Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel (27 page)
Read Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel Online
Authors: Randall H Miller
“Hi Bill. How’s it going?” asked the young receptionist from inside her glass booth.
The thirty-seven-year-old security guard stuffed as much of his face as possible through the circular hole in the glass and whispered softly. “I’d be a lot better if I was on the other side of this glass with you.”
“Not gonna happen,” she answered without looking up from her computer terminal.
“That’s okay. I get it. You’re shy. Would you prefer I find us somewhere more private? Perhaps a nice little broom closet on the fourth floor?”
When she didn’t respond, he blew a kiss and turned around to scan the emergency room’s waiting area as he had done hundreds of times before, rotating his gaze back and forth with a neutral, somewhat disinterested expression on his face.
Approximately forty people sat, stood, or paced about in the waiting area. Kids with ear infections. Adults with nasty coughs. A bunch with cuts and scrapes, but nothing that couldn’t wait while the more seriously injured or sick were seen first.
Bill was about to move on and check the pediatric wing when a young woman sitting in the corner with a backpack on her lap caught his attention. Visitors to the ER are somewhat predictable. They read, talk, watch TV, or keep themselves otherwise occupied. This young lady was different. She was just sitting there, holding the bag with both arms and avoiding eye contact with anyone who looked in her direction. The air conditioning was pumping but she was visibly sweating. Bill knocked twice on the receptionist’s glass barrier.
“See the brunette by herself in the corner? How long has she been here?”
“Jesus, you sure got over me fast.”
“No, seriously.”
The receptionist glanced over at the young woman. “She got here like an hour ago but never checked in. I haven’t had time to chase her down. She must be waiting for someone.”
“She’s been in this AC for an hour, wearing nothing but a little t-shirt, and she’s still sweating like that. She looks nervous, doesn’t she?”
“It’s the ER, Bill. Everyone is nervous.”
“Yeah, but not like that. I’ve seen that kind of nervous before.”
“Oh yeah? Where?”
“Baghdad.”
Bill walked across the waiting area to the drinking fountain, where he bent down and took a long drink of cold water. Then he casually walked toward the girl.
“It’s a hot one today, hey?”
She didn’t respond, so he moved closer, stood directly in front of her, and repeated himself.
“I said it’s pretty hot today. Don’t you think?”
Fatima looked up with a forced smile. “It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? Whew! I’m burning up in here. Looks like you are too,” he said pointing to the sweat running down her forehead on her nose. “The water in the bubbler is cold if you want any.”
“I’m fine,” she answered, casually wiping her brow with one hand while keeping the other hand wrapped firmly around the backpack in her lap.
“Yeah, it’s city water. Kinda rusty tasting. There’s a cafeteria right down the hall if you’d prefer something else. Want me to show you where it is?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” she answered abruptly.
“Suit yourself. I’m not bothering you, am I?”
“No. I just … I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Oh yeah? Sorry to hear that. You waiting for someone?”
Fatima shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yeah. Sort of. I’m waiting for something.”
“Ma’am, everyone in the waiting room needs to check in with reception, and you’ve been here for over an hour without doing so. May I see your ID, please? Not a big deal. Just procedure.”
Fatima appeared startled by the request. “My ID? Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I know that, ma’am. It’s just standard procedure. Everyone in this area needs to show ID, and all bags are subject to search.”
She unconsciously squeezed the backpack a little tighter but nodded in agreement. Sweat began to pour down her face and her voice cracked.
“My ID is in my bag. I’ll get it for you.”
She unzipped the top of her backpack and fished around inside with a sweaty hand as she recalled the instructions from her facilitator:
If you think you will be compromised, detonate the bomb immediately. Do not be taken into custody.
“I know it’s in here somewhere. Okay, here it is.”
Fatima took one final deep breath, exhaled slowly, and bowed her head. Then she closed her eyes, smiled, and detonated the bomb.
Mark was on the floor in the back seat of a police cruiser, his hands cuffed behind his back, when he regained consciousness. His head throbbed, his vision was blurry, and the nausea was overwhelming. He vomited what little he had eaten that morning. When the driver’s side door slammed shut and the vehicle started moving, he struggled to his knees and eventually to a sitting position on the back seat.
Mark immediately recognized the female officer driving the cruiser. They had met at the Witch Hunt shortly after he returned to town. He recalled her thick Massachusetts accent.
“Hey … hey … your boy Charlie made a big mistake.”
She ignored him and continued driving at high speed with the lights and siren blaring.
“Listen to me, Wendy. You know who I am. Look at me. I’m Mark Landry. I’m Luci’s boyfriend.”
She looked at him closely in the rear-view mirror for a moment before returning her attention to the road.
“You know I’m not a criminal. Your boy back there made a big mistake. He thought I was one of the shooters. I wasn’t. And the sooner you help me get this worked out, the sooner we can get the guys who did this.”
No response.
“Listen, I took out one of the shooters and was going after another when your guy decided to tase me. He screwed up. And I’m not faulting him for that. You guys don’t know me. But listen, Wendy. I’m a counterterrorism operator for the U.S. government, okay? And I need your help.”
She glanced at him again in the mirror but said nothing.
“You gotta believe me, Wendy. You think Luci would be with a terrorist? Listen, I’m going to give you a phone number. Just call it, say my name and location. That’s it. Can you do that for me?”
No response.
“Wendy, I can promise you right now this will never come back to bite you. I’ll personally make sure of that. But the sooner you call and I get this straightened out, the sooner we can find the assholes who just shot up our town and keep them from hurting more people. Look at me, Wendy. Look at me!”
The officer looked at him again in the mirror.
