David Morrell: The naked edge

"I'm amazed," Mosely said. The lights of Washington's Capitol Building gleamed beyond his office window. "Shocked, in fact. You're actually following proper procedure instead of showing everybody what a hotshot you are."

"All I ever tried to do was the right thing," Cavanaugh told him.

"Sure. Of course, it would have been even better if you'd alerted us before you made the call so we could try to trace it. But I guess I'm asking for too much. This 'usual place' he referred to. I assume it's the farm where the old man taught you and Duran to make knives."

"No."

"Then where is it?"

Now Cavanaugh looked at William.

"Do we have an understanding?" the attorney asked.

"Counselor, I don't make deals."

"We're not asking for a deal. My client is willing to cooperate to the fullest extent. But he wants that taken into consideration when his case comes to trial."

"Consideration. Oh, he'll get plenty of consideration if he doesn't cooperate."

Rutherford sat next to Mosely at the conference table. He leaned forward, one friend to another. "Where's 'the usual place', Aaron?"

"A park in Iowa City. It's down the street from where he and I used to live."

"A park?"

"Willow Creek. Carl and I played there often when we were kids. We used to pretend we were special-operations soldiers shot down behind enemy lines. We hid in the bushes and trees and kept the enemy… people walking through the park… from noticing us."

"Keep talking, Aaron."

"Then we changed the game and pretended we were on opposite sides. We had rubber knives, and we hunted each other. We got so good at hiding that sometimes it took all day before we finished the game."

"Who won?" Rutherford asked.

"Sometimes I did. Sometimes Carl did."

"So you assume he's inviting you to have one last go-around?" Mosely asked.

"Yes."

"Instead of trying to escape."

"Maybe Carl doesn't think he can escape. Maybe he figures he might as well amuse himself in the little time he has left."

"Well, it's for sure he can't escape," Mosely said. "You're one hundred percent confident about this hunch of yours?"

"It's not a hunch. Carl wouldn't have been vague about the location unless he knew it was the only place I'd think of. The usual place where we played the game."

"You'd better be right," Mosely emphasized. "If this is part of his strategy, if he's using you to jerk us around and you fell for it, I won't be happy, and that means you won't be happy. Tomorrow night, he said?"

Cavanaugh nodded.

"The fallout from what happened in New Orleans is so complicated, I can't possibly get away. In fact, I'm expected right now at another meeting." Mosely stood and looked at Rutherford. "You're in charge of counterterrorism. Make sure you catch this guy. Assuming this isn't just a big joke on us."

Mosely picked up a briefcase and left the room.

Cavanaugh thought, He's setting up John to take the fall if anything goes wrong.

"John," Cavanaugh said, "your friendship means a lot to me. I believed I was doing the right thing. I still do. I never meant to put your job at risk. I never thought it would seem I abused your trust."

"Things don't always turn out the way we want," Rutherford said.

"I'm sorry."

The office felt cold.

"Tomorrow night?" Rutherford asked.

"Yes, but he'll start earlier."

"Have you got room on your fancy plane for an FBI SWAT team? And this time, you don't carry guns. This time, you're truly a civilian."

Cavanaugh wasn't prepared for the changes. Driving into town from Iowa City's airport, he asked the FBI driver to head toward the park.

"Might be risky," Rutherford said. "If Duran sees you in a van full of people…"

"At eight in the morning, we're just one in a stream of vehicles going to work. He won't even try to monitor traffic at this hour. What he'll look for is stationary surveillance."

"I made sure there isn't any," Rutherford said. "I don't want to scare him away. Tonight, after he has a chance to go in and get settled, we'll surround the park and tighten the noose. Assuming you're right about this."

"I guarantee he's in there at this very moment."

As their driver turned left onto West Benton, one of the streets that flanked the park, Cavanaugh couldn't adjust to how much traffic there was. In his youth, this had been a sleepy area of town, on the verge of farmland. Now, except for the park itself, the area was thick with houses and apartment buildings.

With greater surprise, Cavanaugh peered to the right and saw that the park wasn't the same, either. Dense woods had been cut down, leaving trees only along Willow Creek. Clearing the area had made room for more soccer fields. On the opposite end, near where there had once been a cornfield, a children's climbing-gym area had been added.

"In there right now?" Rutherford said. "It doesn't look to me as if he has many places to hide."

"I've got a bad feeling," Cavanaugh murmured to Jamie and William as they followed Rutherford and his men into Iowa City's modest-sized police station.

The noisy lobby was crowded with law-enforcement officers, the overflow from a crammed conference room. Two men in uniforms, one police, one military, pushed through and spoke to Rutherford.

"Not enough room for a briefing," Rutherford said when he returned. "We're switching locations to the National Guard armory."

Time, Cavanaugh thought. Even though, it's eight-fifteen in the morning, we'll soon run out of day.

"For that matter, I'm told the armory might not be large enough," Rutherford said, hurrying with them from the police station. "The current estimate is, we need at least a thousand people to seal off that park. Police officers and sheriffs are coming in from all over the state. We've got FBI agents and U.S. marshals flying from as far as St. Louis, Denver, Minneapolis, and Chicago. Through Homeland Security, we also received permission to use the local detachment of the National Guard."

"Another alert," William said. "Another stress on a severely stressed system."

"Reminds me of New Orleans," Jamie said. "Let's hope for a simpler outcome."

"Damn it." A policeman pointed. "Here comes a reporter."

The armory filled rapidly. Its high ceiling caused a harsh echo as hundreds of military and law enforcement personnel gathered in front of a platform. Behind a podium, a large map of Willow Creek Park hung from a portable blackboard.

Standing to the side, Jamie said, "I don't see how they can get organized soon enough."

"John has a lot of amazing skills," Cavanaugh told her. He pointed toward where Rutherford spoke to a half-dozen intense civilians, all of them holding notepads and tape recorders.

"… let you observe the briefing," he heard Rutherford say. "… let you take notes and-"

"Photographs? What about photographs?" a reporter demanded.

"Only at the end. But I don't want you printing anything until I tell you."

"We can't promise that."

"It's a matter of national security."

"What are you talking about? What's the emergency?"

"In return for complete access, I want you to swear you won't leak the story. If word about what's happening reaches the general population, we'll have so many curiosity seekers at the park, our target might slip away."

"Park? Target?"

"Watch, listen, and learn," Rutherford said, mounting the podium.

He did indeed have a lot of amazing skills, not the least of which was the clear, authoritative way he conducted the briefing. As the disparate group concentrated on what he said, they stood straighter, assuming similar body language, showing signs of coalescing into a unit. The information that their objective was related to the terrorist attack in New Orleans and the subsequent nationwide manhunt certainly got their attention.