“Why?”
“My experience with situations like that means someone has you in his crosshairs for a rifle shot.”
“You’ve protected people like Marcus does?”
“Occasionally. Any of that coffee left?”
She slowly offered his coffee back.
Dave grinned at her reluctance, then tasted the brew. He promptly grimaced. “You like it really sweet.”
She chuckled. “Sugar helps the caffeine.”
“Remind me to buy you some gum so the sugar doesn’t rot your teeth.”
“If it’s not sweet coffee, it’s candy. Sorry, I live on sugar.”
“And you’re not hyper?”
“Not that anyone has been willing to tell me.”
“This explains why you never stop on the basketball court.”
“Are you going to make excuses for losing like the rest of the guys?”
An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth at her mock outrage. “They do, huh?”
“They don’t want to beat a girl.… I was born a jumping bean.… I have home court advantage—they get more creative as time passes.”
“Did you play in high school?”
She went cold. “No, I never did.”
He rubbed her arm. “Touch a nerve?”
“Yeah.” She shook her head. “I played some in college though.”
“How many times did you foul out?” A soft laugh underscored his words.
She knew her look was defensive and couldn’t help it. “I was used to playing with the guys.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Listen, buddy, don’t knock my game.”
“It’s a compliment. The way you can take a charge I’m surprised you haven’t busted that pretty nose.” He quirked an eyebrow. “You have?”
“Jack. Then Stephen had to pack it while he was doing his best not to laugh. It wasn’t amusing.”
“Who won the game?”
“It’s one of the few we’ve suspended.”
“I like that about your family. They can put up with you.”
“Hey!” She shoved his chest for that remark, even as she grinned.
He caught her hand and tugged her back. “Face it, you would terrify most guys.”
“Why?”
“You like to play on their turf.”
“Does it bother you?”
He looked at her, amusement making his blue eyes sparkle. “Why should it?”
“Someone needs to deflate that ego a bit.”
“You can try,” he offered, his look daring her to accept.
She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a laugh but it bubbled inside. “You’re worse than an O’Malley.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It probably was, but I didn’t intend it to be.”
“Indian giver.”
“Give me back the coffee.”
“Greedy, too.”
“No, just not awake.”
He gave the coffee back. “I think I like you when you haven’t had enough sleep.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He held open the glass door to the administration building. “After you.”
She sighed and pushed aside their banter to face the work of the day. They were a few minutes early, but the conference room was filling up fast. Dave went to get them two Danishes and more coffee for breakfast.
“Food. Maybe it will help you wake up.”
She took the coffee he held instead. “Where’s the sugar?” He chuckled and tossed her several packets. “Thanks. Now I’ll take the food.”
He held out the Danish. “Apple or cherry?”
She lowered the coffee cup long enough to consider the options. “Apple.”
Bob called the meeting to order. “This is the T+20 hour update. I understand there is now physical evidence it was a bomb. What do we know?”
“We know it went off inside the first class cabin, not the baggage storage. That it went off under a seat, probably in row three or four; that’s still being worked on,” the NTSB representative replied.
She scrambled for a pen. Nathan Young. Row four.
The judge was in row two.
“Components?”
“Not yet. The airframe metal gave us the first class area and the seats the blast pattern.”
Bob looked over to Elliot. “Have we identified everyone who worked this plane?”
“The people inside—maintenance, food service, preflight, mechanics—we’re at thirty-nine. The interviews will be complete by midafternoon. Baggage handlers, fuel, et cetera, give us seventeen more.”
“Do we know if the device was brought on board the plane here?”
“It may have been taped under the seat during the flight from L.A.; one theory is the bomber arms it just before he gets off the plane here.”
Dave frowned. Big hole. We didn’t look at who got off the plane.
Ben will have their pictures. We saw them get off in that video clip we watched.
Bob glanced around the table. “Anything on how it could have gotten through security?”
Elliot shook his head. “We’re working on it.”
“What about the phone call?”
The FBI representative spoke up. “Three cellular towers in this vicinity picked up the call at different levels of power. The cloverleaf of coverage extends about two miles. A series of tests this afternoon to duplicate the power levels should give us the precise location.”
Kate started playing with scenarios. They had a call made from this area at 11 A.M. It was a small fact, but a useful one. If they could pin it down to inside a terminal at O’Hare, they would be able to focus on the security tapes.
The meeting was brief, with the next one set for 7 P.M., pending additional news. Kate stayed seated as she finished her list. “Dave, if the bomb is inside the cabin, that puts at the top of the list—airport personnel with access to the plane, passengers that got off the plane, and possible targets in first class, two of them being Nathan Young and the retired judge.”
“Agreed.”
“I vote we take a hard look at the people who got off the plane, then we focus on background checks of everyone in first class.”
Marcus leaned against the table beside her. “What are you thinking?”
