The Trigger (16 page)

“Double Dewar’s.”

She reached behind her for the bottle and poured a generous drink. “That’s twelve dollars.”

“I’d like to run a tab.”

“I’m sorry, but this is the first time I’ve seen you, so you need to pay for the first round.” She flashed him another professional smile. “But there’s a discount if you pay with cash.”

Luke handed her a twenty and told her to keep the change. His first tip was always generous. She’d have to work for the next one. He downed the drink and ordered another. After that, her smile seemed more genuine. Two rounds later, she asked if he was new in town.

“I live in Sacramento.” Luke hadn’t talked about Emma’s disappearance with anyone except the feds, but now it came rushing out. “My daughter and her baby disappeared a week ago. I’m here to find her.”

“I saw the story on the news. It’s such a tragedy. You’re Mr. Caldwell?”

“Luke.”

“Sadie.” She leaned toward him, and for a moment all he could see was her cleavage. He realized she was still talking. “What makes you think she’s still around here? Most people assume a sicko truck driver picked her up.”

The implication that a serial killer had taken Emma enraged him. “Bullshit. Her husband has her locked up out there in that fucking prepper compound.” He could hear his own voice and was surprised by how drunk he sounded.

The bartender’s eyes widened. “You really think so?”

“Hell yeah. He’s a control freak and she was leaving him.” The pressure on his bladder was suddenly painful. As he slid off the stool, the room spun.
Whoa.
He needed to pace himself and stop ordering doubles. Maybe it was the altitude, but he felt woozier than he’d been in a long time. Weaving through the tables was tricky at first, but he’d had so much practice over a lifetime he managed just fine.

After he left the restroom, he stood in the dim hallway and tried not to sway as he reached for his cell phone. He hated the damn thing, but his girlfriend made him carry one. But that wasn’t who he wanted to talk to. After three doubles, he always called his ex-wife. Sometimes just to hear her voice, to know that she was still alive. Sometimes he called to punish her for leaving him. Tonight he was worked up about Emma.

“What do you want, Luke?” His ex-wife sounded weary and impatient at the same time.

“I’m in Redding again. I’m not leaving without our daughter.”

“Let the FBI handle it. You’ll just make things worse.”

“
I’ll
make things worse? You’re the one who asked Emma to leave that bastard and come stay with you.” Luke’s tongue felt thick, but he couldn’t stop. “You didn’t tell me or even warn her that it could be dangerous.”

“Don’t blame me, you drunken asshole. I didn’t ask her to stay with me. She insisted.”

“Bullshit. You made her feel obligated, like always.”

“Fuck you! I have no control over Emma or her relationship with Randall. No one ever expected him to hurt her.” His ex burst into sobs. “I’m worried that Emma and Tate are dead.”

“Don’t say that. Randall’s probably just keeping ’em locked up. He thinks he’ll get away with it because of the collapse they keep talking about.”

“But that could be a lifetime!” She made no effort to control her anguish.

“I’ll find her myself if I have to torture that asshole to make him talk.”

“Don’t make things worse, you old fool. Let the FBI do its job.”

“I don’t have much confidence in this rinky-dink Redding crew.”

She pulled in a long gulp of air. “Should we hire a private investigator?”

“What for? We know where she is. I’ll search every inch of that property.”

“What about hiring a search-and-rescue guy with a bloodhound?”

Luke knew there was a problem with the idea, but his brain was foggy. “I don’t see how that will work. Randall will never let anyone on the property.”

“Then how are you going to search?”

“I told you. I’ll take him hostage. I’ll force him—”

His ex-wife hung up before he could finish.
Bitch
.

Back on his barstool, he ordered a single and told Sadie to cut him off after one more.

She laughed. “I was going to ask for your car keys.”

“I’m walking. The car is at the motel down the street.” His voice still sounded sloshy in his own ears.

Sadie poured him another scotch that looked the same as all the doubles.

“Thanks.”

He sipped this one, and Sadie leaned toward him over the bar. “You said you were here to find your daughter. Are you going out to Destiny?”

“If I have to.” He remembered his talk with the agents earlier. “But the feds are working the case from the inside, and they asked me to wait.”

