Chapter 19
The McKay Residence
Woodlawn, Bronx, New York
Inside the house, a rousing game of charades was taking place.
Kennedy was winning the Irish performers segment of the game, while Colin had cleaned up on the Irish history part, and the rest of the family—other than Maureen, who was busily cooking—was clamoring for a change in topic.
“How about Celtic jewelry?” Fiona suggested.
Her brothers rolled their eyes.
“Yeah, right,” Nolan said. “I wonder who that topic would give the edge to. I vote for Irish laws enacted in the current century.”
“Great idea,” Garret concurred.
“No it’s not,” Maureen called out from the kitchen. “Let Kennedy choose. At least she’ll play fair. Something that puts you all on even footing. Like Irish cooking through the ages.”
The whole family threw back their heads and howled with laughter.
Friday, March 17, 5:35 p.m.
Six blocks away from the McKay residence, the stolen Con Edison truck drove down the street and parked alongside a utility pole.
A black sedan with two passengers passed by.
The driver of the sedan stuck his hand out the window and gave a mock salute to the two guys in the truck.
After that, he made a turn, and he and his partner continued on their way toward the McKay house—passing it and going on to park on a back street behind their house, so as not to be spotted.
Although they’d checked beforehand, as had their counterparts.
There were no security cameras in the vicinity.
And the clusters of trees hid them from view.
The guy in the passenger seat pulled out his walkie-talkie, pressed the button, and said: “We’re in position.”
The guys in the utility truck acted on cue. While one of them stayed put as a lookout, the driver got out, opened the back of the truck, and removed the requisite traffic cones, placing them in front and back of the vehicle. It looked like a normal utility emergency.
Except it wasn’t.
He climbed up on top of the truck, got into the bucket, and manipulated the hydraulics to raise himself up to the transformer. That done, he placed the small explosive device with a remote detonator next to the transformer and took some black electrical tape, strapping it into place.
Job completed, he lowered the bucket and locked the mechanism into place. He climbed down to the pavement, and while his associate collected the traffic cones, he examined the transmitter to make sure communication was properly established with the explosive device.
Success.
He turned and called out to his colleague, “We’re finished here.” Both men jumped into the car. The driver maneuvered the truck slowly down the street away from the booby-trapped transformer—and in the opposite direction of the McKay house.
When he was a far enough distance away, he pressed the triggering button.
The transformer exploded, plunging the neighborhood into an eerie darkness.
Inside the McKay house, everyone reacted at once.
The family abandoned the St. Patrick’s Day charades, Maureen hurried out of the kitchen, and Kennedy ran to her.
Purposely retaining his composure, Colin rose. “It’s just a power outage,” he assured all of them.
“But there’s no storm or wind,” Maureen protested, drawing Kennedy close.
“I know.” Colin shrugged offhandedly. “But an electrical wire might have gone down. Or it could be half a dozen other explanations I’m not qualified to make. I’m sure ConEd will fix it and the power will come on soon.”
“I hope so,” Kennedy murmured, her eyes huge. “I hate blackouts.”
Maureen’s arms closed around her great-niece. “I know, lovey. I hate them, too. But the good news is that the whole family is together and we still have some daylight, not to mention lots of flashlights, to help keep the celebration going.”
Kennedy’s eyes teared up. “But we’re not all together. Ryan hasn’t gotten here yet.”
“He’s on his way; I’m sure of it.” Maureen spoke with utter conviction. “He promised he’d be here by dinner. And he will be.”
A knock at the door broke into the conversation.
“Mrs. McKay?” a male voice called. “It’s Agent Winston. Is everything in there all right?”
Garret walked over and opened the door to one of the agents who’d been assigned to safeguard Kennedy. “We’re fine. Thanks for checking.”
“No problem.” On instinct, the agent glanced quickly at Kennedy and, satisfied that she was safe, spoke to the adults in the room.
“I’ve called Con Edison. Apparently, a whole section of your neighborhood is affected by this outage.
