Found Objects (5 page)

“No,” he said.
 
“We should keep going forward.”
 
People turned to him.
 
 

“Why?” the woman said, “We don’t know how far it is.”
 
 
 

“Yes we do,” Martin said.
 
“From Driscoll station to Amherst station there are two hundred and forty seams in the rail.
 
After we left Driscoll, we had gone past one hundred seventy-three before the train stopped.
 
We’re much closer to the Amherst station.”
 
He looked around, expecting them to agree; it was so clear to him. Instead, he was rewarded with blank stares.
 
“Besides,” he continued, “Amherst is deeper.
 
There are seventy-six steps on the staircase in Driscoll, but there are ninety-four in Amherst.
 
That means the smoke will drift up towards Driscoll.
 
Come on.”
 
 
 

He started walking down the tunnel in the train’s direction of travel, no
t really
caring
that
the others
had begun to follow
him.
 
He was back to counting.
 
One hundred seventy-three seams, plus about four more while the train was grinding along the track. Sixty-three to go.
 
Each rail was about twenty-two feet long, meaning that they were about one thousand, three hundred and eighty-six feet from the next station.
 
If each pace was about two feet long, that meant six hundred ninety
-three paces to the exit
.
 
 
 

After he passed the front of the train, it grew terribly dark, so he ran his hand along the rough cement wall of the tunnel for guid
ance as he counted off his steps
.
 
The air was stale and damp, but at least there was no smoke.
 
At four hundred paces he began to see a faint glow around the curve ahead, and by five hundred he could make out the details of the train platform.
 
 

He stepped on the utility stair leading up to the platform at Amherst station at pace number six hundred fifty-four.
 
As he passed firefighters and paramedics racing the other way, he reflected that a five-point-nine percent margin of error was not bad, considering the circumstances.
 

He
couldn’t wait to
tell
Angie
.

Novel Excerpt:  BURST

The command post had been set up in a manner that was simultaneously ad-hoc and well rehearsed, Charlie thought.  Something like a jazz performance done in lethal tones. A nylon fly, standing amid scattered vehicles in a parking lot, shaded a folding pl
astic table from the early autu
mn sun.  Six years in San Francisco and he still couldn’t get used to how October was the hottest month of the year.  Around the table, the regular assortment of law enforcement types clustered in small groups, conferring over checklists or scribbling onto a portable whiteboard.  The table itself was what caught Charlie’s eye, though.

It must have been remaindered from some corporate function.  Blintzes, canapés, dainty-looking pastries, delicately-rolled sliced meats, and other assorted delectables were arranged haphazardly.  At one end, the obligatory carafe of coffee stood, and it was before that Charlie saw Ray standing, staring head down into a Styrofoam cup clenched in both hands. 

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Charlie said, clapping Ray on the shoulder in what he hoped was a friendly gesture. 

Ray flinched, startled, his cold blue eyes snapping up to meet Charlie’s.  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. 

“You know, it was a little lame the way you ditched me back there at the crackhouse.” 

“I didn’t ditch you.  I left you in charge of the scene.  You’re supposed to be handling it.”

“No, you’re supposed to be handling it.  At least, that’s what Bossman was saying.  He said a lot more but most of it was pretty unintelligible, what with all the yelling.  Between him and the local cops they seemed to have it covered.  So I figured I would head over here, see if you needed any help.”

“How did you get here?  I took the car.” 

“Yes you did, and in
a
big
hurry too.  I had to get creative.” 

“You didn’t steal a car from a crime scene again, did you?” 

“Hey, that was just once. And it was an emergency.” 

“So?”

“So,” Charlie said, shrugging, “I took the bus.”

“You took the bus across Oakland?”

“What, does the FBI have any rules about its agents not taking the bus?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it does; at least when they’re dressed like that.” 

Ray gestured to Charlie’s class-III tactical ballistic vest, navy blue with “FBI” stenciled across the front and back in six-inch-high neon yellow letters.  Charlie looked down and shrugged.  “It was a pretty quiet ride.” 

“How did you get through the police line?  They declared this a closed scene five minutes after I got here.”

“I told them I’m an FBI agent with special training in hostage negotiation.”

Ray shook his head.  “You took an online course three years ago.” 

“It still counts.  So, tell me what’s going on.  Hostage situation? That’s what they said on the radio. In a school, too.  Bad scene.”

“Go home, Charlie.  You can’t help me on this.”

Charlie raised both hands to his head and clenched his eyes shut.  “I, the great Zamboni, will attempt to use my mystical powers of deduction to profile our perp for today.”  He bobbled his head before continuing.  “White male, early twenties. Comes from an upper-middle-class family.”

“That’s enough.”

“Am I close?  Hey I’m just getting rolling.  History of minor mental health issues, nothing serious to raise any flags.  Maybe bipolar, or something on the Autism spectrum.” 

“Charlie-“

“How am I doing?  No priors. Nice guy.  Quiet and shy. Never would think he’d do something so awful as to take a school full of developmentally disabled kids hostage.  But interestingly enough, never had any pets. At least, not after he tortured and killed one when he was five, or maybe six.” 

“Cut it out.” 

“Come on, throw me a bone, will you?  All right now for the big finish.  Parent issues.  Either estranged from one or both parents, or might as well be.  Never really loved-“

“It’s my son.” 

They stood there for a time, both staring off into the middle distance, listening as the low mutter of the cops around them was punctuated by the staccato-shriek of radio call signals. 

“Oh.” That was all Charlie could manage to say.  Ray nodded weakly and continued staring into the coffee.  “Fuck.”

“Yes.”  Said Ray. 

Charlie looked around.  Another ambulance pulled up, its powerful diesel engine growling as it parked alongside the five others already positioned in the lot.  Just past it, a SWAT team stood outside their panel van, checking their M-4 carbines. “So what now?” he asked. 

Ray looked up with a gaunt face.  Charlie couldn’t help but think that no man should have to wear a face like that outside their coffin. “Are you ready to kill him?”  Ray said. “Because that’s exactly what everyone here is preparing to do.” 

Charlie’s stomach twisted up on itself.  Glancing back at the food spread out before him, he sud
denly found it repulsive
.  A fly circled a
garishly pink
pile of lox, looking for the best place to lay its eggs. 

“I told you not to come here.”