“What do you mean?”

Luke realized he’d said too much. “Nothing. I’d better settle up and get going.” He paid for the last three rounds and staggered out of the tavern.

Friday, May 10, 3:07 a.m.

Randall woke from a nightmare of being buried alive. Sweating and dry-mouthed, he got up for a drink of water. He hadn’t slept well since Emma’s warm body had gone missing from his bed, but this was the worst night so far. Burying Grace had been bad enough, but hearing someone spying on them had unnerved him. Spencer thought he was paranoid, but Randall was sure he’d heard someone running away. It could’ve been Toby, that Blackwell boy he’d caught prowling around after dark before, but Randall didn’t think so. This time he’d kept his suspicion about Sonja to himself. Still, Spencer had humored his concern, and they’d dug up Grace and reburied her a half mile away. By the end, they’d been numb with exhaustion.

As he climbed back into bed, his cell phone beeped on the nightstand, indicating a text. Curious, he looked at the message. It was from a man he knew only by his online name, Rebel2000:
I can’t make the meeting. I hurt my back and I’m laid up. I can’t even sleep, which is why I’m texting you now. Sorry.

Randall cursed out loud, a long nasty outburst. What else could go wrong? Rebel’s part of the mission was to set off an explosion in the Westin Building in Sacramento, which housed SAIX, an internet exchange center for Northern California. Recruits from nine other cities—most in the U.S. but two in Europe—were gearing up for simultaneous attacks. His followers were just waiting for the green light. Randall expected most of the blasts to go off within an hour of each other, and he’d decided Monday morning would be best. Internet service in the U.S. and Europe would go down just as millions of people rushed into banks to withdraw money. The stock market would crash and business would grind to a halt.

But only if everyone did their job. Randall pressed call for Rebel’s number, and the man answered, sounding surprised. “Randall?”

“You can’t let me down. I need you to take care of business Monday morning.” If he could wait that long. The stress was wearing on him.

“I would if I could, but I’m taking so much Oxy, I can’t even think straight.”

“It’s only a backache. You’ll be fine in a day or so.”

“No, I’m seriously fucked up and need surgery. I’m telling you I can’t do it. I’ve got the package ready and the employee security pass. Text me if you want to meet and pick them up. Sorry, man.” Rebel hung up.

Stunned, Randall threw the phone. What a pussy Rebel turned out to be. Would his other recruits follow through? They damn well better. He’d committed a lot of time and money to getting them ready. But he couldn’t find someone new in time to hit the SAIX. He’d have to do it himself. And that meant scoping out the building and picking up the security badge.
Shit.
He texted Rebel:
I’m on my way. Be there in 3 hours. Where do you want to meet?

He made a thermos of coffee, grabbed his handgun and a package of crackers, and headed for his vehicle. After he passed through the Destiny gates, he kept checking his rearview mirror for a few miles to see if anyone was tailing him. He suspected Agent McCullen, or maybe Sonja Barnes, might be watching to see where he went. No lights appeared. He checked again at the Highway 299 turnoff, then again when he neared the freeway. Once he was on I-5 headed south, he pulled off at the first opportunity, bought gas at an all-night station and watched for ten minutes. The only vehicle that came down the off ramp was a semi-truck.

Convinced he was clear, Randall got on the freeway and settled into the drive. He and Spencer had built and stored devices made from dynamite to blow the bridges when the time came. But that had been an easy task aimed at a middle-of-the-night destruction of property with no one hurt. Blowing out part of the Westin Building with people in it was a whole new level of action. A dread filled his stomach. Maybe Monday morning was too late, with too many people. A weekend with few people in the targets would be more humane. He wasn’t a terrorist.

Visualizing the explosion made his heart pound. Could he really do this? When he’d conceived the plan, he’d counted on others to set the explosions. Not only did he lack the experience, he’d never been a violent man, except for fistfights in grade school when other kids made fun of his glasses and crooked teeth. Braces and laser surgery had eventually eliminated those problems, but the resentment had simmered. He’d gotten even with his tormentors, but in clever psychological ways, never with violence or vandalism.