They’re on their way to find out what caused it.
Stay calm and this should be cleared up quickly.
I’ll remain inside with you, just as a precaution. ”
“We’d appreciate that, sir,” Nolan said.
As Special Agent Winston was assuring the McKays of their safety, the final part of the intruders’ plan was unfolding.
The passenger from the idling black sedan pulled on his gloves and slid out of the car, his few supplies packed in a small duffel bag.
He slung the bag over his shoulder and, squatting low, he made his way to Maureen’s backyard.
There, he cut a hole in the backyard chain-link fence, pulled back the wire, and, gripping his duffel, crawled into the backyard and up toward the back door.
He continued to stay down so no one inside—including the FBI agent who’d run in to make sure all was well during the blackout—would see him.
He reached the porch.
There, he worked quickly and silently. He unpacked the contents of his bag, which included a mason jar with homemade napalm in it and a gasoline-soaked rag. He was a pro. He knew that napalm made a great incendiary device because it was like a gel and stuck to the surface it struck.
He yanked a lighter out of his pocket, lit the rag, and stuffed it into the mason jar. He then threw the jar against the house. The jar broke, shattering glass across the porch and all over the back of the house. Both the wood porch and the clapboard siding burst into flames.
Leaving the place in a blaze, he took off before he could be seen. As he ran, once again squatting low, he used his burner phone to call the great-aunt’s cell. Even from outside, he could see mass pandemonium breaking out inside the house.
It took a long time before the woman answered. “Hello?” She sounded quite hysterical, and he could hear the FBI’s voices as they ushered the family out of the house through the front door. “Is this the fire department? Are you on your way?”
“Just a reminder that we can get to the little girl” was all he said before disconnecting the burner and flinging it as far as he could into the woods.
Maureen let out a scream, dropping her cell phone and falling to her knees.
“Come on, ma’am,” SA Winston said, urging her to her feet and leading her outside to the front lawn.
“We’ve got to evacuate.” By now, his counterpart had joined him in his task, as had the FI security team, who’d notified the fire department, and the EMTs, and was helping the FBI make sure that no one was severely burned or had endured extreme smoke inhalation.
On the front lawn, Colin reached his wife’s side as sirens of all kinds began to screech toward the house.
“Maureen?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she wept uncontrollably, her hands covering her face, and her whole body shaking. “My God, what is it? Are you hurt?”
“That phone call… Kennedy…” Her head came up and she frantically searched for her great-niece, her eyes closing in relief when she saw that Kennedy was wrapped in Fiona’s arms. Thank God her daughter understood that a conversation was being held that Kennedy should not be exposed to.
“Tell me,” Colin commanded. “Why did you scream like that? Who was on the phone?”
Maureen repeated what the man had said. “I should have known…the fire department wouldn’t have called my cell phone…”
Colin’s jaw tightened so much it looked as if it might snap.
He turned, summoning Agent Winston with a wave of his hand.
“Yes, sir.” Winston was by their sides in an instant. “Is your wife hurt?”
“Not physically.” Maureen spoke for herself, although her voice kept breaking. “But that phone call…”
“I saw your reaction. Who was it and what did they say?”
Maureen told him, conveying what had occurred to both him and to Garrison Miles, the Forensic Instincts security expert who’d also reached her side.
“We’ll have many questions,” Agent Winston said. “But they can wait until things calm down. One of our agents is already searching the area to see if there is any suspicious activity going on.” He stopped short of elaborating.
But Maureen understood. “Thank you,” she whispered. “This nightmare never ends. It just keeps getting worse.”
As she spoke, Garrison turned to one of his FI counterparts. “Stay with Kennedy,” he instructed him as another FBI agent strode over to do the same. “Let’s let the firefighters and medical professionals come through.”
The fire truck had already stopped, and firefighters were leaping out, rushing around to the back of the house to extinguish the blaze before it could rage out of control. EMTs were climbing out of their mini ambulance, going from person to person to help in any way they were needed.
