Alex Kava - Black Friday

He watched the young woman escape his reach and wedge herself even further inside a mob that pressed tight against each other as they swarmed to get out the mall exit closest to them. Asante didn't recognize the young man who waved at her. It wasn't Dixon Lee.

Here on the first floor, cops in uniform with rifles yelled at people to get their hands up. The cops wore Kevlar vests and blue jeans, their badges in plain view, strapped to their arms or thighs. They tried to cut a path through a swarm of shoppers at the side entrance for firefighters and paramedics to enter.

Real paramedics.

Asante resisted the urge to pluck off his own cap and stuff it into the duffel bag. Instead he left it on, parroting the cops, telling people to get out of his way. Only Asante headed the opposite direction. He hurried for the back service exit for a second time in the last hour, walking quickly, not rushing, shouldering past one throng of people and cutting through another. The service exit wasn't marked so no one crowded toward it. He slipped out the heavy door. The alarm that he had dismantled earlier remained silent though it wouldn't have mattered now with the chorus of alarms and whistles and screams.

He dodged behind the set of Dumpsters until he got a good look around. Then he allowed his cap to add confidence to his stride across the parking lot. There was too much chaos for anyone to pay attention to him. The snow came down heavier now. The wind had picked up. The weather became an unexpected bonus.

Before Asante reached the car, he flipped on his headset and punched several numbers into the computer strapped to the inside of his arm.

In seconds came a voice, this time a female voice, calm and ready. "Yes?"

Asante used the computer screen's touchpad to continue his task.

"I'm downloading two photos," Asante said as he ripped off a glove and glided a finger over the computer's touch screen. He had taken quick pictures with his cell phone while on the escalator.

"The woman may have been with Carrier #3 earlier," Asante continued. "That must be how she ended up with his signal."

He tapped the keyboard and touched through the menu to send the photos, his fingers expertly knowing what to do without hesitation. "I want you to tell me who both of them are. Find out everything you can. Start with the woman. I want all the basics: credit cards, driver's license, passport, home mortgage, prescriptions, parents, siblings…all of it."

"No problem."

"I'll let you know when and what photos to release as planned."

"Consider it done. Anything else?"

"I have a flight to catch. I need Danko to continue tracking Carrier #3's GPS signal." A quick stroke brought up that computer screen that showed the GPS signal. It appeared to be stuck back inside the mall. He climbed into his car and took in the scene across the street, wondering if perhaps he could still finish her out here.

"Sir, I may be able to do better than that."

"Excuse me?"

"I have the most recent text messages from that signal right in front of me. I can tell Danko exactly where the subject is headed."

Of course. How could he have forgotten. He smiled. This loose end wouldn't be so difficult to tie up after all.

"Where?"

"Saint Mary's Hospital. She's googling the directions to get there right as we speak. In fact," and she paused, "I can access all the text messages that were made and received from that signal."

Mall of America

Bloomington, Minnesota

Nick Morrelli followed his security escort as they made their way to the front entrance of the mall. He brushed the snow off his trench coat and raked a gloved hand over his hair.

Boots. He should have brought boots.

In his rush to pack he'd forgotten boots. It hadn't been snowing in Omaha.

The escort, who had introduced himself to Nick at the airport as Jerry Yarden, insisted the snow was letting up. Made it sound like the five or six inches on the ground were no big deal to trudge through. This was Minnesota, after all.

"Should be stopping in about an hour," he told Nick.

He followed alongside Yarden, straining to keep up. Nick was almost a head taller but the little man walked briskly through the mall parking lot. That's because Jerry had boots.

Finally Nick slowed and let Yarden go ahead of him to the next police barricade. This was their third one. While Yarden flipped open his ID Nick approached with caution. By now his leather loafers were caked with snow. He was afraid he'd slip and make an ass of himself. Nick waited his turn then without a word he showed his badge and security credentials to yet another police office at the door. This one had his own badge strapped to his thigh. A two-way radio was strapped to his shoulder. He wore a black stocking cap and Kevlar vest, both with POLICE in white letters across the fronts. He held a rifle in one hand and took Nick's ID in the other, lifting it to eye level so that his head never bowed, never lost track of everything going on around him.

He looked at Nick hard, not just comparing the photo to Nick's face but almost as if he wanted to see if he could make him crack, expose any weaknesses, any deceit before Nick made it past his station. Nick wanted to tell the officer he appreciated the tough scrutiny, but to say it would insinuate that he expected something less. Instead, Nick kept quiet, accepted his credentials back with only a nod. As soon as the police officer waved Nick and Yarden through, the man's eyes were somewhere else, ready for the next threat.

Although it was believed that all the bombs had gone off on the third floor, even the first floor showed signs of the explosion. Streamers of debris hung from a huge holiday wreath. The Christmas tree in the center of the atrium was littered with bits and pieces that Nick could tell didn't belong, some shiny, some ragged.

Down here the sprinklers had not been triggered but there was a damp chill. Enough that he caught himself reaching for the lapels of his trench coat and stopping himself before he turned them up.

Off to the side, strung out in front of Macy's, two units of rescue workers barked requests and orders as they handed out blankets and tended to injured shoppers. But Nick's eyes searched above, trying to look up at the four-story atrium. Snipers, dressed in black with Kevlar vests and helmets, were stationed at the tops of the stalled escalators, weapons shouldered and ready. The overpowering smell of smoke and sulfur permeated the air. Shouts echoed down.

"We don't need to go up there," Yarden told him like he was doing Nick a favor.

Nick glanced down at the little man. Removing his stocking cap had released Yarden's large ears and sent his red hair straight up. That, and his ruddy cheeks, made him look almost like an elf. It only added to the bizarre scene.

"Our security office is down this way." Yarden pointed. "County police cordoned it off. Mr. Banoff convinced them to leave everything as is until you arrived."

"No one's looked at the tapes yet?"

Yarden shook his head. "They've had more important things to do." He stopped suddenly, turning to Nick and looking around to see if anyone was watching them. "Mr. Banoff convinced them that it's to their benefit if we sift through the tapes. It'll save time and we understand the equipment so we can pinpoint angles, views, etcetera."

Then Yarden wiggled a long, skinny index finger for Nick to come closer. "You do understand what Mr. Banoff means when he says sift, right?"

For the first time since he entered the mall Nick's stomach twisted a bit. He hated to think that his new employer was simply worried about covering his own liability at a time like this. Nick didn't answer Yarden. He simply nodded.