The Trigger (26 page)

“Dallas here. I’m on the road now. Where are you?”

“Near the 299 junction, trying to decide if I should head east or west.”

“Randall is likely to stick to back roads if he thinks we’re following him.” In the background, he heard her car engine wind up to full speed.

“Can you think of any reason he would head north?” McCullen hoped she’d learned something about their plans.

“Not unless he decides to skip the planned attack and run for it.”

McCullen didn’t think he would. “I’ll turn right and head toward Deschutes Road. I think Randall will avoid the city and head south until he can hit I-5 somewhere.” He pushed his speed, hoping to catch up to the truck. What if Randall went the other direction and eluded him?

A huge deer came out of nowhere and bounded into the road. “Shit!” McCullen slammed the brakes and swerved right, missing the creature by an inch. He shot off the pavement into a shallow ditch, riding slanted on the slope until it flattened out.

“McCullen, are you okay?”

“I nearly hit a deer and ended up in the ditch, but I’ll be back on the road in a minute.”
Damn.
The misadventure had set him back, giving Randall a wider lead.

After a minute, Dallas said, “Spencer blamed it all on Randall. The abductions, the financial hacking, everything. He even told me to go after him.”

“That’s cold. Maybe Randall knew and decided to make a run for it. Maybe you should head north.”

“No, I heard Emma and Randall. He’s determined to be disruptive. I think he has an inferiority complex.”

McCullen agreed. Randall had grown up with a brother who was taller, better looking, and more of a leader. Living in that shadow must have warped him a little. “Are you headed my way?”

“Yes. I’m going to call Randall and see if I can engage him, figure out where he’s going before the crisis team takes over.”

“Good luck. He’s a crafty bastard.”

“So is Emma. That bitch hit me on the head with a rock, and I’ve still got a major headache.” Dallas’ voice was charged with energy.

“But you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ve got Spencer’s rifle, and I’m an excellent shot. Given a chance, I’ll take Randall out rather than let him set off an explosion in public.”

McCullen liked her more all the time. Too bad he hadn’t met Dallas five years ago instead of Emma. “I’m out for now, so I can watch the road. Stay in touch.” He clicked off his phone and gave the sedan more gas. He needed eyes on Randall ASAP.

The image of Emma striking Dallas unnerved him. But Emma had hit him once when she’d thought he lied to her. He hadn’t lied, and the blow to his upper arm had surprised him. How violent was Emma? She was on her way with Randall to blow up a building. It was early Saturday morning, and the building might be empty, but it was still coldly criminal. He was feeling lucky she’d left him when she did.

His cell phone rang and he glanced at the number. A Quantico area code. He tapped his earpiece to answer. “McCullen here.”

“Gerry Sanders in the crime lab. I found a partial print on the lamp you submitted, but it’s not showing in the database.”

“Still, that’s good news. Anything else?”

“Luminol revealed a blood smear, but I haven’t been able to extract enough from the smooth surface for testing. Sorry.”

“Thanks for calling.” McCullen kept his eyes on the road. He would deal with this information later.

* * *

Dallas raced down the narrow road, glad there was no traffic. The near total darkness was unnerving, but she’d taken high-speed driver training at Quantico without killing any fake citizens, so she would be all right. As long as a deer didn’t wander into
her
path. They didn’t worry about such creatures in the desert. Around Phoenix, you were more likely to run over a snake or a rat.

She pushed her speed, pleased to be driving an Audi, and eased up only for the sweeping curve where Emma’s car had gone off the road. Had Emma ever really been a victim? She’d seemed pretty happy to get out of the bunker at the time. Dallas shook it off. Emma didn’t matter now. She had to talk to Randall. She picked up her Sonja phone, glad she was compulsive about creating contacts. “Call Randall Clayton.”

He was egotistical—or curious—enough to pick up. “Sonja, you are hard to keep down. What do you want?” An edge of panic made him sound amused.

“Just wondering where you’re headed. Emma told me you planned to hit internet buildings. Does that mean tech companies or network server locations?”

He made a startled sound. “Why should I tell you?”

“It’s not too late to give up before you get caught.”