Ryan’s Corvette screeched to a halt at the curb, and he and Claire were out of the car almost before it stopped moving.
“What the fuck?” he exploded, shoving his way onto the scene and trying to take everything—and everyone—in all at once.
“Ryan!” It was Kennedy who spotted him first. She was shaking and weeping, cringing in Fiona’s arms. But when she saw Ryan, she leaped to her feet and practically flew over to him. “The flames were tall. I was so scared. First the blackout. Then the crash. And then the fire.”
Ryan held her to him, then squatted down, scrutinizing every inch of her. “Sunshine, are you hurt?” He’d heard every detail she’d provided. “Did you get burned or inhale lots of smoke?”
She shook her head, gripping his forearms. “I think the agents and your security guys got us all out in time. And the fire is back there.” She pointed. “We were in the front of the house when it started.”
An EMT appeared beside them. “Sweetie, I need to check you out,” he told Kennedy. “Just for a minute.”
Kennedy refused to release Ryan. “This is my uncle. He has to come with me.”
“No problem.” The EMT gestured for Ryan to follow and guided Kennedy over to the medical van, where he did a few routine tests. “All good,” he said with a smile. “You were stronger than the fire.”
Ryan was gazing around, like a wolf scenting danger. At the same time, he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Claire at his mother’s side. His mom was weeping and gesturing about, obviously filling Claire in on what had occurred. Well, there was no one better to confide in.
Turning, he grabbed his brother Garret’s arm as he exited the mini ambulance with a clean bill of health.
“Can you tell me if everyone is safe?” Ryan asked.
“We sure are.” Garret squeezed Ryan’s shoulder, speaking guardedly since Kennedy was hanging on to his every word. “We McKays are a tough bunch. It takes a lot more than a porch fire to bring us down.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said, once again, awash with relief. “You go take it easy.”
Holding Kennedy’s hand, Ryan went over to his parents, opening his mouth to speak just as the firefighters came around front, their equipment turned off.
“We used chemical fire extinguishers to put out the fire,” one of them said, looking troubled as he spoke—probably because he guessed what the fire marshal would determine, given the absolute evidence of an incendiary device.
A broken glass jar. A gel that stuck to the siding of the house that was obviously napalm.
There was no explanation other than arson.
He continued speaking. “The fire ate up the entire porch, and the back of the house and roof overhang have severe fire damage. The rest of the house is fine.” He cleared his throat. “The fire marshal has been notified and is on his way.”
“We understand,” Colin replied, knowing full well what the firefighter was implying.
The firefighter was looking about, taking in the number of family members assembled on the lawn. “You and your family are going to need major construction for the repairs. It’ll be tough to live here. It’s your choice whether you do or whether you stay elsewhere while it’s done.”
Ryan didn’t miss a beat. “Dad, you, Mom, and Kennedy are coming with Claire and me to Forensic Instincts. There’s more than enough room at the brownstone for all of you. You’ll be comfortable, and you’ll be safe.”
Neither of the FBI agents protested, although Ryan was sure they wanted to. A nice motel would be more to their liking than moving in with the pain-in-the-ass investigators.
Well, tough.
Maureen clearly agreed. “We can come back for our things when it’s safe,” she said. “For now, we’ll go with you.”
Nolan was standing nearby. “I’ll drive everyone but Claire and Ryan, who came on their own. Besides, a toothpick could barely squeeze its way into Ryan’s Corvette.”
“Good.” Ryan nodded. This was the best possible solution.
Everyone safe and accounted for. And the reunion between Kennedy and Caitlin could take place in his lair.
“Nolan, your CRV has a hell of a lot more room in it. Plus, there’s a spare booster seat for Kennedy stored in your trunk. Claire and I will lead the way.”
With that, Ryan turned to SA Winston. “You’re welcome to call and arrange a visit to the FI brownstone, where you can ask any questions of my family you need to. But that will have to wait. They’re shaken and in shock. We’re leaving now.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.