Rick Mofina - Six Seconds

Samara eyed them carefully and swallowed hard.

“Those dogs are going to sniff our butts,” Billy Canton said to Logan.

A few of the other boys in the choir giggled.

Samara nodded to the other parents and teachers who were holding cameras and nervous smiles. She es timated three hundred people were gathered here. On the stage, talking and consulting notes were Father Andrew Stone, the choir director, the principal, a few other priests and men in suits who had to be Secret Service.

“Everyone, if I could have your attention!” Father Stone called above the din. “Pretty exciting, right, guys?”

A cheer went up.

“Right, a blessed day.” Father Stone smiled. “With me is Father Rosselli, from the Vatican, who assists the Holy Father. Before I turn it over to him, there are a few things we have to cover quickly. Now, a zone is reserved for all of you for the pope’s Mass and blessing in the Buffalo Breaks. We’ll walk down after the school event. When we are done here, everyone must pass through security, then on to the school buses that will take us to the school and more security.”

He smiled at the groans.

“You can’t get to heaven without going through security. Okay. We know the agenda. A few greetings to the pope, we sing two songs. The Holy Father speaks and blesses the school. We sing a closing song. Father Nicco Rosselli will give you some important points re quested from the Vatican.”

“Thank you, Father Stone.” The parents loved his Italian-accented English. “When the choir is assem bled, the Holy Father may come to you and say a few words to help you relax before you sing.”

A few parents laughed.

“When you are done, he will thank each of you per sonally and invite you to make a procession to his chair where he will personally give each of you, one by one, a small gift. For the sake of time, please do not open it there. Thank His Holiness and exit. The gift is a very nice blessed rosary. Our staff will help coordinate the procession so it moves quickly. Remember, we have about one hundred and twenty thousand people waiting for him in the Buffalo Breaks to honor Sister Beatrice. From the time you reach the Holy Father’s presence until the time you leave with your gift, you will have six seconds. Parents, everyone, for pictures, we stress, six seconds for an opportunity that usually comes once in a lifetime. I trust you will have your cameras ready.”

He held up his hands and smiled.

“Thank you very much and God bless you.”

The briefing ended, then the security people took over.

They quickly organized everyone into orderly lines that flowed through the security process, akin to going through an airport. Belts, jackets, shoes, cameras, ev erything was placed in plastic tubs and passed along the conveyor through the X-ray machine. People stepped through the walk-through metal detector; then they were hand-scanned and their items in the tub were swabbed.

The bomb-sniffing dogs patrolled along either side of the queue.

“Watch your butt,” Billy Canton whispered to his friends.

Samara tried not to stare at the dogs as they neared her and Logan. She smiled when one arrived, sniffed her jacket then started sniffing her hand. Samara looked at the handler, the words Secret Service emblazoned on his vest, radio squawking. His eyes were cool to her as the dog moved on.

Then came their turn at the detectors.

Samara and Logan removed their jackets, shoes. Her camera went into the tub.

“You first, ma’am.” A Secret Service agent waved Samara through.

Nothing beeped. A hand scanner was passed over her. Nothing beeped.

Samara noticed the intense eyes of the X-ray scanner operator as he read the screen with her camera. When it passed through, it was wiped with a swab. As Samara collected her jacket and shoes, she watched as the swab was removed and attached to an instrument on a computer for a chemical reading.

A spectrum of colors flashed on the monitor.

“You’re fine,” the female officer said.

A series of beeping alarms sounded behind her. “Hold it right there, son!”

Two men with the letters FBI on their vests took Logan aside.

“Raise your arms, please.”

Worried, Logan looked at Samara.

“Get on the bus, ma’am.”

“But he’s with me.”

Agents passed a hand scanner over Logan. It sounded around his pants.

“Did you empty your pockets, son?”

Logan nodded.

The scanner sounded at the right pocket of his pants.

“Check again.”

Logan reached in and withdrew the rosary his mother had given him.

“That’s the culprit,” the agent said. “Should’ve put it in the tub.”

Logan exhaled.

“Get your things and get on the bus.”

Cold Butte, Montana

Maggie forced her way through the crowd toward the school.

She scanned faces and body types, locking on to those resembling Logan or Jake, until they all blurred. For each passing second heightened her fear that some thing bad was going to happen as images swirled in her mind.

Jake after Iraq; Fatima’s terrifying visions; the reporter and his family; Samara; the strangers; the crash; Logan’s call.

Something horrible was taking shape.

Something terrible was coming.

Maggie kept moving but it was getting harder. The air above her shook as another low-flying heli copter thundered by.

Her progress became mired.

The road to the school was cleared of traffic, bordered on both sides with police barriers to hold back crowds in lines four or five people deep and growing. Those farthest back strained for a view of the route. The pope would pass by only a few feet away. Electric anticipation was written on the faces of chil dren, teenagers, men and women. Some older people prayed with closed eyes and rosaries entwined in fingers, their faces serene.

A smiling woman with a silver cross around her neck, and a large security tag identifying her as a nun, was moving along the police side of the barricades dis tributing programs to the crowd.

One was placed in Maggie’s hand. She studied the events, times, names, pictures, and was drawn to the group photo of the children’s choir that would sing for the pope inside the school.

The boy second from the right in the second row. Logan.

Listed as Logan Russell.

Maggie stared in disbelief. Tears brimming, she called out.

“Excuse me!” She waved her program frantically, asking others to help her get the nun’s attention. “Sister!

Excuse me! Please, I have an emergency!”

Word was passed along and in seconds the nun returned, leaned toward Maggie as people shifted in place, allowing the two women to talk.

“Yes, how may I help?”

Finding Logan was Maggie’s only thought, eclips ing Graham’s instruction to locate Blake Walker, com pelling her to lie her way closer to her son.

“My nephew’s in the choir.” Maggie tapped her finger to the program. “I’ve just arrived. I can’t reach his parents on their phone. Do you know where the children are right now?”

The nun looked down the road to the school, about half a block away.

“See the school parking lot?”

Maggie followed her attention and saw the lot, along with more barricades, scores of police vehicles, officers, police dogs, metal detectors, news trucks and cameras.

“They’re bringing them to the lot on a school bus with their parents.” She glanced at her watch. “Any minute now. They’ll go through the checkpoint, see? Then into the school. But I don’t think you’ll make it through the crowd in time. Ma’am?”

Maggie was not there.

She’d disappeared into the crowd.

As Maggie headed off, Graham spotted a county sheriff’s SUV parked nearby and asked the deputy behind the wheel for directions.