He laughed, a phony sound. “I’m not going to get caught, so unless you’re in a car right behind me, you’re wasting your time.”

“I am in a car right behind you.”

A sharp intake of breath, followed by a pause. “You’re lying. No one is back there. I’ve been watching.”

“No, we’re watching. Before you do anything stupid, you should know that Spencer blamed you for everything. He said he tried to stop you, then he cut me free and sent me after you.”

“Bullshit! My brother would never turn on me. You’re trying to drive a wedge between us.”

Now Dallas laughed. “Too late for that. Spencer already opened up a chasm.” She tried to push him into a mistake. “Still headed to the capital?”

“Nice try. Now fuck off.” He hung up.

His abruptness made her think she’d guessed correctly. But what did he plan to target in Sacramento? The capitol building itself? Dallas wondered how long it would take the bureau to get a chopper in the sky over this area. Even in the dark, a chopper could pick up Randall’s truck and track its movements. But pulling people out of bed and putting them into the right gear and location took time. Gibson’s job was to prompt the FBI director to execute warrantless phone and email searches, and that would take a series of phone calls and maybe as long as an hour. Companies and buildings around California could start to blow up at any minute. Or maybe Randall’s reach was even wider. How many conspirators did he have?

Dallas pressed the gas, hitting ninety, determined to catch up.

Gibson’s hands shook as he called the cell phone of his supervisor in the Sacramento office. Tempted as he was to make a direct call to the main office in Washington D.C., the bureau was a chain-of-command entity, and this was how it had to be done. He just hoped following protocol didn’t take too long.

After four rings, a tense female voice picked up. “This is Kerry Meyers. How can I help you?”

“Special Agent Gibson, FBI field office, Redding California. We have a national security situation.”

“Give me the details.” She didn’t miss a beat.

“Randall and Emma Clayton are in a truck with an explosive, headed for an unknown target, likely in Northern California. More terrorists are probably involved. We don’t know who they are or what their targets are. We need to access Randall Clayton’s phone and email records immediately to determine who he’s working with.”

“Let me get online with the D.C. office.” The special agent in charge fumbled something, trying to access what sounded like a keyboard. “How do you know this?”

“We had an undercover agent in a local prepper community looking for a missing woman. She found a lot more than that.”

“Spell the suspect’s name and give me every contact detail you have for him.”

Gibson gave her the intel, then added, “Our agent in the field thinks the targets are tech companies and internet hubs. Can we get the National Guard out to protect Silicon Valley?”

“That will be up to the director.”

“There’s more.”

“I’m listening.” Her voice had a little catch.

“There’s a cyber attack hitting the banking system that could wreak havoc on Monday.”

“That’s not our department. Call the FDIC, or maybe the Federal Reserve.”

“Should you call Homeland Security?”

“Again, that will be up to the director. The administration has made it clear that terrorism is our jurisdiction. I’m sure the bureau will put SWAT units and hostage-rescue teams in the air shortly.”

“I have two agents pursuing Clayton. They may have visual contact. Please ask the tactical units to be careful.”

“Once our chopper team has picked up his vehicle, get your people out of there.”

“Will do.”

“What are Clayton and his group trying to accomplish?”

“If I find out, I’ll get back to you.” Gibson hung up and pulled on his pants. He wasn’t making another call in his underwear or without coffee.

Randall had planned to cut through town over to the freeway, but with an FBI agent on his tail, he decided to stick to the side roads for a while. After a short stretch on 299, he turned south on Deschutes. His legs trembled as he drove, and he worried about wrecking the truck and blowing themselves up. The hives on his chest itched so badly he wanted to tear off his skin.

Had Spencer really turned on him? Was it over? Sonja was certainly on his case. If he had one fed after him, more would be coming. It was starting to sink in that even if the trigger plans were successful—and they still could be—he and Emma would likely be arrested and jailed. Randall couldn’t accept that. He could come to terms with the idea that the new world he’d helped create would go on without him, but he wouldn’t let them put him in a cell. He was prepared to die for his cause.

