Текст книги "Solitude Creek"

Автор книги: Jeffery Daeaver

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

CHAPTER 43

Dance had brought the children there a few years ago.

Global Adventure World was a theme park in Orange County, a smaller-size version of nearby Universal and Disney. Filled with typical rides, animatronics, holographic wonders, theaters featuring live and filmed shows, costumed characters from the parent company’s films and TV programs. Also concession stands galore, ready to help you gain back in one day those three pounds you struggled to lose before your vacation.

As they sped to the front gate, where a dozen police cars were parked, Dance said, ‘Odd choice for a getaway.’

O’Neil nodded. Security in these parks was the best in the nation. Tall fences. High-quality CCTV cameras were disguised as rocks or branches or hidden in light poles and rides, and undercover guards, unarmed but equipped with high-tech com equipment, roamed the grounds, resembling typical tourists. And it wasn’t as if the unsub had tried to slip inside subtly to get lost in the crowd. No, he’d made as explosive an entrance as possible, crashing into a front gate, injuring two costumed employees then leaping through the breach and sprinting inside.

A hundred park visitors were standing in a loose crowd, some distance from the car. Looking over the crumpled vehicle, faint smoke wafting above. Easily half were taking pictures and videos.

Dance and O’Neil met with the incident supervisor from the Orange County Sheriff’s Office, Sergeant George Ralston, a tall, round African American.

O’Neil asked, ‘Any sightings?’

Ralston replied, ‘None. Hey, Herb. Whatta you know?’

Another man joined them. He was tall and solid and, Dance thought, a former cop. Introductions were made. He was the head of security for the park, Herbert Southern.

‘No sign yet.’

Dance asked, ‘Are you following him on security cameras?’

Southern said, ‘We were – sent our people after him. But he disappeared. Got lost in a crowd waiting for the Tornado Alley ride. Named after the cartoon? One of the most popular here. Hundred people were queued up. Security went through the crowd but they couldn’t find him.’

Dance supposed they weren’t particularly aggressive. Didn’t want to spook the patrons. She imagined the key word had been subtle. Make sure the customers feel safe.

‘Description?’ Dance asked.

Ralston offered, ‘White male, over six feet. Longish blond hair, green baseball cap, unknown logo. Sunglasses. Dark pants, light shirt, beige jacket. Wool or cotton. Gym bag. White.’

Blond hair. Of course he’d dyed it after Foster’s leak to the press.

‘Your security get a close-up of his face?’ O’Neil asked.

‘No. Kept his head down.’

Dance said, ‘Well, he’s not wearing any of those clothes any more. If he didn’t have a change of clothes with him in the bag, and I’ll bet he did, he’s bought a souvenir jacket and shorts and running shoes. And the gym bag is in a Global shopping bag right now. He can’t change his hair color so he’ll have a different sort of hat. Cowboy maybe.’

One of the big hits from the studio last year, a Wild West animation had won Oscars for something.

‘And some people thought he was wearing gloves. Light-colored ones.’

‘He was,’ O’Neil said. ‘For the fingerprints.’

‘What’s this about?’ Southern asked.

‘He’s wanted in connection with a homicide in Monterey,’ Dance explained.

‘The roadhouse thing?’ Ralston asked. ‘And the other one, right? On the wire. Last night.’

‘That’s right,’ O’Neil confirmed.

Dance added, ‘We came down here to look for a possible witness. The unsub beat us to it. He was at the apartment in Tustin – he killed the wit just before we got there.’

O’Neil’s face grew still. ‘Your deputy was wounded. Martinez. He’ll be okay, I heard, but he took a round in the arm.’

‘Ricky.’ Ralston nodded. ‘Sure. I know him.’

The security man took a call, listened. ‘Thanks.’ He disconnected and said, ‘Nothing. Well, we’ve got all the exits covered. This is the only park exit but there are service entrances with gates.’

Ralston said, ‘I’ve got officers headed there now. He’s armed. I don’t want your boys and girls approaching,’ he said to the security head.

‘No. We’ll work with your folks. Call ’em if they see anything. I’ve told ’em.’

Ralston added to Dance and O’Neil: ‘I’ve got teams circling the outer perimeter. There’s no way he’ll get out unseen.’

Southern shook his head, looking over the growing crowd of park-goers. These were his people, those he was in charge of protecting. Dismayed, he said, ‘Hostages?’

But, to Dance, a taking seemed unlikely. The strategy was that you negotiated only to buy time to talk reason into the hostage-taker or to get a sniper into position for a kill shot. You never gave him his freedom. This unsub was smart – no, brilliant. He’d guess that grabbing a hostage was a futile proposition.

