Chapter 8
Ididn’t bother with protective clothing. What was the point? I couldn’t do the fine work while wearing bulky gloves. The big suit wasn’t maneuverable in a small space like the underside of a table. Besides, it was a sweatbox. I’d rather take my chances and just go out with a bang.
Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of living to do, and I intended to do it.
I sprayed a fine mist of liquid nitrogen over the device from a distance, gradually adding more and more layers, drawing closer and closer until the device looked like a UFO that had crash-landed in Antarctica and been buried under the ice.
So far, no boom.
I’m not going to lie, my heart rate might have been a little elevated. Sweat sprouted on my brow.
Jack hovered nearby, not about to let me tackle this alone.
With a portable digital fluoroscope, I was able to get a glimpse of the internals. The C-arm flanked the device and fed real-time images to a tablet. A pulsed solid-state cutting laser would allow me to pierce the outer shell. It had pinpoint accuracy.
I lined everything up and took a deep breath.
Just as I was about to press the button and fire the small laser, Jack said, “Are you sure you want to do that?”
I gave him an annoyed look. “Yes.”
“You’re sure that’s the lead?”
“I’m not sure of anything.”
“Well, you know, measure twice, cut once.”
I studied the image on the tablet and made sure I was lined up correctly. Again.
I was about to press the button…
“You know,” Jack interrupted. “If this thing goes boom, I just want to say…”
We were like brothers. It didn’t need to be said.
“It’s not going to go boom,” I replied, trying to convince myself.
My finger hovered over the button again.
“You know…”
“Would you shut up!? You’re making me nervous.”
“You want me to do it?”
I pressed the button.
In an instant, the beam had pierced the metal housing and severed the trigger circuit.
A wisp of smoke drifted from the tiny hole in the metal. The acrid smell of charred metal and burnt electronics wafted.
My heart pounded.
I detached the bomb from the underside of the table, trying not to jar it or make abrupt movements. It had been affixed with dual-sided industrial-strength adhesive tape.
The table jittered and rocked slightly as the device broke free, spiking both our heartbeats. I winced, anticipating the worst.
Still no boom.
I exhaled, shared a look with Jack, then carefully put the device into a bomb detonation sphere and sealed it in. The thick-walled steel TCV (Total Containment Vessel) was designed to contain shrapnel and overpressure from a blast. The small TCV was on a motorized cart with fat, knobby tires.
Sergeant Hartman piloted the remote TCV out of the restaurant, and we grabbed the doors, holding them open. Hartman drove the TCV across the street and up a ramp, into the back of a total containment vehicle, where it was sealed inside.
Blood pumped, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. You’ll never feel more alive than on the brink of death. I was an adrenaline junkie and had certainly gotten my fix for the day. Maybe even the year.
By that time, the FBI had arrived.
With the threat somewhat neutralized, the BDU removed the device from the area and recovered the portable mini-fluoroscope. The ATF would take over and make the evaluation.
It was a tense few moments, but now that the threat was neutralized, a wave of relief washed over all of us.
Jack looked at his watch with a triumphant grin. “It’s happy hour somewhere.”
I didn’t disagree.
It would take a minute to ramp down from the adrenaline, and a nice glass of whiskey might smooth the transition.
Paris Delaney and other news crews had captured all the tense moments. The camera closed in and the lens focused. "Deputy Wild, you were able to successfully disable the bomb. Can you tell us what kind of device it was?"
"The threat has been neutralized. If anyone has any information about the perpetrator of this crime, please contact the Coconut County Sheriff's Department.”
"What went through your mind as you disabled the bomb?"
"I kept thinking I better not make a mistake." I smiled and stepped out of frame.
I was sure she’d run with the lead: Deputies save Coconut Key from certain doom.
I wouldn’t be disappointed with a headline like that.
I talked to Tony. He smiled from ear to ear and gave me a bear hug. “You’re a fugg’n hero, brother!”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Pizza anytime, on the house. You know that.”
