Rick Mofina - Every Second

“California?”

“Somewhere around LA, I think.”

Manhattan, New York

Varner clawed at his collar button and yanked his tie loose as he stepped into his office after his exchange with Kate at the news conference.

He dropped into his chair, jabbed the keys of his keyboard looking for the data Bill Kendrick in Los Angeles had promised to send him on Lori Fulton’s connection to Jerricko Titus Blaine.

This was a critical lead, and Varner was sickened that it could be handed directly to the suspects by a reporter, which could lead Blaine and the other subjects to destroy evidence and jeopardize prosecution of the case, ruining any element of surprise that might work in their favor when it came time to close in.

How did Page get on to this? Is she that good? Or is someone leaking to her?

Varner’s monitor came to life with the report from LA and he raced through it twice, devouring Lori’s history with the Santa Ana PD-including the shootings, the fallout and the toll.

There’s a strong motive here for Blaine, he thought.

Blaine must have targeted the Fultons in revenge for Lori killing his brother, Malcolm. It still left Varner with many unanswered questions. He was certain Blaine wasn’t acting alone, so who were his associates-and why didn’t they just go after Lori directly? Why escalate to such an extreme, taking hostages, using bombs and robbing a bank? There had to be a reason, but the deeper they dug, the more questions they had. Why did Malcolm take his mother’s name? What about Malcolm’s time in prison and the family’s connection to Afghanistan-was any of that related to what was happening now? Varner had submitted the name Malcolm Jordan Samadyh to Guardian and other national security databases, but nothing had come back yet.

Meanwhile, investigators analyzed and assessed the physical, factual and theoretical aspects of the Blaine/Samadyh link to Fulton: Blaine’s fingerprints on the duct tape, Blaine’s blood tie to Samadyh and Samadyh’s connection to Lori Fulton. It was often a matter of degrees of separation, but all it took was one key piece of information to bring everything together and Varner was certain that piece would surface soon.

Still, the fact that Kate Page had the inside track didn’t sit well with him.

New York Thruway

Dan drove for miles enveloped by gloom.

Eventually mountains began to ascend over the highway, and he recognized Mount Tremper dominating the skyline as he continued winding west. The scenery was beautiful, but he sensed menace in every shadow and every blind curve. He studied a stretch of road by a creek then a ramshackle outbuilding tucked in a dense stand of woods, as if he could somehow identify the final destination.

Sooner or later, everything was going to be decided. Whether he’d live or die, if he’d ever see his family again-it would all end. He could feel it. Everything that he valued became crystalline to him. It was not his job, not the house, not the bag of cash beside him or his reputation in Roseoak Park.

There were only two things he cherished in his life.

Lori and Billy.

They were all that counted in his world, and as he drove he vowed that no matter what happened-no matter what the assholes were planning-he would not make it easy for them.

“Turn right at that large boulder,” Vic said.

Dan pulled off the highway on to a paved, narrow course that cut into forest for a mile or two before devolving into a serpentine gravel road, the stones popcorning against the car’s undercarriage.

“Turn left at that big rock,” Vic said.

Dan slowed the car when he reached the jutting granite rock formation.

The turn’s entrance was all but concealed by shrubs that swallowed his vehicle as he rolled on to the earthen pathway. He inched his way delicately along the dirt strip, awakening branches that slapped and scraped against the wheels, the doors, the windows.

He traveled about fifty yards, coming to a small grassy clearing where Vic ordered him to stop and kill the engine.

Less than a minute later, Dan heard the distant crunch of gravel and the slap of branches against metal as an SUV lumbered into the clearing behind him.

Two men got out and approached the Chevy-Vic and Percy. He recognized them by their coveralls, but this time they were carrying what he thought were AK-47s.

They’re not wearing masks.

“Get out!” Vic called to him from outside the car.

Both men were white and in their early twenties. Vic’s long dark hair and an unkempt beard only added to his imposing height. Percy looked about the same age, with thick brown hair and a wispy beard.

Dan got out of the car while Percy opened the passenger door, seized the bag of cash, unzipped and checked it. Satisfied, he rezipped the bag.

“Where…where are Lori and Billy?” Dan asked.

Ignoring Dan, Vic watched Percy put the bag in the SUV.

“I did everything you wanted,” Dan said. “You said no one would get hurt. It’s done now…you can let us-”

“Shut up!”

Vic used his gun to march Dan to the rear of the SUV. Percy secured Dan’s wrists with plastic handcuffs then wrapped them with duct tape. He shoved him into the back of the SUV and covered him with a tarp.

Doors slammed. The SUV wheeled in a circle and returned to the road.

It hadn’t gone far when Dan was suddenly pitched to one side amid the roar and rumble of churning gravel as the SUV swayed violently. A horn blasted, and a faint stream of cursing and clanking passed, but the SUV corrected itself and continued.

As they gathered speed Dan felt hope fading like a dying star.

Roseoak Park, New York

Officer Rocco Campisi downed the last of his coffee as he turned into the Empire Coastal Mall.

Tonight was going to be sweet.

His brother-in-law had scored tickets to the Mets’ game behind home plate. It was all Campisi could think of as he neared the end of his tour on patrol in the 111th Precinct. He’d swing through the mall and scope the lot for cars on his hot sheet. That would take him to the end of his shift.

Campisi guided his blue-and-white patrol car into the north entrance where the lot was pretty much at capacity.

Two cars topped his list.

The first was a red 2013 Toyota Corolla, wanted in the hit-and-run of a three-year-old boy in Brooklyn this morning. The boy was in critical condition, and Campisi was eager to grab the asshole who’d taken off and left him for dead. The second was the car from the bank heist. They’d been screaming for that one all day-a 2015 blue Ford Taurus.

Campisi and other patrol units had already searched this lot earlier, but he wasn’t confident the other unit had been as thorough as he’d like, which was why he’d decided to swing back and double-check.

Campisi crawled through every zone in the lot, concentrating on red Corollas and blue Tauruses. Shoppers pushing carts to their cars cleared the way for him, while people walking to the mall gave him a cursory glance.

He drove slowly up and down rows of sedans, vans, compacts, hybrids, SUVs and pickup trucks, working his way from one section to the next.

In Zone 11, he came across two red Corollas that were candidates, but the year and partial plate didn’t match. Rolling through Zone 12, he discovered a blue Taurus, but the year was way off.

He got zilch in Zone 13.

Zone 14 was farthest from the others and held fewer vehicles. It would be a fast search, Campisi thought, threading around shopping carts and vehicles dotting the area.

What’s this?

His focus shifted to a sedan in the back corner. It was a blue Ford, a Taurus, and his breath quickened as he approached.