Alex Kava - Black Friday

"Oh, I know what that is. It's the Golden Gophers," Yarden said, beaming like a school kid answering the tough question for his favorite teacher.

"College team," Nick explained to Maggie.

"Right. University of Minnesota," she said without missing a beat. Nick was impressed. Yarden even more enamored. "Looks like he's wearing a letterman jacket, too," she added. "Jerry, doesn't that look like the university's insignia? It's an M , isn't it?"

Yarden was already punching keys and zooming in on the guy's upper left chest where Maggie had been pointing.

"Minnesota fan," Nick said.

"Or he's a student," Maggie countered.

The phone on the wall rang.

It startled all three of them. Yarden looked at it as though he'd never seen it before. He glanced at Maggie, then Nick.

"Must be the guys upstairs," he said, but still didn't move to answer the phone like he didn't want to be reminded of what was upstairs.

At first Nick thought Yarden was waiting for someone to instruct him once again or to give him permission to answer it. However, one good look at Yarden's face and Nick could tell the apprehension was dread, not uncertainty.

The phone must have rung a dozen times before Yarden pushed himself out of the chair and reached for it.

"Security." A pause and then he added, "This is Jerry. Jerry Yarden."

Nick tried not to watch, but it was impossible to look away. Yarden's entire face crunched together like a man waiting for something or someone to hit him. He nodded and swallowed hard a couple of times, his Adam's apple bobbing above his collar.

By the time he returned the phone's receiver to the wall Yarden had lost all color in his face.

"Security thinks they have another bomber," he said in almost a whisper.

"You're kidding?" Nick asked. "Where?"

"In the southwest parking lot." The Adam's apple bobbed again. "They wanna see you and me upstairs."

Maggie's cell phone started ringing. A couple seconds later, Nick's started ringing, too.

"He may have gotten left behind," Charlie Wurth told Maggie as he helped her into a bulletproof vest.

It didn't make sense this many hours later.

"Maybe he was hiding somewhere inside the mall," Wurth added as if he could sense Maggie's question. "Waiting. You know, thinking he could leave after everything settled down a bit."

Maggie could tell the new Deputy Director of Homeland Security had never worn a Kevlar vest before just by looking at the way he had cinched up the straps of his own vest. His fingers were shaking slightly, just enough that she noticed. He was nervous. Of course, he was nervous. It shouldn't matter, but it managed to ratchet up her anxiety. The adrenaline was already causing her heart to race.

"What makes them think he's one of the bombers?"

"They said he was sneaking around the back."

She raised an eyebrow.

"And a backpack," he quickly added. "A red backpack."

Maggie glanced at the three other men in the small exit way. They were gearing up, too. In silence. No conversation. Only the snaps and clicks of their equipment. SWAT team. Cool and calm. Or so they appeared. It was chilly here, a draft coming from somewhere and yet she could smell their sweat.

Maggie glanced beyond the exit way. A.D. Kunze was nowhere to be seen.

"He sets that thing off out there," Wurth continued and now Maggie could see beads of sweat on his upper lip, "we're in a heap of trouble."

"I'm a profiler, not a negotiator. What exactly do you want me to do?"

On the phone, Kunze had told Maggie it was "showtime." He followed up with, "Security says they've got a live one. And you need to be able to tell them whether they do or not."

It had sounded like a joke, a dare. But he was serious.

She had had stranger requests but not from her assistant director. Cunningham would have never sent her out like this.

"What exactly is it you want me to do, Deputy Director?" she asked again.

"They've got him cornered. Now, maybe he's just some kid with a red backpack. Scared out of his wits because of all the excitement. But if he's one of the bombers…we can't take that chance. These guys—" Wurth's hand waved at the SWAT team as if he were only now introducing them to Maggie. "They can't take him out if there's a chance that pack's gonna blow. Cops can't approach him either. Same reason."

That was it. End of explanation.

Wurth pulled a ball cap on and started struggling into a blue jacket that had SWAT on the back. He made it look like the Kevlar vest was a straitjacket. It took a couple attempts of poking his arm behind him into the jacket before he found the armhole.

One of the team members handed a blue jacket to Maggie.

"And me?" she had to ask Wurth.

Evidently he thought he had explained everything he needed to explain. He looked up at her as he struggled with the zipper, his fingers still giving him a problem.

"You can tell us if he fits the profile of the other bombers."

He said it as if it were a matter of fact. Maggie wanted to laugh. This was crazy.

"And if I can't?"

He stopped. So did the SWAT team. The look on Wurth's face told her immediately that hadn't been considered.

"I know you're probably a little nervous, Agent O'Dell," Wurth said, quiet and slow, sounding like a child's father. Suddenly she was "Agent O'Dell," when all during the flight she had been Maggie.

"I'm not nervous." Her stomach told her differently but she had learned long ago to set aside the nerves. That wasn't the problem. She knew how to focus. She trusted her gut instinct. She could respond and perform under stress. But this was ridiculous and she wanted to tell Wurth exactly that. Had he ever examined crappy, black-and-white surveillance video? "This isn't the way profiling works."

"Look, Agent O'Dell." This time he took her arm and bent toward her, close enough she could smell the peppermint on his breath, almost as if he thought what he was going to confide wouldn't be heard by the SWAT team despite the crowded exit way. "This may be our only shot to prevent another tragedy. A.D. Kunze is willing to take a risk on your talent. So am I. Now we just need you to be willing to take that risk, too."

He was a smoother politician than she had given him credit for.

"Let me borrow your tie," she told him as she pulled on the blue SWAT jacket.

Wurth looked surprised but didn't question her or hesitate and he tugged at his necktie.

"Anybody have gloves?" she asked and was immediately handed a pair.

She pulled on the gloves, the fingertips too big but they were warm and she wouldn't be handling anything that required perfect dexterity. Then she took Wurth's bright red necktie and wound it around her left wrist, making a knot and letting the ends dangle about six inches.

"When I raise my left hand above my head," she told the SWAT team, and demonstrated, "that means 'take him out.'" They all nodded. She turned to Wurth, waited for his eyes. "Make sure whatever law enforcement is out there now knows the signal."

She had no intention of raising her hand but she knew they would look for a signal. More importantly, they'd wait for a signal. With several law enforcement agencies taking part, it was better they wait for some signal rather than misjudge and react to any sudden movements.

One of the SWAT members was already relaying the message over the radio strapped to his shoulder, but Maggie waited for Wurth's assurance, his commitment, his accountability.

"Absolutely."

She watched his fingers rezip his jacket and this time she noticed they weren't shaking.

"Okay," Maggie said. "Let's do this."

This time Nick led the way while Yarden hung back, always a couple of steps behind. He showed his ID to the guard at the bottom of the second escalator. National Guard, sniper unit. By this time no one made it upstairs without scrutiny and security clearance.