“That was the FBI agent, right?” Emma’s hands were gripped tightly together. “She got loose and is following us?”

“Unfortunately.” He decided not to tell her about Spencer’s betrayal.

“What are we going to do?”

Randall was still deciding. It was hard to think and concentrate on the road while driving seventy miles an hour in the dark. “We have three options. We can stop the whole thing by calling off the other futurists and letting them arrest us. That means prison for me, but probably not for you. We can say I forced you to come with me.” He glanced over to see her reaction, but she kept her face averted.

“Or we can make a run for it. I have contacts in Oregon who will take us in. We can change our appearance, get new IDs, and start over.”

“What about Tate? We’d have to go back for him eventually.” Emma’s eyes watered with distress.

“Or Spencer could bring him to us.”
Not if Spencer was in jail,
Randall thought. The state would take custody of Tate as soon as they became fugitives, but Emma didn’t need to know that.

“What’s the third option?” she asked.

“We go for it. Set the explosion at the exchange center, and let the others set theirs. We can try to run after that, but we’ll likely be killed by federal agents. I won’t let them take me alive.”

“Oh fuck.” Emma choked back a sob. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Your followers were supposed to set the explosives, and I never thought you would really go through with it.”

His hands tensed on the steering wheel. How could she doubt his nerve? Besides, this was her fault. “You started the whole thing by packing your bags to leave Destiny. Now deal with it.”

“My mother was sick. It was just temporary.”

“Your mother is a hypochondriac, and you usually ignore her. This time I thought you were leaving me.”

“What difference does it make now? We have to make a plan!”

“What do you want to do?”

She grabbed his shoulder, so he would look at her. “Let’s call it off and make a run for it. I want a fresh start.”

Randall was torn. “There’s another option. We can let the other explosions happen, but skip our part. The financial triggers have been set, so the meltdown is happening anyway.” He didn’t know if he should tell her about the war Raff might have started. “All we have to do is get out of the state, then start gathering supplies again.”

“Do we have the money for that?”

“I have cash with me. We can stop at ATMs along the way and take out the limit at each one.”

“This is freaking me out! I don’t want to die or go to jail.” Emma nervously rubbed her legs. “But you’re right about letting your followers go through with their attacks. The more diversions the cops have, the less likely they are to come after us.”

Randall noticed a sign for the 44 turnoff. He would take the exit heading east, then go north on a back road like Oak Run and disappear.

The phone in his lap rang again, startling him. He looked at the ID: Agent McCullen. What the hell? Was he still looking for Emma? The thought almost made him laugh. He decided to let the asshole know that Emma was with him, that she’d chosen him again. “What can I do for you?”

“Put me on speaker. I want to talk to Emma.”

Shit.
How much did he know? “I don’t think so. She’s made her choice.”

“I don’t think you know your wife very well.”

Randall could hear an engine in the background. Was McCullen in a vehicle? “What are you talking about?”

“Put me on speaker, and I’ll tell you some things about Emma that you might want to know before you make a major life decision. But I want to hear her voice first.”

Randall glanced at his wife.

“Who is it?” she asked.

The knot in Randall’s stomach tightened. He knew better than to trust what law enforcement said. They often lied to accomplish their goals. But he wanted to watch Emma’s reaction to what McCullen had to say. Her face would tell him the truth. Randall clicked over to speaker. “Make it quick.”

“Hey, Emma. How are you?” The agent’s tone was mocking.

“Caleb? What do you want?” Emma sounded worried.

“Does your husband know what happened on April 21st?”

Randall glanced at his wife. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“Hang up,” she hissed. “He’s just trying to mess with us.”

Emma’s obvious distress caused a wave of nausea to roll over him. “What is this about?”

McCullen’s voice came at him again. “Did you know your ex-wife is dead, Randall? They pulled her out of the pool at the Four Corners Motel. She’d been conked on the head.”

Confusion overwhelmed him. Tamara was dead? Killed in Redding? “When did this happen? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

McCullen’s voice through the speaker was matter-of-fact. “Tamara died about three weeks ago. Right before her death, she was seen in the parking lot next to The Highland. Emma was in the restaurant that night.”