Chapter 12

Armand and Ibrahim sat quietly, watching the images flicker across the screen. Armand would have opened champagne to celebrate, but as an observant Muslim he knew Ibrahim wouldn't appreciate the gesture.

"When will the announcement come?" Ibrahim asked.

Armand checked his watch. "Another hour, maybe two. Every major network will be running the video claiming responsibility." He smiled. "So much for their yellow, orange and red alerts. It is a grand victory for our people, my friend."

"And what of your own plans? You visited our warehouse. Have you decided when we implement your plan?" Ibrahim asked, hoping it would be soon.

The two men looked steadily at each other, savoring the feeling of victory. "We have seen the results in Europe, in your own homeland. How long did the fires burn in France? We need angry young men," Armand said. "We need many, many angry young men, strong and intelligent young men who have been forgotten by their own countries. Fighters like Joseph are worthless, well intentioned, but worthless."

Ibrahim rolled his eyes in a very American gesture. "No one in their right mind could believe Joseph had the his ability to blend in. Even with his Americanized name, he might as well wear a sign around his neck."

"This is the element our brothers do not understand, so we must show them. We must create a climate that provokes our still peaceful American brothers to fight for us, for jihad. We shall fan the spark of resentment into a flame. We shall provide the spark and the encouragement. Yes, let us begin."

"And the police captain?"

"Ideally, videotape him confessing to crimes against the Muslims here in New York. In his weakened condition, we can hope he may cooperate. I suspect though, that he may not."

Ibrahim raised an eyebrow. "He does not strike me as a coward, but he has a son, you say? That could prove a valuable incentive to win his cooperation, my friend. Perhaps, I should visit the man's home and bring the boy here. What wouldn't such a man do for his son?"

"As you say," Fischer nodded his agreement. "Be careful."

"Always. Either way, we will make our tape. Then…"

"Then, we kill him. How do you feel about beheadings?" They both laughed.

Goren jerked and opened his eyes wide. Sirens were wailing, from all over the city from the sound of it. He bolted out of bed and down the short hallway. "Eames! Wake up! Something's happening."

Eames nearly smacked the door jamb coming out of her room. "What?"

"Call in, something's happened. I can hear sirens for miles." Goren brushed some discarded newspapers to the floor, searching for the remote. He fumbled for a local channel, listening to Eames making the call in the background.

"Goren!" He looked quickly over his shoulder.

Eames's eyes were wide. "CNN. Go to CNN. Yeah, we'll be there." Still carrying the phone, he stood beside Goren, watching the images in horror. "Oh, God," he whispered. "They were right, but wrong. It wasn't New York, but Philadelphia this time. We're on alert." She stared at Goren, whose eyes hadn't left the screen. "Goren, we need to get ready. We need to go."

"Right." Goren ran back to his room and tore into his dresser, searching for something to wear. No one was going to say anything about dress code today. Abruptly, he stopped, hanging on to the furniture to stay upright. Whatever else happened today, the search for Captain Danny Ross, was effectively over.

Jeremy Ross huddled down into the cushions of the couch, horrified by what he was watching, yet unable to turn away. Smoke boiled across the screen. Shells of vehicles littered the road. Police officers, firemen, and ordinary citizens were carrying the wounded away. Men like his father, answering the call. So many people must be hurt or dead.

He felt the tears coming, and didn't care. Sob after sob shook his body. He grabbed a pillow, rocking back and forth. "Dad, where are you?" he wailed. "Why aren't you here? Where are you?"

The phone was ringing and he ignored it, trapped in his own personal agony.

The station was in chaos. Steve Powell met them at the door, out of uniform but definitely on duty. Goren recognized the fat white binder spread in front of the older man. They'd jokingly named it "the disaster book". Every city agency, in fact, every office, was supposed to have a copy. They were usually on shelves gathering dust, but not today.

Steve was clearly directing traffic, consulting the plan when necessary. "Where?" Goren asked brusquely.

"Major Case, what team are you?" Powell muttered, flipping pages.

"Team four."

"Four. Four. Okay, got it. He handed the two detectives bright orange badges. You're in command, sector A-1. For now, Hudson Memorial is your main responsibility. They're assembling emergency medical teams to bus out to Philadelphia. Do what you can to expedite their departure."

"Anything else?"

"Officially, other than emergency personnel, civilians are supposed to go home and stay there. We have check points going up, that's not your problem, but be aware of it. Extra gear and supplies are being handed out in the garage. Stop by there before you leave. Anything could happen before you have a chance to come back in."

"Any other news?" Goren asked.

"Ask CNN. I'm too busy to know, but so far no strikes outside of Philadelphia. The governor's calling up the National Guard and sending them in, at least the ones that aren't already in Iraq. Crap, half a world away when we need them right here at home." He waved Goren aside, speaking to the next in line.