“A bomb inside the plane, under a seat, small enough not to be noticed by passengers as they settled in, suggests it might not have been designed to bring down the plane. The fact the plane was landing at 11:15 could not have been planned. Maybe the bomb was only intended for someone in first class. That implies the bomber knew where his target would be sitting. Nathan Young was a last minute walk-on. His seat assignment was not known until minutes before the flight.”
“So of the two on the list in first class, the judge becomes the more likely target, and we lose the connection to you.”
“Which is why we had better take another look at who was seated in first class.”
Marcus nodded. “Run with it.”
Kate handed Dave back his pen. He accepted it and tilted his head toward the door. “Why don’t you head on up to the workroom? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
Kate glanced at Dave, then Marcus, and got to her feet. “Don’t be long.” They were conferring without her, which meant she was the likely topic of conversation. If she didn’t know the details, she could avoid having to get mad at them. It was an amusing reality, but it had kept the peace in the family for decades. Marcus squeezed her hand and let her slip past.
The workroom looked much as it had the day before. Case files surrounded Susan, Ben, Graham, and Debbie. They were deep in a debate over the list of names on the board. Graham smiled when he saw her and pulled out a chair. “Welcome to the war room.”
“Making progress?”
“We’ve been able to eliminate about a third of the suspicious cases so far. What’s the latest?”
“Evidence suggests the bomb went off und
er a seat in the first class cabin, possibly row three or four.” That news got everyone’s attention.
“Interesting.” Ben reached for the seating chart. “Only twenty-four people in first class. Susan, where’s the latest updated list of passengers?”
“Here.” She handed over the printout. “They’ve confirmed another nine names.”
“Who was around Nathan Young?”
Susan penciled in names on the chart. “He was here, in seat 4C. Across the aisle to his left was the oil company V P. Directly in front of him, two sales reps from a pharmaceutical company—Vicki Marstone and Peter Alton. Judge Succalta is here, in 2D.”
Kate frowned. “A nice cluster. Put the bomb under seat 3C and they are all possible targets.”
“Do they know anything else?”
“Not yet. Can we set up that videotape again? I want to look at who got off the plane.”
“Sure, it will just take a couple seconds to rewind.” Ben handed over a red folder. “These are the still photos you can use as a reference. I counted nineteen people who got off the plane, three of them crew.”
“Is there any way to find out which of them might have been seated in first class?”
Susan found a faxed printout. “This is the L.A. seat assignments.”
“Thanks. Any chance we could get a copy of the security tape from L.A.? I would love to know if someone had carry-on luggage there and left the plane here with nothing in his hands.”
“I’ll put a call through to the agent working the L.A. connection.”
“This is briefing T+32 hour update.” Bob called the evening meeting to order. “What do we know about the bomb?”
Kate hoped they had something. It had been a long, grueling day with little forward progress given how promising the day had begun. A look at the people getting off the plane, the first class passengers, had revealed nothing new. They had spent hours in the old case files, and it felt like she had been reliving them all. It was frustrating to know they were this close and not have someone to focus on.
The NTSB coordinator got to his feet and turned on the overhead projector. “It was under seat 4C in first class. That makes it under the seat of a Mr. Nathan Young.”
Kate let out the breath she had been holding. They were going to be able to explain the reference to her name, not have to dig through her ancient past.
“We’ll come back to Mr. Young,” Bob decided. “Tell me about the bomb. Components?”
A transparency went down the overhead. “We’ve got a seared briefcase that appears to have been punched from the inside out; a laptop appears to have been carrying the device.”
A briefcase? Dave scrawled. Someone would notice if a briefcase were left on the plane.
Nathan was carrying a briefcase. She hesitated. Suicide?
No. Someone wanted him to carry the bomb that would kill him.
Revenge with malice.
Yes. Someone consumed with anger. Dave paused. And he’s angry with you, too.
Thanks for the reminder.
Another slide. “The bomb appears to have been inside the battery pack. Note the way it blew. There were metal plates at the back of the battery pack to send the explosion out through the briefcase instead of into the laptop. The machine itself is remarkably intact for the nature of the blast, considering it was found embedded in the airframe.”
“What type of explosive was used?” Bob asked.
“Chemical analysis has just begun. Based on the size of the device, it was probably C-4, not quite a quarter of a brick.”
“How was it triggered? Was it set to go off at a specific time, or did someone have to arm it?”
“We’re still looking for components to determine that.”
Bob nodded. “Tell me about Mr. Nathan Young.”
Dave referred to the bio they had assembled to answer that question. “Forty-seven. Caucasian. Married eight years, no children. His second, her first. MBA Harvard. He owns four banks in Chicago, six in New York, and recently bought one in Denver.”
“The obvious question: Did Mr. Nathan Young know there was a bomb in his briefcase? Was the laptop his? If it was, who had access to it recently? Who would have reason to target him? We’ll meet again tomorrow, 9 A.M.”
The meeting broke up into smaller clusters of people.
