Chapter Four
“So, what you’re saying is our own head of Security is likely the target of this…” Governor Beauford paused, his hands circling as he searched for the word. “Terrorist act.”
“Now, Governor—” the fair commission’s media person cut in.
The governor’s chief of staff piped up from the speaker on the phone the man held. “We need to choose our words carefully, Jim.”
“Well, that’s what we have here, isn’t it?”
“What we have here is an increasingly dangerous situation, sir,” Special Agent Hastings growled. “You need to leave. Now.”
Before the governor could protest any more, his chief of staff and Colonel Aronson joined the chorus.
“We will keep you apprised of every development, Governor,” Aronson assured him.
“You can’t take this risk, Jim,” his trusted advisor admonished.
“The story is already out there,” the media woman reported. “Of course this had to happen today of all days.”
The governor turned on her. “You think tomorrow would be better? When the gates are open and thousands of innocent people—families—are here trying to enjoy a day of wholesome fun?”
They devolved into a spirited debate over which scenario was worse, and Jake turned away. He peered through the glass doors of the arena, squinting in the direction of the midway, but he couldn’t see the carousel. And the longer he was away, the more fidgety he became.
When he turned back, the chief of staff was speaking again. “If you get yourself blown up, Polly will have my hide. And you know Morrisey is practically salivating at the thought of being sworn in.”
Jake bit the inside of his cheek. They didn’t have time for posturing and finger-pointing. The clock was ticking. He leaned into Furst, who’d stepped up beside him in the circle. “Is there an update on Trooper Rhodes?”
The firefighter nodded. “EMS treated multiple cuts and lacerations on site. Embedded foreign objects and debris. They suspect concussion. He’s suffering some hearing loss—hopefully temporary—and possibly some internal bleeding. They’ve got him at the trauma center now.”
A sober silence had descended as he gave the recitation. When Jake looked back at the small knot of people, he made eye contact with the governor, and the man gave a grim nod.
“Fine.” The governor turned to Colonel Aronson. “But I expect you to be in close contact. I want more than updates. I want details.”
“Yes, sir.”
Agent Hastings gestured to the concourse leading to the opposite side of the arena. “Right this way. The car is at the east gate.”
With a final nod, the governor swiveled and his security detail closed in around him. Jake and the other officers watched as Beauford strode away, spouting orders and threats of minor mayhem to his closest advisor.
The moment the bigwigs left, the assembled officers heaved a sigh. “Okay, let’s get going,” Colonel Aronson said, clapping his hands once to command their attention. “Donovan. Tell us what you have.”
“Confirmed explosive device in the pack Ms. Walker took from the little boy.” He hesitated, searching for the kid’s name. “Darien.”
“And it’s your belief she took it from him knowing the bag was suspicious?”
Jake nodded. “I witnessed the exchange.”
“And what did Ms. Walker say? Why did she take the backpack?”
“She had already received the first messages, sir,” Jake reminded him. “There was a credible bomb threat. There was a little boy wearing a pack a stranger gave to him under the pretext it contained a gaming console all the other kids would want.”
One of the Little Rock police officers shifted from one foot to the other. “Sick jerk.”
“Exactly,” Jake concurred. “This is someone who doesn’t care if they’re using an innocent child or harming anyone who gets in their way.”
“I have people running background on Ms. Walker. You said you thought the perp may have ties to her military service?” Aronson prompted.
“The messages refer to her service rank more than once. They clearly have an agenda and, at the moment, they have the edge.”
The commander leaned in. “Okay.” He stared down at the detailed map of the fairgrounds spread on a folding table in front of him. “Let’s figure out who’s doing this so we can turn the tables on them.”
* * *
Jake and members of the local bomb squads from both Little Rock and North Little Rock gathered around a duplicate of Aronson’s map a few minutes later.
Jake smoothed the folds in the glossy paper so it lay as flat as possible. “We have the better part of a dozen devices to find, and possibly a ticking clock.”
He bit down on the cap of a black marker, pulled it open and held the cap clenched between his teeth as he circled the north gate and the area where the wreckage of the corn dog stand still smoldered. Sliding the marker back into its cap, he used both hands to tighten it.
“Best guesses?” he prompted, looking from man to man.
Without hesitation, each began marking up the map. Once they’d identified a handful of sites they all agreed were prime locations, the group split up with their respective teams and the hunt began.