She explained this, glancing at O’Neil, who agreed.

Then she said, ‘Here’s a thought. We don’t have a solid facial ID but he doesn’t know that. Can we—’ Dance looked around and saw a business office nearby. ‘Can we get a hundred printouts?’

‘Of what?’

O’Neil was nodding. He got it. ‘Of anything with a man’s face. Distribute them to officers and security people. Walk through the park, just looking at them from time to time and scanning the crowd.’

‘And keeping an eye out for anybody tall and blond, whatever he’s wearing. Anybody who turns away or avoids eye contact, that’ll be him.’

Southern walked to the office and a few minutes later came back with a stack of paper. He held one up. ‘Message from our new manager. Just saying hi to all the employees, happy to be working with you, that sort of thing.’

‘Excellent,’ Dance said. It had a face shot of the man, which from more than three feet away could very well be a security camera image of their unsub.

Southern and Ralston divided the sheets to distribute to the officers and guards and sent them on their way.

Dance took one and handed another to O’Neil.

The sergeant said, ‘You want radios?’

‘Phone’s fine for me.’

O’Neil nodded too and they both typed Ralston’s number into theirs.

Then: ‘And Agent Dance needs a weapon.’

‘What?’ she asked. ‘No.’

‘Kathryn,’ O’Neil said firmly.

The Orange County sergeant looked at her curiously.

‘I’m assigned to the Civil Division of the CBI, not authorized to carry,’ she explained.

‘Oh,’ Ralston said. That settled it. It would be illegal to hand over a weapon.

O’Neil sighed and said, ‘Then why don’t you stay near the entrance and—’

Wait here …

But Dance was already walking through an open turnstile, right under the nose of a large and disturbingly realistic grizzly bear in a Viking helmet, glaring down at her angrily.

CHAPTER 44

Antioch March was, more or less, in the center of the theme park, near one of the rides – a roundy-round thing for younger kids, where they sat strapped into fiberglass leaves, like lettuce wraps from a Chinese restaurant. The ride would have made him puke.

Nearby was a jungle tour – where the guests were startled by the fierce appearances of oversized carnivores. They were the characters from a huge hit film, a blockbuster. March had seen it. The movie was gruesome and simple. But effective at shocking the audience. As gruesome and simple usually were.

The fake canyon he was now walking through reminded him of the Harrison Gorge. It was strikingly similar. He could smell the moist stone, the leaves, the loam, the dirt, the water. He could see, vividly, Todd. More than the colored leaves. Far more clearly than the leaves.

Focus here, he told himself. You need to get out, and soon. In an hour there’d be a thousand officers poking under every polyvinyl triceratops and singing bush in the place.

And then he saw them.

Two young men, dressed like tourists but clearly security guards, were glancing at printouts and scanning the crowd.

Hell. Had they gotten an image of him as he sprinted through the gate? He’d seen the dozens of security cameras hidden in trees and in the fake rocks of the exhibits.

March was different in appearance now – he’d done the quick change right in the middle of a crowd waiting for some insane roller-coaster, Tornado Alley, not in a restroom, whose front doors he was sure would be monitored by cameras. But had they gotten a picture after he changed?

Out. You need to get out—

Then he turned and, to his shock, another officer was walking in March’s direction, glancing at his sheet and then at people nearby – men, tall men. He was more than thirty feet away.

The pathway here was fairly narrow and his only option was to keep on walking, nonchalantly, with the crowd he found himself in. Or to turn and walk away, which would seem suspicious.

His pistol was in the shopping bag he carried. He didn’t want to use it but he might have to. He maintained his stroll in the direction he’d started, glancing at a map he’d picked up of the park. He paused and asked a couple for directions. The husband glanced at the map, then pointed to a pathway nearby.

The officer continued in their direction, casually, too casually, looking around.

March chatted to the couple – a pleasant duo with southern accents – and felt the cop’s eyes scan them, then look elsewhere. March glanced over his shoulder and saw the officer walking away, not reaching for radio or phone.

Ah, yes, trying to trick him. They didn’t have a clue what he looked like. The sheet of paper was either blank or an advertising flier. They expected he’d see it, then turn and flee, give himself away.

Nice try.

He wondered if the ploy had been Kathryn Dance’s. Betcha, he told the Get.

March turned to the husband, who had been so helpful, and said, ‘That’s odd.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Over there. Uniformed policeman in the park. With the printout?’

