Michelle Gagnon - The Gatekeeper

“I’m sorry to call you so late, Senator, but you weren’t answering your cell, or your Georgetown line, and we…have you seen the news, sir?”

Jackson ’s eyes shifted back to the television. “I just turned it on. I still can’t believe it.” Which was true. All that careful planning, and now the timing was shot to hell.

“I know this must be a shock to you, sir. I hope everyone you care about is okay.”

The sentiment took him off guard. Of course everyone was okay. He’d ensconced his mother in a Santa Barbara spa yesterday, and there really wasn’t anyone else worth caring about. But he tried to adopt the appropriate note of gravitas as he said, “Thanks so much, Chad. I’m praying that they are.”

“I’ll pray, too. My parents…the cell towers are jammed, so I can’t get through.”

“Well, I’m sure they’re fine,” Jackson said, put off by Chad ’s sniveling tone. If he wasn’t arrested tomorrow, the first order of business would be finding a new assistant. Chad was clearly not built for pressure situations.

Chad took a deep breath, gathering himself before saying, “The thing is, um…we’re getting a lot of calls from the media. They’re wondering if you have a statement. Since it’s our district.”

“Oh.” Jackson experienced a rush of excitement, followed quickly by anger. Of course he had a statement prepared, the perfect response to this crisis. He’d spent months honing it: two concise, carefully worded pages that struck the perfect note of sorrow, empathy and strength. But did he risk reading it now, when the FBI might show up and haul him away midsentence? “Let’s wait for morning,” he finally said.

“Certainly, Senator.” Chad sounded relieved. “I’ll tell them.”

“And Chad?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t ever call me on this line again.”

Chad stammered an apology and hung up. Jackson sipped the last of his drink, watching the news jump between correspondents without gaining any additional insight. He reviewed different scenarios in his mind. If they didn’t have Dante yet, they’d no doubt have him soon. The early explosion in Phoenix put a new spin on things. By now even the slowest FBI agent would have discovered the missing radioactive waste and realized there were probably more bombs in the mix. And after the warehouse raid, they would have made the link to parade floats. Jackson had to admit, due to their complete incompetence over border control, he hadn’t given them enough credit. For them to have tracked down Dante was really quite impressive.

Clearly it was time to switch gears and send them something they weren’t expecting.

He picked up the cell phone and dialed the code to activate it. Dante answered on the third ring. Jackson gave him the new orders, then called Dallas. After hanging up, he drained the last of the whiskey and settled back against the couch cushions. The trace of a smile illuminated his face as he watched the terror and confusion play out on-screen.

Syd swallowed hard. The potassium iodide solution was repellant, but hopefully would alleviate any damage from the radiation. She’d also taken a frigid five-minute shower, then given them her clothes to destroy. She shivered in fresh scrubs. Her wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, then she was shunted aside as other, more critical cases arrived.

Syd made her way through the maze of tents. It was like every other field hospital she’d been in; this one was installed in a hospital parking lot to contain overflow and reduce the risk of contamination.

“Brings you back, don’t it?” a voice at her elbow said. She turned to find Fribush.

“Yeah, it does,” she said, knowing exactly what he meant. Could have been Mosul, could have been Tbilisi. A war zone was a war zone. “How’s Maltz?”

He nodded toward the door. “They took him inside.”

“Looks bad though, right?”

He shrugged. “Maltz has survived worse. I’m not counting him out.”

Refreshingly optimistic, Syd thought. Especially for a Delta guy. “I need to make a call.”

Without a word he handed her a phone. She dialed the number, feeling a little guilty for not calling sooner.

Jake answered on the third ring. “Riley here.”

“Jake, it’s me.”

Relief flooded his voice as he said, “Jesus, Syd, I thought you were dead. What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine. Maltz…we’re waiting to hear on Maltz.”

“Christ.” He laughed. “I honestly can’t believe you’re okay. Man, I thought…” His voice lowered a register as he said, “I was really worried.”

“Well, I’m fine,” she said, taken aback by the outpouring of emotion.

“There’s a lead on another bomb, so we’re on our way to Dallas. And Kelly sent a text, she and Leonard are in San Diego trying to stop a third.”

“Oh.” So they had the other sites covered. “But what about Burke?”

“No idea, they’re still keeping us in the dark.” His voice lowered as he said, “But George said it’s gotta be solid before they’ll arrest a senator. I get the feeling that he might skate.”

“Really,” Syd said, her voice hardening. Of course he’d skate. She’d seen it time and again, politicians shirking responsibility for terrible acts. No surprise there.

“Anyway, rest up for a few days. We’ll meet back in New York when this is over to talk about things.”

Interesting, Syd thought. Unless she was mistaken, the things he wanted to discuss didn’t sound entirely business-related. Which would be fine by her. Jake was a bit of a Boy Scout by her standards, but it might be a nice change of pace. And she’d be doing him a favor, getting him away from that miserable fiancée. “Sure,” she said. “See you there.”

She handed the phone back to Fribush, who asked, “How you feeling, boss?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Doctors clear you to leave?”

She shrugged. “Doctors have bigger things to worry about. Why?”

“’Cause you look like you’ve got places to go.”

Syd grinned at him. “Remind me to put you on full retainer, we need more sharp guys.”

Fribush tucked the phone back in his pocket and asked, “You got dental?”

“Get me some real clothes and make sure I’m on a plane by sunup, I’ll throw in vision, too,” she said. “Tell Kane to keep an eye on Maltz, and let’s go.”

Dante gunned the engine and impulsively kissed the cross that hung from a chain around his neck. The call had been unexpected, but not unwelcome. He’d been crawling out of his skin at the thought of waiting all night. What Jackson wanted was a better plan anyway. And he had specifically asked Dante to take charge of it.

Dante waited as one of his men rolled open the door at the end of the hangar. They were in a deserted airfield south of downtown San Diego. It had been the perfect staging area, no prying eyes to see what they were up to. It had taken less than an hour to shift the bomb from the float back into the truck they’d arrived in. The men had grumbled at the extra work, but perked up when he said they didn’t need the spics anymore, so later they could take them to the desert for target practice. His boys deserved it after everything they’d been through. He was glad to hear that Jackson finally appreciated their efforts. It was pretty clear who the real patriots were in this organization.

Jackson was uncharacteristically warm when he wished him good luck. Funny, Dante could’ve sworn he even sounded a little drunk, which was unheard of. Jackson barely touched the stuff, said he preferred to keep his mind sharp. Dante had been impressed by the level of self-control that implied. He’d been sober himself since that day. But what the hell-maybe he’d have a drink to celebrate once this was over. Jackson would probably have some fancy champagne waiting. Maybe he even had a party planned.