Rick Mofina - Six Seconds

The man stood. His attention bounced from Graham to Maggie and back. He gripped a steel tire iron in his right hand, rotated it slowly. He was Graham’s height, but thinner. Clean-shaven with short dark hair, dark eyes and an angular face that bordered on menacing, until he smiled.

“No. Thank you. I’m almost finished. Flat tire.” His accent suggested he was British, or European. As Maggie and Graham got in, Graham noticed the man’s open trunk had four plastic fuel cans. Odd, he thought.

As they pulled away, Graham turned to Maggie.

“Write this down.” He recited the stranger’s Montana plate, make, color of his car and a description of the man, time and location.

“Why?”

“A cop habit.”

“Good thing. I think I saw that guy on our plane. Small world, huh?”

Graham saw her nervous smile but did not return it.

“Too small, maybe.”

There were no messages at the motel, which puzzled Graham. Nothing from Arnie, or Stotter even. Before leaving, Graham went online and extended his wireless access service for his laptop. Maggie used the motel computer to print off all she could on Cold Butte in Lone Tree County. After paying for their rooms, they asked the manager for directions out of Great Falls.

“Cold Butte? You going to see the pope like every body else?”

Maggie shot Graham a look. Neither of them had gotten around to reading details of the papal visit to Montana.

“I thought he was visiting Great Falls?” Graham said.

“Lands here, then goes to bless a shrine out near Cold Butte. Good luck getting out there. I expect traffic will be bad and security’s tight as a rusted nut.”

Unspoken tension mounted in the car as they crossed the 10th Avenue Bridge over the Missouri River and headed east out of the city. Traffic flowed well on U.S. Highway 87. Maggie studied the Tribune ’s reports on the papal visit.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Graham? Because I’m getting scared.”

“We only learned of Jake’s link to Montana about twenty-four hours ago.”

“You lied to me. Tarver was chasing a story about a plot, or attack, wasn’t he?”

“I did not lie to you, I can’t discuss every aspect of a case.”

“I have a right to know. Jake drove in Iraq. Some thing happened to him there. Now he’s living in Cold Butte, where the pope’s going to be. I know that big rigs, tankers, trailers, can be used as weapons. If someone wanted to hijack, or trick him, he’s- Please, no, my God, he’s got Logan with him! ”

“Maggie! Stop imagining the worst and listen to me.”

“I know my husband’s unstab-not been himself- since he returned.”

“Maggie, stop this.”

“Can you discuss this aspect of your case. ” She held up the birthday snapshot. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know. Listen, Maggie, Ray Tarver dealt with theories based on fragments of truth. He never had all the facts and he was always wrong. Some people believe he may have fabricated things.”

“Then why are you here?”

She’d stopped him cold.

“You lied. This isn’t about insurance, ” she said. “You think Tarver was murdered, don’t you?”

Graham turned to the sky and the plains.

“All I know is that we both need to see this through.”

About twenty minutes east of Lewistown, traffic slowed to a crawl. Maggie consulted her pages for the school number in Cold Butte. It was large and served the tricounty area. It was a good bet Logan would be enrolled there. According to the Tribune, the school was involved in the pope’s visit.

The paper had published an agenda for the event. Maggie called the school.

Static hissed on the line as it rang four times before it was answered. Maggie spoke quickly, pleading for help to locate Logan. The annoyed school assistant on the phone had trouble comprehending her above the din of people talking, shouting and public announcements. The line crackled, the connection was tenuous.

“I said he might be listed as Logan Russell. Here’s his birthdate.”

“I’m sorry, I can hardly hear you.”

“Please, if I could just talk to a teacher and explain.

Six Seconds 393

I may lose you, take my number, please. Can you find a teacher, please?”

“Sorry, it’s impossible to help you today because of the pope. Maybe tomorr-”

“No, wait!”

The line died. Tears stung Maggie’s eyes as the traffic ground to a stop.

“Try again,” Graham said.

Before she could, her cell phone rang. The school calling back?

“Maggie Conlin,” she said.

“Mom?”

Maggie’s face went white.

“Logan! Is that you!?”

“I miss you, Mom.” The line was breaking, his voice was far away, so weak, so distant, clawing at her heart. “Mom, Dad said he misses you, too.”

“Oh, Logan, I love you! I love Daddy! He’s just confused.”

“Mom, I want to come home, I-” Their connection buzzed.

“Where you are? I’m coming as fast as I can! Honey, just tell me!”

The line sizzled. The call was lost.

Maggie groaned to the sky.

Cold Butte, Montana

Logan woke with his heart racing.

He was a little scared because of something Billy Canton had said about the entire world watching them today.

The entire world. Man, oh, man.

But meeting the pope wasn’t the only reason Logan was nervous. He had to carry out his plan when the time was right. Okay, first things first. He glanced out his window wondering if his dad had…

Yes!

Logan saw his dad’s red truck. He’d got back in time like he’d promised.

Logan’s anxiety turned to excitement as he hurried to his dad’s bedroom door. It was open slightly, offering a sliver view of his arm hanging over the side. Logan was about to enter when he was suddenly pulled away.

“Let him sleep,” Samara whispered and shut the door. “He got in late.”

“But he’s coming, right?” he whispered.

Samara pushed him gently toward the kitchen.

“Absolutely. He’s going to join us later at the school.” “Will there be time?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. One of the other fathers will pick him up. Come, I’ve made your favorite, bacon and eggs. When you’re done, get washed up and put on your suit. We have to leave very soon. I’m going to get ready.”

As he ate, Logan noticed the smell of fried bacon mixed with cleaning soap, like the floor had just been washed. Weird. When he heard the shower start he looked down the hall at the closed bathroom door.

Good.

He glanced at the TV with the sound turned low. Local stations out of Billings were running live coverage of the visit. They showed live pictures of Logan’s school, the crowds, reports of the pope before massive stadium crowds in cities he’d already visited.

On top of the TV Logan saw Samara’s purse. Her cell phone was inside.

Now was the time.

If he couldn’t reach his mom on their phone here, maybe he could reach her on Samara’s cell phone. Just one call. Keeping an eye on the bathroom door, Logan plucked the phone from Samara’s purse. He pressed his home area code and number. He waited for the connec tion, praying that in seconds, he would hear his mom’s voice.

He nearly burst, before his heart sank.

His call didn’t go through. He tried again. It didn’t work. The battery level was good. He tried again. Nothing. What was he doing wrong? Maybe he should wake Dad for help? After their talk he’d let him call, wouldn’t he? Things were getting better. Weren’t they?

Logan looked at the bedroom door.

Hold it.

He’d forgot to press 1 for long distance.

Logan tried it again. Good. It was working this time. There was lots of noise on the line like a thunderstorm of static but it was ringing and ringing. It clicked and Logan caught his breath.