Alex Kava - Black Friday

"I have to tell you," Nick started again and paused. "I never thought John Doe #2 was an absurd idea."

"Really?"

"Too many coincidences. I know eye witnesses are notoriously unreliable but there were too many people who swore they saw someone with McVeigh. Someone who didn't come close to fitting the description of Terry Nichols. Just a lot of unanswered questions."

"I never would have pegged Nick Morrelli for a conspiracy theorist."

"If the case was so clear-cut why are you bothering to go through this stuff? Why not dismiss what the guy said?"

She sat back and let out a frustrated sigh. Her eyes felt swollen, her wounded side wouldn't stop aching.

"Because I have nothing else. A.D. Kunze is doing a background check on the informant. Wurth is looking to see if there've been warnings or bomb threats at any of the airports. All the informant gave me was a warning. Another attack. Tomorrow."

She let it sink in, watching Nick rub at his jaw like someone had punched him. Yes, that was what it felt like. Being punched without warning.

"He told me it'll be an airport," she continued, pulling herself back to the front of the chair and clicking up the list Henry Lee had downloaded to her e-mail address. She had gone over it at least a dozen times trying to find some hidden clue as to why these seven were chosen and which one would be the target.

"He gave me a list," she told Nick, "but didn't give me a clue as to which airport will be hit. Wurth is trying to warn all of them, but where do we send extra reinforcements?"

She hadn't noticed that Nick had edged forward to get a closer look, his brow furrowed, his arm leaning against her arm.

"Where did you get this?"

"Why?"

"I've seen this list before. This exact list."

A thunderstorm of noise raged above. Rebecca had no idea what her captors were doing. It sounded like claps of thunder. She imagined sledgehammers against metal. Glass shattered. Heavy objects banged against the floor, or what was her ceiling. She wouldn't have been surprised to see something crashing through the wood rafters.

She no longer cared what they were doing. As long as they stayed up there, they wouldn't be hurting her. She had searched the entire crawl space, hunched over, arms still twisted and tied behind her back. She tried to keep down the nausea of fear. The overwhelming smell of gasoline burned her lungs and gagged her. It brought on the dry heaves. Nothing in her stomach except acid. All she wanted was something sharp—a left-behind tool, scissors, something jagged, anything—to cut the plastic tie that bound her wrists together.

There was nothing. The empty gas cans. Some shelves. A monstrosity of a furnace rumbled in the corner. Rebecca stared at it. The huge metal box had rusted on the bottom. Pipes going in and out of the contraption had been piecemealed together. She looked closely for bolts or screws that might be protruding. Then she found a bent piece of metal at one of the corners that made up the furnace's storage cabinet. Someone had hammered it back into place but it still stuck out, battered metal, the edges ragged…and sharp.

Excitement dared to shove aside the nausea.

The bent metal was a bit high. She'd need to do some maneuvering to back up to it and raise her arms up. Pain shot through her wounded arm and Rebecca had to stop. Had to sit down. She waited it out. Steadied her breath. Then she tried again, slowly raising her arms up behind her. She'd have to bring her wrists high enough to bring the plastic down onto the sharp metal corner. She could do it but could she keep her arms raised for that long while she rubbed against the jagged edge, using it like a serrated knife?

Just a little higher. She almost had it when all the noise from above came to a sudden stop.

She brought her arms down and waited, listening. Maybe they would start up again. They might be taking a break. Or leaving. Could they be leaving? She heard voices. Raised voices. An argument. Then the trapdoor started to creak open.

Rebecca scooted farther into the corner though she knew there wasn't anywhere to hide. If she had only a few more minutes she could have cut her wrists free and at least been able to defend herself. She'd kick this time, she decided. And scream. She didn't care if no one heard her.

The light from the open trapdoor had a bluish tint, not as glaring as she'd expected but she still found herself squinting after being in the dim-lit crawl space. She tried to slow her breathing so she could listen, but her heart pounded in her ears.

Someone was coming down. She could see shadows hovering over the opening. The voices were louder but she couldn't make out the words. A scuffle, rubber soles squeaking against linoleum, dragging or being dragged. Then without warning a body tumbled down through the hole, thumping hard against the concrete.

The trapdoor slammed shut and tight, this time closing off all light, but not before Rebecca recognized the motionless body. It was Dixon.

Nick realized it was silly—okay, even childish—but despite all the stress and urgency he still felt disappointed. Maggie had called him to help, not because she needed a friend, not because she wanted to lean on him, but only because he was a lawyer and he'd be able to sort through the files and court documents quickly and efficiently. Well, it seemed his help might pay off beyond her expectations.

"You've seen this exact list of airports?" She sounded like she didn't believe him.

"Two weeks ago. UAS—United Allied Security sent me to a seminar on terrorist attacks. It was part of my training for the new job position. Mostly the basics—what to look for, how better to prepare and assist those facilities where UAS provides security systems or equipment."

Nick had learned a lot at the seminar but he didn't like that it sounded like a sales conference, even including a guide on how to convince clients to upgrade their old systems. At the time, he thought some of the scenarios they presented seemed a bit far-fetched and wondered if they were simply using scare tactics to increase revenues and bonuses for UAS.

"And you saw this list at your seminar?"

"It's a list of the airports being pitched upgrades."

"Being pitched what exactly?"

"At shopping malls UAS provides security personnel and equipment. All airport security is now under TSA but our company—at least for those airports under contract with us—maintains and replaces all the security equipment."

"Like the scanners?"

"Scanners, cameras, metal detectors, even the wands. But the pitch wasn't only for upgrading current equipment. The plan called for a whole new security package in the passenger arrival and departure areas."

She looked like she didn't understand.

"Right now most airports don't have much security in the ticketing or baggage claim areas. You don't see a camera until you get to the security checkpoint area."

"We're protecting the passengers in the air but not on the ground," she said, nodding.

"Exactly. UAS has been pushing for airports to have metal detectors and cameras in those outside perimeter areas."

"Why were these seven chosen?"

"That, I don't know."

Maggie was pacing the length of the hotel room, a nervous habit Nick had forgotten.

"Where did

you

get the list?" he asked her, though he realized she probably couldn't and wouldn't tell him.

"Who owns United Allied Security?" she asked instead of answering.

"I believe the holding company is HL Enterprises."

"As in Henry Lee Enterprises?" She stopped pacing to stare at him, only it wasn't Nick she was seeing. Something had struck a chord.

"Yeah, that's right. HL Enterprises already owns several companies that are security related, one that produces the equipment, another one that designs and builds structures. I think they took over UAS a couple of years ago. You know how that works—Lee infused a truckload of cash in exchange for the majority voting stock."