Map in hand, Jake hoofed it back to the carnival midway.
With the kids, media and workers gone, the place was even more deserted than when he’d first arrived.
In all his years with the State Police, he’d never worked the fair in any capacity.
It was strange to walk past games of chance and not be taunted into giving them a try.
Disturbing to see all the rides at a standstill. Except one.
With the music turned off, he could hear every squeak and creak of the crankshafts simulating the motion of horses jumping. Others simply clawed at the air with their hooves. The hum of generators reminded him of the steady drone of cicadas in late summer.
Cassidy had tipped her head back and closed her eyes, but he didn’t believe for one second she was as relaxed as she appeared.
She couldn’t possibly be. Still, she didn’t stir when he moved the section of barrier fencing directly in his path aside.
Jake hopped onto the moving ride and strode to the bench flanked by gaudy blue-green seahorses.
Max turned to look but didn’t move from his post at her feet.
He gave the dog a pat. “Good boy.”
“Got it all in hand?” Cass didn’t open her eyes.
He dropped onto the bench across from her and Max immediately switched allegiance. “I brought a map,” he said, dispensing with preamble. “I wanted to go over some possibilities with you.”
She shook her head. “Can’t right now. I feel like hurling.”
Jake pressed his lips together, swallowing hard as he tried to imagine how awful she must feel. She’d been whirling for well over an hour, and who knew how many more she’d have to go.
“I’m going to find you some paper bags or something in case you need to be sick.”
She raised one hand in acknowledgment, then let it fall limply in her lap. “Manny was right. Having something in my stomach helps, but I don’t think I can read much while I’m on this thing.”
Jake’s mind flashed to a memory. Cassidy feeling carsick as she sat in the passenger seat of his third-hand Honda, pleading with him to slow down as she painstakingly tried to type out a message on her phone. “Still get carsick?”
She opened her eyes. And then she rolled them before letting them close again. “Who me? Nah.”
Jake couldn’t stifle the startled chuckle that escaped him. This grown-up version of the girl he’d once known looked much the same, and somehow totally different. It was oddly comforting to know her droll sense of humor remained unchanged.
He let his smile stretch as another moment came rushing back to him. “Remember when we drove up to the Buffalo to go floating and you totally lost it outside Marshall?”
“Jake,” she said.
“What? I get it, the road was curvy.”
She opened her eyes again, but the good-natured humor he expected to see there was apparently wishful thinking on his part. Her expression was neutral, but her glare was sharp and forbidding. “We’re not going there,” she said without heat.
“I, uh—” Ducking his head, he stared at the map he’d folded back into a neat rectangle. He bit his bottom lip as he took a moment to adjust to the knowledge that Cassidy Walker was not as happy to see him again as he was to see her. “No. Right. Of course.” He drew in a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“A blanket apology?”
“I’m not…” He frowned as he tried to figure out what she thought he needed to be sorry for in addition to broaching the subject of their past but then shook it off. “Sure,” he conceded with a decisive nod. “Sorry for everything.”
She gave a soft snort when she laughed. “Your sincerity is overwhelming.”
“Yeah, well, consider it a blanket, too,” he shot back.
Desperate to focus on a slightly less-volatile topic, he chose to talk incendiary devices.
“I’ve got teams checking the areas around some of the bigger rides—the swings, the spinner, the pirate ship,” he said as he unfolded the map.
“I’ve also got people sweeping the food court area and the Hall of Industry.
” He turned the map and stared hard at the building where local businesses could come to hawk their services trade-show style.
“I was thinking the petting zoo area would be good,” he ventured.
“Don’t forget the stages,” she interrupted. “The main pavilion next to the Hall of Industry. There’s a smaller setup across from the cattle barn.”
“Have you thought any more about the number twelve?”
She huffed a laugh. “Don’t you mean have I thought about anything other than the number twelve?”
“Are the buildings numbered? I mean, aside from the designations on the signs, is there any kind of internal numbering system?”
She opened her eyes and studied him for a long, searching minute. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then clamped down on her bottom lip as she shook her head.
“What if I count twelve buildings in from the gate?” he suggested.
Her brow furrowed as she considered the suggestion. “Which gate?”
He shrugged. “I guess we’ll start with the north since whoever is doing this started there.”
“Permanent structures only?”