“A bank president killed by a bomb he may have unknowingly carried on board, a brother who was a drug dealer killed on the same plane. Henry Lott angry enough last week that he planned to blow up one of Nathan’s banks,” Kate summarized. “We’ve got a lot of questions to answer.”
Dave exchanged a glance with Marcus, then looked back at her. “I’ll have Ben follow up on Henry Lott again. Why don’t we focus on Nathan’s schedule and appointments?”
Kate was well aware the two of them were arranging what she did, keeping her away from the one person they knew was dangerous, Henry Lott, but she let it go. She had enough to worry about without trying to figure out how to get around the protective net they were throwing up around her. She’d ignore it unless it got in the way of what she wanted to do. And she wanted to go after those bomb components. Answers could be found there. “His secretary should also be able to help us confirm it was his briefcase and laptop. How early tomorrow morning do you think we can hit their office?”
“The bank headquarters open at 8 A.M. if I remember correctly. We’ll be the first ones in the door,” Dave assured.
Kate nodded. It would give them a couple hours tonight to plan their questions. “We’ve got the primary interviews tracking down information on Nathan Young?”
“They’re ours,” Dave confirmed. “We generate the questions. We can pull in as many people as we need to get the interviews done.”
Marcus leaned back against the table. “I’ll put someone on the security tapes to track Nathan’s movements through O’Hare, see if we can find out how the device got inside the airport. And I’ll get the last full audits of the various banks released to see if any accounts were considered suspicious. Anything else you want me to expedite?”
“The brother, Ashcroft Young, can you get his full trial transcript and prison record? The bio we have is pretty thin on details.”
Marcus made a note. “Sure.”
“Oh, and when you go after the bank records, would you also put someone digging into just how much cash Nathan Young had on hand?
Dave noticed his mortgage foreclosure rate was about three times higher than last year, like he was building up cash for some reason. It was one of the reasons we had an appointment with him today.”
“Anything else?” Marcus asked.
Dave reached over and closed Kate’s folder. “Yes. Dinner. It’s almost nine o’clock and I’m starved. This can wait an hour.”
Kate leaned back in her chair, twirled her pen, shot Marcus a private glance, and then looked back at Dave to give him a wicked grin. “Are you always like this in the middle of a hunt? Ready to take a break when things get on a roll?”
Dave’s eyes narrowed. “Taunting a tiger when he’s hungry is a dangerous thing to do, Kate.”
She blinked, startled at the comeback. “You mean I’ve got to find you red meat for dinner, too?”
Marcus stepped back out of the line of fire, stifling a laugh.
Kate giggled as Dave propelled her out of the chair, and it spun around behind her. “Okay, uncle! We’ll go eat.”
“Good.” He knuckled her head. “We’ll start with you eating crow.”
Her giggles blossomed into laughter. “Your puns are awful when you’re tired.”
“You ought to hear yours.”
The three of them ended up walking down to the airport employee cafeteria, appropriating a table near the dessert bar, and for the next hour left behind the work upstairs.
After two nights on a cot, Kate felt like a pretzel. If Dave didn’t let her move back to her own bed for tonight, she was going to be tempted to think about murder. She propped her elbows on the cafeteria table
, cradled her cup of coffee in her hands, and did her best to ignore the commotion around her. Dave was finishing an omelette, and she wondered how he could eat breakfast with such apparent enjoyment. Her system wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore, let alone what time it was.
Marcus reached over to check the number on her pager. “New York said they would have the bank audit information here sometime this morning. I’ll page you as it comes in.”
Kate nodded and finished her coffee. She should be looking forward to getting out of the airport and hitting the road, finding some answers. She was, but it was buried under the fatigue. She had dreamed about the passengers last night. They had never said this job would be easy, but how many people was she expected to see die in her lifetime?
Dave reached over and gripped her arm. “Are you okay?”
Startled, she wiped her expression clear of emotion. “Fine.”
He scowled at her. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“What?”
“Pretend you don’t feel anything.”
She wanted to swear at him for going under her guard. “I’m sorry I don’t bleed to your ideal specification,” she bit out tersely, pushing back her chair, knowing she had better step back before the anger she felt flared toward him because he was handy.
Dave looked shocked; that made her feel like a heel.
Marcus gripped her wrist, stopping her movement. “Don’t go far.”
She looked at him, holding back a flare of anger at him as well. She wasn’t going to have free movement again until this case was solved and the use of her name during that bomb threat had been explained. “I’ll find a phone and check my messages,” she finally replied.
Marcus released her wrist. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” She glanced at Dave, offered an oblique apology. “I won’t be long.”
Dave was waiting for her by the stairway when she got off the phone, his attention focused on a coin he was turning over in his hand. She could read his frustration in the way he stood, his concentration on a coin. “Ready to go?” she asked.
He glanced at her, then pushed the coin back in his pocket as he straightened. “Sure.”
His abrupt answer made her sigh. “I apologize for that.”
Dave gestured to the stairs. “You’re predictable. You don’t like someone to get in your way. Where do you want to start?”