Rick Mofina - Six Seconds

French and Japanese conversations, all streaming by in rivers of smiles.

She squeezed her phone hard.

“Wanda? You didn’t call just to apologize. Will you help me?”

“Karl is who he is. He cuts corners and is afraid you were cops and-”

“I don’t give a damn about him, I need to find my son. Please.”

“I’ll help you.”

Maggie waved frantically at Graham until he saw her. Then to Wanda she said, “We’re on our way to your office now! Soon as we get a taxi.”

“No! Don’t come. That’s a bad idea. I’ll tell you over the phone.”

“Okay, give me a second.” Graham joined Maggie. She pointed to a table, pulled out a notebook and scrawled, WANDA. WILL HELP. He gestured to his ear. “Okay, Wanda, it’s noisy here, I have to turn up the sound. Speak up, speak clearly, please!”

Maggie adjusted the sound to its maximum level then turned it so Graham could hear. Their heads touched as they listened.

Graham pulled out his notebook.

“Your husband, Jake, traded his rig with us. He looked familiar in the pictures and I checked our other files. Karl keeps a second set of books.”

“What did Jake trade for? Where did he go?”

“It was an International, but the records were changed. You won’t find it. It’s what Karl does to make money under the table. He alters serial numbers and vehicle identification numbers, then he pays guys to help him authenticate records. I’m telling you because I’m leaving him because he- I think you know what men like Karl do to women.” Wanda made a swallow ing sound like she was drinking. “And you seemed so nice.”

“Life can be hard, Wanda, I know. Is that all you can tell me about Jake?” Maggie’s voice broke. “Can’t you tell me anything else? Please.”

“Jake and Karl talked in Karl’s office for a long time. Karl made me bring them coffee. They were loud. I heard Jake say that he had a line on work and some property in Montana. That he was going to start new there, put the past and his ex behind him.”

“Ex? I’m not his ex. That’s not- Wanda, where in Montana?” Maggie made notes.

“I don’t know.”

“Nothing?”

“A couple weeks after the deal, Karl had me send Jake some paperwork he needed to make the truck ‘legal,’ so I have an address that might help you.”

“In Montana?”

“Yes, a P.O. box address care of the Sky Road Truck Mall, Grizzly Tooth Freeway, Great Falls, Montana.”

“Thank you, Wanda. Oh, thank you.”

“I saw your boy. Recognized him in your pictures, too.”

Maggie’s heart nearly burst.

“You saw him!”

“He was here with your husband. Came in to use the bathroom.”

“How was he?”

“A little sad-looking, little stressed. As I recall, he was with this woman, Jake’s girlfriend, I think.”

“What do you know about the woman? Do you have her name, a description?” Graham was jotting some thing, Maggie read it into the phone. “Did she touch anything that no one else has touched?”

“Don’t know. But she was pretty. Kind of dark, in an exotic way. She didn’t say much, barely smiled. Oh- I have to go, sorry. Good luck. I hope you find your son.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Maggie ended the call and looked at Graham.

“I’m taking the next plane to Great Falls,” she said. “Are you coming?”

Seattle, Washington

A King County sheriff’s helicopter thudded above the city in the clear morning sky.

People filled Pioneer Square and several surround ing blocks for a glimpse of the pope. Thirty-five thou sand, according to estimates coming through Blake Walker’s earpiece.

He scanned the faces at barricades and windows overlooking the square.

This was it.

His team’s turn to protect the pope.

Everyone on the Secret Service’s advance team had been pulling nineteen-hour days for this leg of the papal visit. Drawing from the watch list and working with local police, they’d studied the Service’s Trip File and The Album, they’d interviewed all the people who had ever uttered a threat against the pope, or the president.

No major security breaches had happened in Boston, New York, Miami, Houston or Los Angeles, the previous cities on the papal visit.

In New York, a seventy-six-year-old grandmother

wrapped her arms around his neck and refused to release him as she broke down with emotion. In Los Angeles, a poor construction worker, whose wife had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, broke through the barricade and tugged at the Holy Father’s vestments before security escorted him back. Later, the pope met privately with the man and prayed with him.

Investigation and analysis of the marine border pene tration up the coast at the Strait of Juan de Fuca was ongoing. Preliminary reports had yielded nothing con clusive to constitute a threat.

Walker and senior agents continued working with all intelligence agencies. Nothing had emerged to corrobo rate the information from the capture of terror suspect Issa al-Issa obtained by secret operatives in the U.S.

U.S. and foreign intelligence desks continued to scour all chatter, reports and known activities of foreign terrorist organizations.

Walker knew that not every threat could be antici pated.

Not every action could be stopped.

But with hard work and vigilance, risks could be reduced. Unknown to the public, the traffic of threats against the pope was increasing.

Security in Seattle was overwhelming.

Uniformed officers were everywhere, along with armed officers and federal agents in plain clothes who blended with the crowd. Secret Service agents in suits formed a protective box that moved with the pope.

Sharpshooters and spotters from Seattle, King County, Washington State Patrol and the FBI and ATF lined the rooftops. Heavily armed officers patrolled the streets.

High and unseen overhead, jet fighters provided top cover to guard against any aircraft attempting to pene trate restricted airspace in a suicide attack on the pope’s stage. Such a plan was outlined in computer records found two years ago with captured Algerian terror suspects.

Walker took another deep breath and reviewed the major events on the day’s agenda.

The pope would bless a shelter in Pioneer Square run by an order of nuns. His blessing would honor a devoted sister who’d recently been murdered while performing religious duties at the shelter.

Afterward, he would meet the public at the barri cades outside the shelter as he made his way to the popemobile for the half-mile parade down 1st Avenue to Qwest Field, home of the Seahawks. Use of the infield expanded the stadium’s capacity to allow him to celebrate Mass with some one hundred thousand people.

That evening the Holy Father would have a private dinner at the residence of the archbishop for the Arch diocese of Seattle, where he’d spend the night. The next morning, he would fly to Montana for events there before going on to Chicago to conclude the tour.

Walker checked his earpiece.

The pope had just finished inside the shelter and would exit.

Agents outside the shelter stiffened.

Walker was on “the shoulder” as he scanned faces at the barricade. He assessed a tall, thin, long-haired man. Next to him, an elderly man in a ball cap, eye clenched behind a camera that had been inspected. Then a small woman wearing a kerchief and white gloves. Next to her, a young man, but Walker couldn’t see his eyes. The guy had dark glasses, blond hair and was smiling. Maybe a little too much. Where were his hands? Walker watched him as some in the crowd began to sing and cheer.