Max

  Chapter 15

  As the season ground down, keeping the Rams out of the opposing end zone proved to be as difficult as preventing a handful of mercury from slipping through your fingers. Even with a defense as porous as a leaky boat, the Rams won games by outscoring their opponents. Albright-to-Aries became a new record passer-receiver combination.

  Gene Hancock, the Herald’s publisher had given up trying to get any personal information on Max Aries. He had already spent a small fortune financing the paper’s editor in his aborted attempt.

  The first week of playoffs, the Rams with a record of 14-3, drew a bye. In the second week of post-season play, they were matched with the Bills, a team they did not play during regular season. The Bills, a fifth-seeded team had reached the finals of the AFC championship by beating a fourth-seeded Panthers team. But, the Bills had reached the end of the line. The “Air-Rams” with Maximum Max Aires snaring everything that Todd Albright threw, marched down the field as though they were a pitcher-catcher combination on a baseball team. The bookies who had bet on the Bills lost their shirts, even giving away an unprecedented twenty-one points to the Rams. Final score: Rams 56, Bills 30.

  The call to the Rams’ front office came in on Saturday before the game with the Packers. A man speaking with a foreign accent said, “This is the Nation of Malum calling. There’s a bomb planted somewhere in the stadium. It will go off during the game tomorrow.”

  “J.J. Heywood blew puffs of smoke as he spoke to Tom Riley, his executive secretary. “Who or what the hell is Nation of Malum?”

  Riley shrugged. “They don’t ask for money. What do you suppose they want?”

  Heywood shook his head. “Who knows? Probably some crank. But we can’t just ignore it. The threat may be genuine, and if this Nation of whatever does what they say they’re going to do, a lot of people are gonna to die. Get me Joe Belchek.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Belchek, head of Rams security, stood in front of Heywood’s desk reading the note.

  Heywood said, “What do you think, Joe?”

  Belchek shook his head. “This could be the real thing, Mr. Heywood. We’ll have to call in the police to investigate.”

  Heywood threw his hands in the air. “Do you realize the publicity this is going to cause? Nobody in their right mind is gonna come to the game. It’s a sell-out. We’ll go broke refunding all those tickets.”

  Belchek fixed Heywood with a stare. “Do you mean we’re going to take a chance and forget about it?”

  Heywood shook his head and grumbled. “Of course not.”

  “Well,” said Belchek. “We don’t have much time. Today is Friday.”

  Heywood covered his face with his hands, moaning. “And Sunday we play the Packers.”

  “If we play,” said Belchek.

  “What do you remember about the phone call?” In the front office, Belchek was speaking with Linda, the secretary who had received the bomb threat call.

  “As I told Mr. Heywood, the caller spoke with a foreign accent.”

  “Was it like a Russian or Hispanic accent?”

  “No, neither of those. But I don’t think I could tell where the person came from.”

  “Do you remember if there were any noises in the background, like music?”

  Linda gazed up at the ceiling. “No-o. Wait. I think there was some kind of motor sound.”

  “Like an auto?”

  “Yeah. Like a car. Maybe he was calling on a cell phone from a car.”

  Belchek went on trying to identify something that would help finding where the threat came from. Linda had followed the procedures that had been in place. These included asking the caller why he would place a bomb in the stadium, keeping the caller on the line as long as possible, asking him where the bomb was placed and when it would go off. She reminded the caller that the detonation of a bomb could result in death or serious injury to many innocent people. She said, “He laughed when I told him that. He said that was the reason for placing the bomb. But he wouldn’t tell me where the bomb was. Only that it would go off during the game.”

  Belchek ran his hands over his bald head. “The fact that he called to warn us, sounds like he was more interested in preventing the game from being played, than killing a lot of people.”

  Linda said, “Why would someone want to prevent us from playing?”

  “If I knew the answer to that, I’d know who made the call.”

  On the practice field, the Rams were going through their plays when Coach Jones’s whistle sounded. “Over here!” he yelled.

  When the team members had gathered around him, Jones said, “That’s all for today.” He hesitated. “What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential. Not a word to anyone, even your wives. I just got word from the front office there may not be any game Sunday.”

  Jones gazed into the sea of puzzled faces. A chorus of “Huh?” rose up from the players.

  Todd Albright spoke up. “What’s this all about, Coach?”

  “I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” said Jones. “But I guess you guys have to know. There’s been a bomb threat.”

  Max Aries turned to Bobo Gamble standing next to him and whispered, “What’s a ‘bomb threat’?”

  Bobo whispered, “I guess he means someone is threatening to blow up the place.”

  “You mean the stadium?”

  Jones said, “I just heard what you guys said. The answer is yes. That’s all anyone knows. So, go get dressed and beat it. The cops will be here soon to try to figure out what to do. And remember, not a word, understand?”