It wasn't much better in the garage, but things seemed to be moving. Every available vehicle was hitting the street to provide extra security. Eames headed for the gas pumps. Who knew when they'd get another chance to fill up? She glanced at her partner, surrounded by other officers waiting their turn for gear. There didn't seem to be much chatter among the group, unusual for a bunch of cops.

She was just finishing when Goren trooped over with an armload of supplies. "We need to make another trip. This is mostly water, rations and medical stuff."

Eames followed Goren back to get more supplies. "Right there, Detective," a voice called out. "That box to your left."

Goren checked quickly. Flares, ammunition, radios and two rifles caught his eye. Body armor was at the bottom. "Anybody need a ride?" he called out. "We're headed to Hudson Memorial; there's room for three in the back. We'll leave in five." A couple hands went up, and those moved to the head of the line.

Goren hoisted the box, dreading the night that lay ahead.

Jennifer Culver checked her equipment one last time. She and three other forensics technicians were heading for Philadelphia. Her personal bag sat by the door, a few outfits grabbed on the run and her toothbrush. She knew what awaited her – days of trying to make identifications of the dead. It would be gruesome work, and she dreaded it. It was easier to think about how important it was for the families to get closure, to say goodbye.

What about their own family, here in Cascade? Danny Ross was still missing. Culver gathered the copies of all the new information they'd gathered. No way was she leaving this to one of her junior staff. This was going straight up to Captain Powell, from her hand to his. It was the least she could do.

"Ms. Culver, are you ready to go?"

Culver looked up at the young cop standing in the doorway. "I need these two boxes taken down. Can you handle them?"

"Sure thing. Aren't you coming?"

"Tell me where you're parked and I'll meet you. I need to deliver some information to Sergeant Powell before I leave."

The young officer nodded. "The van is are parked on the west side of the building. Please hurry, most everyone else is already down there."

Culver nodded, and slung her duffle over her shoulder. No matter what they did tonight, it would be too little and too late.

Chief of Detectives Moran looked out over the packed room, waiting for the briefing to start. He hated to admit it, but his wife had been right. He should have taken retirement in July. He'd hoped this would never happen on his watch. Shoving that thought aside, he stepped to the microphone.

"I want to thank you for getting down here so quickly, everyone. I know you're all tired, and I want to get you back out to your duties as soon as possible."

"Here's what we know so far. At approximately four-thirty this evening, six explosions rocked Philadelphia. The targets included The Constitution Center, The Declaration House, the Federal Reserve Bank, the Philadelphia Mint, Liberty Bell Center, Congress Hall, They all appear to have been car bombs. I'm sure all of you have heard by now that a branch of al-Qaida has claimed responsibility. It's been six hours, and so far, there have been no further attacks. The Feds are running the investigation, but I don't have any additional information. The Guard's been called out, and they're trying to shut down all non-essential traffic.

"Luckily most of the historic sites had finished their tours for the day, or the casualty count would be much higher, but they appear to be heavier at the Bank and Mint sites. We have conflicting information about the status of power and water in the city. It's quite possible that by morning, we'll be involved in evacuating the city, or at a minimum, getting emergency supplies in. Until we hear more, we'll hold the positions we have now. Questions?"

"What about a curfew?"

Moran threw a quick glance at the mayor. "Not at this time." He kept his face blank while a murmur of dissatisfaction rippled through the room. He'd gone to the mat, arguing for a curfew for at least the nighttime hours. Now wasn't the time or place to air their disagreements in public, even if the mayor was a jackass and in total denial. What could you expect from a man who surrounded himself with twits who knew more about prepping for a TV interview than public safety?

"We'll be issuing a statement asking businesses to observe a voluntary closure for tomorrow at least. Schools will probably be closed, although that may change. For now, all personnel manning the checkpoints should try to discourage travel if at all possible." He took a deep breath. "If we do have an incident, obviously the ground rules will change immediately. For right now, we need to keep a high profile, be vigilant and try to keep everyone calm. The Emergency Management folks need to brief us, so I'm turning it over to them."

Moran returned to his seat. He couldn't look at Powell. Both of them knew the search for Danny Ross was over.

"You will read the statement."

"No." Ross had a few more choice comments to add, but none of the words made it out of his mouth. Talking took too much energy.

The man knelt to look him in the eye. "This is our third conversation. Do you think it will stop? How much pain do you wish, my friend?"

"You're not my friend," Ross growled. "and I'm not yours."

His captor smiled. "I will return in one hour. We will discuss this again, using your other hand. Perhaps you will be in a more conversational mood. Just a few words, and then it will be over."

Ross couldn't stop the flinch. They had started breaking fingers the second time. His left hand was now mangled and useless. "An hour won't make any difference, you bastard."

"Such bravado. How very American." The man moved towards the door and gave one last look over his shoulder. "My associate will be joining us then. As we speak, he is paying a visit to your home. No doubt, your son will find comfort in his visit. Perhaps reuniting with your son will change your attitude."

Ross lunged and fell far short as the door slammed and locked. Not Jeremy. Anything but his son.