Everything had changed now. Emma was in a suspended state, the world as he’d known it was doomed, and nine other futurists were ready to conduct their part of the mission. He had to suck it up and get his hands dirty. He’d done plenty of manual labor over the years in Destiny—building homes, farming the land, digging out the bunker. He wasn’t the same white-collar suburbanite he’d been when he and Spencer had founded the community. He had to check in with his followers and see if they needed the attack to happen on a weekday for access. Maybe they didn’t all have to happen at once. The SAIX was a critical part of the plan and he would make it happen, but he also had to live with whatever he did.

As he passed Santa Carmichael, the first rays of sun glinted on the horizon. The town stirred up a mixed bag of memories. His first marriage, which had gone to hell in four short years. The wonderful time as mayor when he’d finally done something that had made his father proud. Followed by his agonizing Congressional defeat and the stunning death of their parents in a murder-suicide. Everyone blamed it on his dad’s early, aggressive dementia, but Randall had started to question everything and worried that the same violent fate awaited him. He pushed it all out of his mind. No living in the past. No thinking about his father. He’d suppressed it for years and now was not the time to dredge it up.

Hours later, as he neared the split in the freeway to head for Sacramento, his shoulders tensed. He had to meet with Rebel and pick up the security badge, but he wasn’t sure about the bomb. He hated the idea of driving home with it in his truck. But the explosives he and Spencer had prepped were too big and bulky to carry into a building in a briefcase. He glanced at the text message from Rebel again. They were meeting at a covered picnic area in a park in Woodland, a town just outside of Sacramento.

Rebel wore a hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses and didn’t get out of his beat-up Saab. He handed Randall the security pass out the window and said, “The briefcase is on the floor of the back seat.”

Randall glanced around the empty park, grabbed the case with the explosive, and hurried to his car. Flashes of Homeland Security agents rushing in to arrest him played in his mind, and his heart raced. He never thought he’d be in this situation, and his natural paranoia was kicking in. How did he know he could trust Rebel? Maybe his whole participation was a setup. In the early dawn, Randall didn’t see any cars but theirs, and he forced himself to relax and drive away. One task down, one to go.

Twenty minutes later, he approached his target. The five-story Westin building had parking underground, but Randall found a spot on the street where he could watch the entrance. Employees swiped their cards in a security station outside the main double doors, but there were no guards. He glanced at the employee pass in his hands: Richard Salenka, a man about his age, but heavier, with close-set eyes and a disappearing chin.
Not good
. If anyone stopped him and looked closely at his photo ID, he’d be screwed.

As he crossed the street, the skin on his chest began to itch.
Oh no.
He hoped he wasn’t breaking out in hives. That happened sometimes when he got overstressed, and it was miserable. All he had to do was use the badge to get into the building, find the network center on the second floor, and see what the security was like. He could handle it.

The reconnaissance went smoothly. Randall was pleased to discover the second-floor business only required employees to slide their badges through a wall-mounted security device. He walked past a few times and watched other employees. No need to risk getting caught today. Relieved, he bolted from the building and headed home.

Back in Redding, Randall stopped at a market and picked up two romantic suspense paperbacks, a bar of dark chocolate, and a package of diapers. He hadn’t been out to see his family yet that day, and he worried they might need something that wasn’t stocked in the bunker. The books and candy would make Emma happy though. He wanted to win her back, so they could have sex again. Going without had ratcheted up his tension during this already stressful phase. He looked forward to a year from now when everything had settled into the new normal.

By the time he reached his house in Destiny, his eyelids were heavy and he could barely focus. After deliberating about where to keep it, he left the briefcase under the seat of his car. The explosive was small but unstable, so it seemed safer than carrying it in and out, and he probably wouldn’t leave again until it was time. He went inside and slept for an hour, then loaded up a backpack with bottled water, baby food, and the things he’d bought for Emma. Still feeling groggy, Randall trotted over to his brother’s garage to borrow the golf cart. He heard voices from Spencer’s back deck. His brother was having lunch with Sonja. Randall didn’t have time to be social, so he hopped in the cart and took off down the back road. They would see him driving away, but it didn’t matter. Spencer would cover for him. They often visited the lockers to add or retrieve something from storage, and everyone in the community spent time in the greenhouses.