  In the dressing room, Max asked Bobo, “Why would anyone want to blow up the stadium?”

  Bobo’s eyebrows shot up. “You been living on a different planet? Because this world is full of nuts. That’s why.”

  Has he been living on another planet? For a moment Max thought Bobo suspected something, then concluded he didn’t have the brains. He still thought it rather odd that anyone would want to destroy anything, much less the Rams stadium which gave the people of Cincinnati so much pleasure.

  He finished dressing and walked out of the stadium door, when ten police cars pulled into the empty parking lot and at least forty men piled out of the cars. Wearing helmets with plastic face shields and bulky jackets on the back of which was printed in large letters BOMB SQUAD, they lined up in front of one who seemed to be in charge. He directed them in groups shouting orders. “You,” he said to one group. “Cover the north end.” Another group was sent to the south end. After all the men were dispersed, a police van pulled into the lot. From the van, half a dozen dogs were led out, each at the end of a leach held by a policeman. As one passed by, the policeman holding the animal’s leach stopped. He pointed to Max’s chest. “Hey, aren’t you Max Aries?”

  Max smiled and nodded.

  “Gee,” said the policeman. “Can I have you autograph? My kid’s crazy about you.”

  Max said, “Sure.”

  While the policeman reached into his breast pocket for a pad and pen, Max said, “What are the dogs for?”

  The policeman tore a page from the notepad and handed it to Max along with a pen. “These are bomb sniffers.”

  Max signed his autograph on the paper and handed it back. “Bomb sniffers?”

  “Yeah, they’re trained to sniff out bombs. Hey, thanks for the autograph, Max. My kid’ll go nuts when I tell him I met you.” The dog, straining at the leach pulled the policeman away before Max could ask him more.

  Back at his “safe house,” Max booted up his computer and scrolled through the information he could find on bombs. He learned how to make bombs, but that is not what he had in mind. He also found out that there were so many kinds of bombs he didn’t know where to begin. The one thing that was common to most bombs is that they contained a timing device. “Because of the timer,” he read, “Bombs can often be detected by a ticking sound emanating from them.” Another type, the article said, were detonated by impact. Examples of the latte
r were the roadside bombs used extensively during the Iraq War. A third variety were detonated by remote control.

  After spending an hour reading about bombs, Max concluded that there was nothing he could do to help. Besides, he doubted that the police would want his help.

  The following day, Saturday, the newspaper headlines reported that police were seen scouring the stadium, but no one at the Rams’ front office would give out information explaining their presence. When asked specifically whether the police were looking for bombs, the general manager only answered with “No comment.”

  Saturday afternoon, the mayor of Cincinnati called a press conference. Standing before a microphone, he explained that a bomb threat had been phoned in to the team the day before. “We’re still investigating, but so far nothing has been found to confirm it.”

  Reporters pressed him as to whether the game was to be called off. His response was “No decision has been made as yet. But if there’s any question of safety to the fans, the game will be postponed until we’re certain there’s no danger.”

  Meanwhile, the stadium was cordoned off, no one allowed in except the police. The Rams players were driven to a college football field for their practice session. There was even some speculation that the game would be moved to the University of Cincinnati stadium. But since only a few hours remained before the scheduled game, the team and city officials concluded that there was not enough time to arrange such a shift. Besides, the U of C stadium would not hold the number of fans who had already paid large sums for their tickets.

  Next morning, Sunday, Max arrived at the stadium to get ready for the game if it was to be played that afternoon. The parking lot was empty except for a few cars that belonged to other players. Several Rams and Packers players stood outside the dressing room entrance. Max walked over to them. “What’s up?”

  Todd Albright said, “We’ve been told to wait out here.”

  Max said, “Is the game still on?”

  Albright shrugged. “Nobody knows.”

  A security guard came out of the stadium door and beckoned the men in. “Mr. Heywood wants to talk to you.”

  J.J. Heywood was in the dressing room. When the men had formed a circle around him, he said, “I want to bring you up to date on this bomb thing. The police have gone over the stadium with a fine-toothed comb. They’ve looked into every crack and crevice. The dogs have sniffed away. The bottom line is that they’ve found nothing.”

  One of the players said, “So the whole thing is a hoax?”

  Heywood turned his hands up. “It looks that way.”

  “Then the game is on?”

  “I’ve talked to the Chief of Police, the FBI. I’ve even spoken to the guys in Homeland Security in Washington. They all agree that since we’re convinced there is no bomb in the stadium, we can go on with the game. Of course, we’ll be carefully inspecting everyone who comes in. We’ll have metal and explosives detectors at all the entrances. No packages will be allowed in the gate. It’s gonna be a big nuisance, but we have to be sure the people who come to see the game are protected.”