pleading for outside intervention, and railing against those who were not providing it.

The way things were going, I figured that by the time I got back to focusing on Brayton, they would have all killed each other.

We have strong reason to believe you are in a bomb shelter in northwest New Jersey. We have a massive manhunt going on to check every single shelter in three counties. Barone has mobilized a huge number of state police officers, and every one is looking for you.

This is in addition to the Gallagher news I told you about. I’m openly telling you all this because I’m hoping he’s reading the e-mails. Gallagher, if you are, please contact me as soon as possible.