“I’ve been doing this a long time, and I promise you, if we don’t move quickly they’ll get away with this. The guy I was chasing is getting away as we speak. Fix Charlie’s mistake, Wendy. I’m not asking you to let me go. All I’m asking you to do is call the number, say my name and location. Then text Luci so she doesn’t worry and you’re done.”
Wendy looked at Mark long and hard through the mirror. Then she took a deep breath, nodded her head, and pulled a metallic pen from her uniform pocket.
“What’s the numbah?”
“Senator, our planners think this will be the biggest march in Washington history
—
well over one million strong. We know you have other people to meet with today, but do you have any questions that we can answer right now?”
Senator McDermott finished scribbling a note on the legal pad she had balanced on her lap and removed her glasses.
“No questions right now, but I might have some later. This is a lot to digest. Thank you for coming. I’ll be in touch when I can.”
Meghan ushered the visitors out of the apartment and returned with a bright smile on her face. “Well, what do you think? It’s an amazing opportunity.”
McDermott sat behind the antique secretary desk in the family room, quickly reviewing the agenda for her next appointment. “It’s a little pie-in-the-sky, isn’t it?”
Meghan frowned. “If successful, it would mean the complete abolition of guns in America. It’s exactly what we want, Mom. We’ve dreamed about this, and for the first time there’s a good chance enough Americans might actually support it. ”
“Meg, they’re asking me to propose a constitutional amendment. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to amend the constitution? We’re not talking about naming a Post Office.”
“Yeah, all you have to do is get two-thirds of the House and Senate to vote for the proposal. Then you get three-fourths of the states to go along.”
“Much easier said than done. Let’s choose our battles a bit more wisely.”
Meghan sat on the sofa and turned on cable news with the volume down.
“Mom, you’ve been asked to be the featured speaker for the biggest public demonstration in D.C. history, at which you would get to make the big announcement about the single most important issue of your career. It’s political gold.”
McDermott looked up from her briefing papers with her reading glasses perched at the tip of her nose and stared at her daughter. “Political gold? It’s a big crowd, Meghan. But the centerpiece of the movement is doomed. Listen, we have to prioritize and choose our battles. This one is unrealistic. Let’s try to stick to things we can accomplish, okay? Enough of this for now.”
Meghan walked across the office to the television and turned the screen toward her mother. “Enough of this? You don’t get to make that decision, Senator. They do,” she said, pointing to the breaking news headline: TERROR IN MASSACHUSETTS.
“Hold on, Meg.”
McDermott finished jotting a note in the margin of the next meeting’s agenda and then looked up. The past week had brought over a dozen incidents of domestic terrorism across the country. Each morning it was not a question of whether but where another shooting or bombing would take place. Her formerly sharp, emotional reactions to the events had become dull and detached. She bit her bottom lip, shook her head, and returned to the stacks of information on her desk.
“Where’s this one?” she asked.
“Somewhere in Mass,” Meghan replied as she reached for the remote and turned up the volume.
“Terror in Massachusetts,” said the broadcaster. “Another day, another bloody attack on American soil
—
this time during a small town’s veteran recognition ceremony. The story is still unfolding, but preliminary reports tell us there was some sort of explosion followed by several gunmen opening fire on the crowd. Warning: the images you are about to see may be disturbing.”
Live footage from a news drone showed explicit images of the chaotic scene.
“Might be disturbing? Jesus Christ, lady. Look at the carnage. This one will end up being worse than Billings, Cleveland, and Miami put together.”
Meghan stood up and approached Senator McDermott’s desk.
“Listen, I know you care, but lately it’s like you’ve become desensitized to all of this. Look at this, Mom. Then explain again why you’re against leading the charge to stop this insanity!”
McDermott stood and removed her glasses.
“Give me a break, Meghan. You’re not framing this fairly and you know it. I’m doing everything I can to fight the good fight and keep other mothers from ending up like me. But I can’t waste time or resources chasing after unicorns. We need to be pragmatic and
—
”
The live drone footage now shared a split screen with stock photos and specific data on the targeted town. The images seemed vaguely familiar to McDermott.
“Where was this one, Meghan?” she asked.
“Massachusetts.”
“I know that, but which town?”
Before Meghan could answer, the broadcast returned to a full-screen, live shot from the drone, with the town name spelled out in bright red letters at the bottom of the screen. McDermott’s heart rate soared and her legs weakened.
“Mom, are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”
McDermott reached for the glass of cold water on her desk and tried to shake it off.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Do me a favor, Meg. Hop on the phone and get all the information you can on this one, okay?”
“Okay. I think we’re the only two people in D.C. working on the Fourth, but I’ll try. Can I ask why this one is so important?”
“Just do it, please.”
Luci got as close as she could to Founders Field and then ditched her car on the side of the road, threw the first-aid backpack on her back, and jogged the rest of the way.
The text from Wendy
—
“Mark is fine, don’t worry about him”
—
hadn’t made sense until she heard the breaking news. She had thrown on her uniform and was out the door within minutes.
Throngs of emergency vehicles were still converging on the site, including multiple police departments, ambulances and fire engines from surrounding towns, sheriff’s deputies, and Massachusetts state troopers. Quick-reaction elements of the Boston JTTF were already on the ground as unmarked aircraft crisscrossed in the cloudless sky above the kill zone.
Authorities struggled to isolate the area so that they could cover the dead, treat the wounded, and begin the painstaking process of investigating. Their arduous task was made much more difficult by the hundreds of despondent, swarming townspeople seeking information on loved ones. Luci pushed her way through the growing crowd, entered the perimeter, and froze in horror at the smoldering scene.