“Thank you. You got any surveillance footage?” I knew better, but I thought I’d ask.
His brow wrinkled. “Hell no! My customers deserve privacy.”
There was no doubt that a lot of not-so-reformed gangsters had lunch at his place and discussed illegal activities.
“Look, somebody walked into your restaurant, ordered a pizza, sat in that back booth, and planted a bomb. You remember seeing anything unusual?”
Tony frowned and shook his head. “You know how many people come in every day? It could have been anyone.”
I gave a disappointed nod.
“I’ll talk to the staff.” Then he added, “When do you think we can reopen?”
“The forensic team will dust for prints. I’m sure the ATF and the FBI will look around. You’re probably done for the day.”
He wasn’t thrilled.
JD and I rejoined the sheriff, and there were handshakes, high-fives, and pats on the back all around.
The mood soured slightly when Special Agent Thompson approached the sheriff. He was a tall, narrow guy with a slick head, a bushy mustache, and tufts of rust-colored hair above his ears. In his late 40s, he wore a light gray suit and black tie.
We all knew what was coming.
Daniels briefed him on everything.
"Due to the nature of this case and the uniqueness of the device, we're going to take the lead on this,” Thompson said. “We’ll keep you in the loop, of course.”
"That's great," Daniels said, feigning enthusiasm. "You can have it. But you’ve got one problem. It seems the bomber has an affinity for Deputy Wild,” he said, aiming a finger at me. “That's his point of contact.”
I smiled big.
"Looks like you're part of the task force,” Thompson said without missing a beat. “I want a full debrief from you right now. You will report directly to me on this. I want to know the minute the perp makes contact again. I want you to run this by the book. Do you copy?”
I didn't particularly like the idea of reporting to anyone, especially the FBI, after our recent run-ins. But at least they couldn’t squeeze us out of this one.
“Affirmative,” I said.
“I think it was reckless of you to attempt to disarm the device without waiting for consultation or approval from the FBI. It may have worked out this time, but this could have gone so many ways of wrong. You two got lucky.”
Jack smiled. “I’ll take luck any day.”
“I made a judgment call, and my boys risked their lives,” Daniels said, sticking up for us. “The outcome was positive, and I think a thank you is in order.”
Thompson gave the sheriff a look, and his lip quivered with disdain. We weren’t going to get any compliments from him.
Thompson asked me, “What’s the perp’s connection to you?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You got a name for this scumbag?”
“He wasn’t terribly forthcoming.”
“I want a tap on your phone,” Thompson said.
I laughed. "Not without a Title III wiretap order from a federal judge."
Thompson didn't try to hide his scowl. "Are we going to have a problem, Deputy Wild?"
"We've already got a problem, and I'm the least of your worries. After everything I've been through with you guys, I'm not letting you crawl up my ass.”
His brown eyes narrowed at me. "Just whose side are you on?”
I glared at him. We were not getting off to a good start. "I'll put an app on my phone that records incoming calls. I'll share calls that come in from our suspect. Take it or leave it."
Thompson stared me down for a long moment, then relented. "I want up-to-the-minute updates. You got that?”
I gave him a mock salute. "Aye-aye, Captain."
Thompson gave Daniels a disgusted look—how the hell did he put up with us? I'm not sure Daniels had an answer for that.
I exchanged information with Thompson, gave him a debrief, and said I'd keep in touch. After Thompson walked away, I shared a glance with Daniels.
“That guy has no idea what he’s getting himself into.”
I laughed.
“I don’t care who’s got the lead on this damn thing,” Daniels said. Find the scumbag responsible.”
“Count on it,” I said.
We wrapped up at the scene, then headed back to the station to fill out after-action reports.
We typed away on iPads in the conference room.
My phone buzzed with a call from an unknown caller.
It had to be our perp. I stared at the screen for a moment, a range of emotions swirling inside. I swiped the screen and held the device to my ear. "This is Deputy Wild?”