The couple both squinted. The husband said, ‘Oh, yeah. And there’re some men over there too with fliers. See them?’

‘Undercover security,’ March said.

‘What’s that about?’ the wife asked.

‘Probably nothing. I just … I hope it’s not terrorists or anything.’

‘Terrorists,’ the wife whispered.

‘Yeah, did you hear that story on Fox? Or CNN? There were reports of a possible terrorist attack in LA.’

‘No!’

‘Rumors, that’s all. You know how the police always say that and then nothing happens. Most of the time.’ March shrugged. ‘Anyway, have fun.’

A quarter-mile down the winding paths, Antioch March found another couple who looked promising. He walked up to them, brandishing the map and nodded.

‘Hi, sorry to bother you.’

‘Sure,’ said the husband. He and his wife were with their three children, about eight through twelve.

March asked this man, too, for directions. Where a particular restaurant was. He was supposed to meet his family there. The couple consulted the map.

The husband said, ‘There you be. Bit of a hike but you’re going the right way.’

March knew where the restaurant was and that proceeding toward it would give him an excuse to stroll along with the couple.

‘Thanks.’ They all started to move in that direction.

‘Come here every year,’ the husband said, as they walked along. ‘You?’

March said, ‘No, first time. Josh was too young. He’s five now.’ They meandered past two uniformed officers consulting their advertising fliers. The men didn’t even glance toward him.

‘I hear you. Beth and Richard,’ the wife said, nodding toward her brood, ‘took them to Disney when they were three and four. Scared to death of Goofy. They weren’t too sure about Tinker Bell either.’

March laughed.

The husband: ‘Wait till they can appreciate it. Even the kids’ tickets’re ridiculous. Break the bank.’

As March walked with them, chatting about the rides, he looked around him. Into the trees, the rocks – well, fake rocks – the lampposts, the grounds. Studying carefully. He was learning some things about theme parks. In truth, he’d never been to one. That had been as far removed from his parents’ idea of entertainment as one could imagine. Go downstairs, play video games, Andy. Go play.

Interesting, what he was noticing.

Then March said to the couple, ‘There’s another one.’ A frown.

‘What’s that?’

‘Another cop. Or whoever it is. With that sheet of paper. I’ve seen about ten of them.’

The wife: ‘Yeah, I saw some too. What’s that about?’

March: ‘It’s like they’re looking for somebody.’

‘Maybe somebody broke in without paying.’

‘I don’t think,’ March said slowly, ‘they’d go to that much trouble for somebody like that.’

‘Probably not,’ the wife said. ‘Hm. Look, two more.’

‘Odd,’ the husband said.

‘I hope it’s nothing too serious,’ March said. ‘Maybe … Excuse me … A text.’ He frowned as he looked at his phone, holding the screen so they couldn’t see it. He pretended to read. ‘Oh. Well.’ He’d nearly said, ‘Jesus.’ But he’d noted the wife wore a cross and he needed his new friends to be with him. Completely with him.

‘What?’

‘That was from my wife. She’s up at the restaurant. She just got a text from her mother. It was on the news. They’re talking about some kind of a terrorist thing in the park.’

‘Terrorists?’ the wife blurted. ‘Here?’ Six or seven people turned toward them.

March didn’t answer. He looked around, frowning. He began texting. The message was not, however, to the imaginary wife. It was going out to various blog sites, as well as legitimate news organizations, Twitter.

Rumors that terrorist rams front gate at Global Adventure Park. Suicide bomber loose in park.

March looked up. ‘I’ve got to get to my wife and son.’ But he looked at his phone again. ‘No, no!’

‘What is it, Mister?’

‘My brother. In Seattle. He’s watching CNN and, it looks like somebody rammed the front gate. Some guy with a backpack. He’s here in the park!’

‘Oh, Bill. Kids! Come here! Kids, stop, come over here.’

‘What ride are Sandy and Dwight on?’ the husband asked. Voice breathless.

‘One of the roller-coasters, I don’t know. Call them and let them know.’

A voice behind him. Another couple. ‘Did you mention a terrorist or something? I saw all the police. With those handouts.’

March said, ‘I just heard, somebody crashed into the front gate and got into the park with a bomb and a machine-gun.’

‘Gun too?’ the husband of the first couple asked.

March brandished his phone. ‘My brother. That’s the story. Suicide bomber, they’re saying. He’s armed. And there may be others.’

‘Fuck no.’

The good Christian wife didn’t correct her husband’s language.

‘Well, that’s what he heard. CNN and Fox.’

Now all the adults were making calls or texting. Some seeking confirmation. But others would be spreading the lie.

