Premeditated Murder (39 page)

It was only when Pete put his hand up to wipe the sweat from his forehead that he realized it wasn't sweat.

It was blood.

THE AIRPLANE NOISE OVERHEAD GREW LOUDER. Zack was out of time.

His breathing sounded like barking now, his legs felt numb, but none of that mattered. He saw the handicap area that his sister had mentioned, and shoved past the last of the people in his way, ignoring their curses and protests.

Somebody's cell phone was bleating. Zack stumbled and then fell, just missing a little girl who was blowing bubbles. He scrambled back up to his feet and staggered forward.

And then, there was Justin. Zack dropped to his knees and his son ran into his arms.

“Daddy!” Justin shouted over the din of the plane, but Zack could not answer. He could only hold the little boy tight, so his last moments wouldn't be filled with terror but rather with an embrace from his father—reassurance that no matter what, everything was going to be okay.

That cell phone kept ringing. Wait.
His
cell phone kept ringing. He pulled it from his pocket and held it up to his face. He had so little breath he could do little more than exhale into it, and he could barely make out Terry's voice on the other end. But then he looked up.

What he had heard wasn't a plane. It was a jet. Lots of jets. Fighter jets.

Justin was safe.

TWENTY-EIGHT

President to Address Nation Tonight on National Security

President Matthew Ferguson will deliver what White House officials are describing as a “major address” on the topic of national security and terrorism in a special television appearance tonight. The President is expected to reveal more information regarding the aborted Independence Day attack in Boston, as well as other details …

(
Boston Post,
July 9, page 1)

July 9—Worcester, Massachusetts

PETE HAD TO STAY HOME FROM WORK BECAUSE of the stitches he had in his face and neck. Which was just as well, since he still had some symptoms from the concussion he'd received from the explosion.

Vicki had videotaped all of the news reports of the airplane explosion, and Pete's interviews, but what Pete liked doing was watching the part of the news that came after all of that stuff. The footage of the fireworks at the Esplanade and the huge crowd of people who were jammed into the park to take part in the celebration.

And as he watched the thousands of people enjoying their national holiday in safety, for the first time in a long time Pete took pride in his work. He'd shown up that day, just like he showed up every day, and put in a good shift. And that had been enough. Because he'd done his job, a disaster had been avoided, and innocent lives had been saved.

He really had made a difference.

Northampton, Massachusetts

CALVIN THOMPKINS WAS STILL GETTING USED to just driving around.

He had spent so many months in jail, and so many years before that in a fog of vengeance, that just taking his rented car around for a drive on a nice summer evening with the windows rolled down was a bit of a novelty.

On a whim, he had looked up the home address of Zack Wilson, and had decided to drop in on him and thank him—again—but as he approached he saw that Zack was playing with his son in the front yard of his house, and Cal was reluctant to interrupt them. He pulled over to the curb across the street and a few houses down, and parked.

The trial had been so surreal, it was hard to accept that it had even happened. But then, afterward, when it was learned that one of the six victims hadn't been one of the terrorists he'd thought, Cal had really been rocked. It was bad enough that he'd decided to play God with the lives of terrorists. Had he killed an innocent person in his haze of revenge?

Like so much of Cal's life, that question was likely to haunt him forever.

It turned out that the sixth victim was actually a cousin of Ahmad El Amin, the one who ended up dying in that small plane explosion on July 4. And although the government had nowhere near as much evidence that the cousin was a terrorist, they strongly suspected that the dead man had been a relatively recent recruit to Al Qaeda, and that he'd been involved in the planning of the Boston Independence Day attack.

So had Cal gotten away with murder? Had he thwarted an attack against thousands of innocents, or had he merely perverted an already severely challenged justice system?

As he drove away from Zack Wilson's house, Cal knew he was going to have to spend a lot of time figuring that out, or accepting the fact that he'd never know the answers.

ZACK AND JUSTIN WERE PLAYING “I'M BEING Somebody” before bedtime again.

But this time, Justin was standing, fully clothed, in front of the couch, just moving his head back and forth and smiling. Occasionally he'd sing tunelessly. “La la la. La la la.” Then he'd shrug. And then start in again with the head movement and the smiling.

As usual, Zack was stumped. “I have no idea.” Justin kept on doing his thing. “Justin?” he said, trying to get his son's attention. And then the little boy stopped what he was doing and opened his eyes and mouth wide. “Justin?” Zack said again.

“Daddy!” he shouted, rushing over to jump up onto the couch and into his arms. “That's the right answer! I was being
me
! Justin!” He was laughing and bouncing rather painfully up and down on Zack's chest. “You are the winner! The luckiest big winner in the whole world!”

And, hugging his son, Zack had to agree.

About the Author

ED GAFFNEY took ten years of work as a criminal lawyer, added an overactive imagination, and came up with a new career as a novelist. This has led to an unexpected number of requests from his softball teammates to appear with Terry and Zack in future books.

Ed lives west of Boston with his wife,
New York Times
Bestselling Author Suzanne Brockmann, their two children, and their anxious, but ever-loyal dogs, Sugar and Spice. PREMEDITATED MURDER is his first novel and he is currently at work on his second.

PREMEDITATED MURDER
A Dell Book / June 2005

Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved
Copyright © 2005 by Edward B. Gaffney

Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

eISBN 0-440-33541-8

www.bantamdell.com

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