Alex Kava - Black Friday

In twenty-four hours there'd be another attack.

He shook his head. No one could stop the attack. He didn't have much faith that Special Agent Margaret O'Dell would be able to do anything. Maybe warn the airports and Homeland Security. He'd done his part, done what he could.

Henry wanted to believe that the young FBI agent would find a way to save Dixon but deep down he knew he'd forced her to make a promise she had no way of keeping. It'd be up to Henry to take control. If he expected to see Dixon again he'd need to bargain with them this time. Put away his anger and negotiate a deal.

The people who had Dixon were hired mercenaries, minions of the Project Manager. They could be bought. That's what he convinced himself. He didn't care how much money they wanted, he'd get it. In his mind he'd already started accessing accounts and determining which one had liquid assets. The holiday weekend would make it tricky but not impossible.

Finally . It was time. He could call.

His hands resumed their annoying tremble, making it an effort to punch in the correct numbers on the waiting room's desk phone.

He counted the rings…three, four…They had to pick up. He'd waited the allotted five hours they told him to wait. But instead of an answer there was a click and his own voice instructed him to leave a message.

"No." He slammed down the receiver.

His cell phone was still on. It wouldn't ring five times if they'd shut it off or if the battery had run down. Why would they ignore it? Besides, they had to talk to him. How would they get any ransom if they didn't talk to him? Isn't that what they wanted? Yes, they had to talk to him. It was in their best interest to talk to him.

He dialed again, punching in the numbers quickly as if he might trick his fingers from shaking. He took a deep breath, ignored the acid backing up into his throat. The phone rang and rang until yet another click, then, "This is Henry Lee, please leave a message at the tone."

When Maggie opened her hotel room door she had to stop herself from smiling. Nick Morrelli smelled as good as he looked, fresh from a shower, his hair still wet and tousled. He hadn't taken time to shave but the dark stubble only made him look more handsome, made those damn charming dimples even more pronounced. He'd changed into blue jeans and replaced his shirt and tie with a crew-neck sweater, baby blue that matched his eyes and made them sparkle. Leave it to Morrelli, she couldn't help thinking, to capitalize on every opportunity.

Maggie was still dressed in the hospital scrubs. She hadn't taken time to change. There was too much to do. No time to waste. Plus the cotton scrubs were comfortable.

"Room service shut down at one," she said as she led Nick into her room. "But the front desk clerk brought up some leftovers."

She pointed at a tray with an assortment of fruit, cheeses and crackers on the desk.

"Help yourself," she told him as she grabbed a couple of grapes.

"Wow, that was nice of them."

"It's amazing the service a doctor garners," she said, tugging on the hem of the blue scrub top.

"Very smart. I'll have to remember that. Dressing like a lawyer gets you nothing free."

She smiled as she went back to her place in the corner where two wingback chairs sat side by side, a floor lamp between them. She'd moved one of the bedside tables in front of her chair where she could leave her laptop. Almost everything else in the room remained the same. Her suitcase still lay on the otherwise untouched bed.

Nick loaded a paper plate with chunks of melon, grapes, strawberries, cubes of cheese and a line of crackers. Maggie tried not to watch as he performed a balancing act while he crossed the room to the other wingback chair. He glanced at her with a sheepish smile.

"I can't even remember the last time I ate," he said, sliding his laptop case from under his arm to the cushion of the chair.

Maggie made room on the table for him to set the plate down.

"I know. We had to leave The Rose and Crown before we got a chance to order."

"Yeah, where did you leave Ceimo, by the way?"

"He's off doing me a favor."

"Really?"

Maggie checked his eyes. She recognized that look. He was jealous. He noticed that she could tell.

"Any word on your brother?" he asked.

Good change of subject. Mentioning the pub reminded Maggie of Patrick, too.

"No. He's been ignoring my calls. Hopefully he's somewhere warm and safe."

If Nick was expecting a longer explanation he didn't push for it.

"So what's the game plan here?" he asked, pointing to her laptop as he popped a cube of cheese into his mouth.

She had told him very little over the phone except that an informant had given her some information, she needed his help, and she wanted him to be a part of the task force.

"We have two hours before we meet with Kunze and Wurth downstairs. They're already working on some details. In the meantime I'm plowing through some files and court documents and I thought who better to give me a hand than an attorney."

"Especially one you can ply with free food."

"Exactly."

He put his plate aside, moved his laptop and sat down in the chair next to her where he could see what was on the computer screen.

"You think this has something to do with the Oklahoma City bombing?"

"Not my idea. Someone else suggested it. In fact, the informant I met with told me the mastermind of this bombing implied that he was John Doe #2. Absurd, I know. Most likely he said it only for the effect, but I still have to check it out. I'm looking for John Doe #2 suspects to see if anyone accused or suspected could possibly be this bomber. How much do you know about the Oklahoma City bombing?"

"I remember at the time being freaked out. There were rumors that McVeigh had been scoping out the federal building in Omaha before he chose Oklahoma City. Plus, Junction City, Kansas, is only a couple hundred miles from Omaha."

"So you're familiar with some of the details." And she was pleased he still remembered some of those details. Junction City, Kansas, was where McVeigh and Nichols rented the Ryder truck they used to contain and transport their mobile bomb.

"I started teaching law at UNL the year before McVeigh's execution. The whole thing made a good case study. The guy was a defense attorney's nightmare."

"Because he admitted to planning and carrying out the plot?" Maggie tapped her laptop's keyboard to bring up the document she'd just read.

"His first attorney…Jones, I think. I can't recall his name," Nick started then scratched at his jaw, trying to remember.

"Stephen Jones."

"Jones claimed McVeigh wasn't being honest with him. He changed his story even when they talked privately. Jones believed there were others involved. Not just Terry Nichols."

"And McVeigh was protecting them?"

"Or McVeigh wanted his own role to be elevated. Sort of fit with the notion that he wanted to be a martyr."

"No one's claiming to be a martyr here. In fact, no one's making any claims for this one," Maggie said with a shrug. "I've been sorting through file after file. If it is the same guy he didn't use the same M.O. I can't find anything that's similar about this bombing and Oklahoma City. The bombs alone were dramatically different. Four thousand eight hundred pounds of ammonium nitrate and jet fuel stuffed into a Ryder rental truck is a huge contrast to three backpacks."

She ran her fingers through her hair, resisting the urge to yank. This felt like a waste of time. Henry Lee hadn't given her anything to go on.

"Bomb-making technology's changed in…what is it? Fifteen years since Oklahoma City? Maybe he didn't need a Ryder truck this time."

She looked over at Nick. He was right in a sense. Post 9/11, three backpacks stuffed with explosives in the middle of a crowded mall would possibly be as damaging to the American psyche as 4,800 pounds of ammonium nitrate and jet fuel.