Michelle Gagnon - The Gatekeeper

“He is,” Kelly said sharply.

“Fine. Any idea where he sent the other bombs?”

“No one’s turned anything up?” Kelly asked.

Leonard shook his head. “They’ve found property owned by Burke everywhere from Albuquerque to Little Rock. Parades in every major city in between. They’re sending teams to check each site, but like you said…”

“The building might not even be connected to him this time. He only needed the space for a few days, so he could have paid rent, or they might be using an empty building for the setup.” Kelly was suddenly immensely relieved that Jake was still in Houston. With a concentration of agents from every department with an acronym, it was probably the only city safe from an attack.

“He might even be considering New York or Chicago,” Leonard said.

Kelly shook her head. “I don’t think so. If he’s trying to galvanize a base, he’d target people who are already concerned about immigration. Those other cities are at too much of a remove.”

Leonard’s cell rang again. He picked up and listened to a stream of chatter on the other end. “He’s sure?” He asked after a moment. It was hard to tell whether it was good or bad news. “Fine. We’ll join them.” He snapped the phone shut. “A California state trooper recognized the photo we put out on the wire.”

“Dante Parrish?”

Leonard nodded. “Routine agriculture stop on Route 8. Dante was a passenger in a semi. Cop remembered because they checked their cargo. Said something seemed off.”

“But they didn’t find anything?”

Leonard shook his head. “That was someone from the San Diego field office. He got the sense they didn’t look very hard.”

“So you think Dante headed to San Diego with one of the bombs?”

Leonard eyed her. “It would jibe with your theory. San Diego’s got some serious border issues.”

“Lots of bases there, too, which makes them an even better target,” Kelly said thoughtfully. “It would look like an attack on the military.”

“If your theory is correct,” Leonard reminded her.

“If it’s not, and you have something else to go on, by all means…” Kelly said.

He examined her for a long moment. “Could be L.A., too.”

“Could be, but then why wouldn’t he stay on Route 10 from Texas?” Kelly asked.

She could see Leonard weighing it, not wanting to admit she was right but unable to come up with an alternative. “Fine,” he said after a minute. He shifted his attention to the other agent. “Tell the pilot to take us to San Diego.” He turned back to Kelly. “But I’m putting Los Angeles on high alert, too.”

“Good, you should,” she said. “Along with every other major city in a border state.”

As Leonard placed a series of calls, Kelly found herself remembering the confusion on 9/11. Rumors abounded: that more planes were hijacked, that the U.S. was retaliating against Afghanistan, that a land invasion was imminent. At the time she’d been stationed at the New York field office, which had been as bad as everywhere else. Maybe they were right about trying to avert panic by not telling people the truth. But Kelly hated the thought of letting everyone head to tomorrow’s parades, lawn chairs and umbrellas their only defense against a toxic bloodbath. “Now that one of the bombs has gone off, are they going to warn people?”

“That’s above my pay grade,” Leonard said, looking out the window. “The president will decide.”

The plane tilted sharply left as the pilot shifted course. The dusty desert landscape below looked apocalyptic. Kelly gazed blankly down as mountains rose and fell, chasing shadows cast by the setting sun until everything faded to black.

They sat in silence for the remainder of the flight.

It was hard for Jackson Burke to maintain his characteristic poise. He felt like a kid on Christmas. Everyone wanted to shake his hand and tell him how refreshing it was to have “new blood” around, although they hastily added that it was so sad about poor Duke. Jackson always agreed, the appropriate amount of sober reflection in his voice as he reiterated his dedication to upholding Duke’s legacy. They ate that up, and it always eased the awkward moment. Yes indeed, he had a bright future. And it was about to get a hell of a lot brighter.

Of course, he’d been attending parties like this for years. But always as a donor, spending the bulk of the event engaged in what he referred to as “rich people small talk.” How Aspen was just not the same anymore, the disgraceful increased luxury tax on jets, which countries were currently best for offshore accounts. The usual.

But tonight was a whole new experience. Even the rubber chicken dinner tasted better. Everyone in the room sought him out, pressing for their own pet earmark. Jackson nodded and made promises he never intended to keep, trusting that tomorrow’s events would sweep all that pettiness aside for the foreseeable future. It was his issue everyone would suddenly care about, his issue that Congress would devote itself to solving. And if the president refused to go along, sticking to his coddling policies in complete disregard of the will of the American people…well, a lot of things could happen then. The next presidential election was right around the corner.

Jackson was almost at the door, headed home for an Ambien-induced good-night’s sleep so he’d be fresh for the morning’s events, when he was waylaid by one final glad-hander. He looked familiar, and Jackson tried to place him. Definitely a lobbyist, something to do with mining? He searched his brain, and a name materialized as the man extended his hand. “Jeffers! Great to see a friendly face in this jungle.”

“Absolutely, absolutely. And congrats on the new job!” Jeffers leaned in without releasing Jackson’s hand. “You won’t be forgetting us little people now, will you?”

Jackson clapped him hard on the shoulder, relieved to skip the Duke Morris mourning dance. “I could never forget you, Jeffers! And of course I appreciate your continuing support.”

“Sure, sure. After all, you’re barely in and it’s time to start running again, right?” Jeffers said jovially.

Jackson responded with gravitas, “Of course, I haven’t decided on running yet. This is just a favor I’m doing the governor, out of respect for Duke.”

“Sure, sure,” Jeffers repeated, and Jackson was suddenly annoyed with him. The clod was acting as though he already had something on him. And there was simply no way that was true.

“If you’ll excuse me, it really has been a long day.”

“I’m sure it has.” Jeffers lowered his voice. “I was happy to see you left your bodyguard back in Arizona. Especially after the phone call I got earlier this evening.”

Jackson frowned. He had taken Dante to a few events to impress him and gain his trust, passing him off as personal protection. But after the wooing he’d explained that they couldn’t appear publicly anymore, better to keep a low profile. Why would Jeffers remember him? “Sorry, what phone call?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

Jeffers leaned in conspiratorially; Jackson could practically taste the bourbon on his breath. It smelled like he’d had an extra helping of the crab salad, too. “The one from the FBI. They said not to tell you, but after all these years of friendship I figured I owed you a heads-up. We Arizonans have to stick together, right?” He straightened and shook his head. “They had a picture of you and him, said he was a ‘person of interest.’ So sad, when you find out nasty things about employees. Even with background checks, you can’t be sure these days, can you?”

“No, sadly, you can’t,” Jackson agreed stiffly. He hoped the shock wasn’t registering on his face. The FBI had somehow connected the dots, from the warehouse to Dante, and from Dante…to him? It wasn’t possible. He’d been so careful, set up so many intermediaries.