One woman said desperately into her iPhone: ‘Honey, where are you and the kids? Well, get out. Just leave now. There’re terrorists in the park! … Yeah, we saw them too! If there are that many police something bad is happening. Get out! … I will. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

March turned.

Ah, fantastic! A tour guide was passing, holding aloft a folded umbrella so his group could see him. Sixty or so kids, from a private high school in Ohio, according to their matching T-shirts.

March began to speak to the leader but he didn’t have to say anything. The wife of the first couple said, ‘Did you hear anything about terrorists in the park? Do you know where it’s safe?’

The guide blinked, lowered the umbrella. ‘No, what do you mean?’

The word spread among the students like flames through dry California brush. ‘Terrorists.’ Some of the girls in the group started to cry. A few boys too. Phones emerged. Texts and voice calls.

Breathlessly March added, ‘In the park. He rammed the gate. Suicide bomber. But he’s got guns too. There may be more than one.’ He held up his phone for proof.

Wonderful adolescent cries and screams.

The Get was pleased.

Now there was a good-size crowd in this area of the park. People uncertain about where to go. All talking, checking phones, making calls or texting. Gathering children.

And looking for someone with a backpack bomb, a suicide vest, a machine-gun, an RPG.

One man stormed up to a deputy holding one of the ID sheets and confronted him. Others joined in.

‘The hell are you doing about it?’

‘Why aren’t there any announcements?’

‘Do you even know?’

The officer was flustered. Looking around. Another patron, then two more accosted the cop, demanding why they were covering up an attack and not evacuating. Was it so the amusement park wouldn’t lose face – or tax money the park would pay the county? The officer denied terrorists. But nobody was listening.

March stepped aside, watching the growing agitation of the crowd. Now about two hundred people were milling about, shouting at concession-stand employees, groundskeepers, costumed characters.

Time to ratchet things up, March decided. He called 911.

‘Police and fire, what’s your emergency?’

‘My family’s in Global Adventure. Somebody crashed into the gate and he’s loose. It’s a terrorist. They’ve seen him. He’s got a bomb!’

The dispatcher: ‘We have a report of an accident but there’s no report of any terror—’

‘Jesus, there he is! He’s got a bomb! And a gun too.’

‘Sir, what’s your name and location? Please—’

He disconnected and walked farther around the perimeter of the park, making a circle back toward the entrance. Looking in the trees, looking behind the buildings.

He made another voice call, to a local news affiliate. ‘Please, you have to help! We’re in Global Adventure World, the park, you know. Orange County. We’re hiding. My family’s hiding but he’s nearby. It’s a terrorist. A man with a machine-gun. And another one with a bomb! Please … There’s a terror attack going on! A suicide bomber. He crashed through the gate and he’s in the park. I’m looking at him now.’

‘Sir, please, what’s your name?’

‘Jesus, he’s coming this way.’

He disconnected and continued to walk through the park, noting the increasing number of people on their phones, standing in protective clusters. Some were walking off the paths and into the bushes, peering out – as if in a scene from one of the amusement-park parent company’s movies: the innocent about to be devoured by aliens.

March hurried along the pathway. He was about to play the scenario all over again, walking up to another family and stabbing them with panic, when the husband gripped March’s arm.

‘Hey!’

Wide-eyed, the man said, ‘Mister, you have family here?’

‘Yeah, they’re over at Tornado Alley. Why?’

‘There’re terrorists in the park. A half-dozen. They’re going to blow up some of the rides.’

The wife was sobbing.

‘No!’ March said. He looked at his phone. ‘Hell, you’re right. It’s my wife. Texting. CNN has the story. Terror alert. Suicide bomber in the park.’

‘That’s why the police. They’re all over the place.’

‘And they’re not saying anything!’ March snapped.

He’d thought he’d have to spread the rumor a half-dozen more times but, nope, it wasn’t necessary. The stories buzzed like locusts. One bomber, a dozen. Machine-guns. Al Qaeda. ISIS. Pakistan. Syria.

‘What’re we going to do? How do we get out?’

March shouted, ‘There’s only one way I know about. The front entrance. They don’t have emergency exits, I heard.’

‘No exits? Didn’t they think something like this could happen?’

‘We’re going to be trapped here!’

March waved his arm. ‘No, we’re not. Let’s go!’

The crowd was now moving in the general direction of the park entrance. What had started as a cluster of a hundred was swelling to three, four, five times that number. March walked with them for a ways, then stepped off the path into the bushes and let skittish cattle continue their quickening drive to what they hoped was safety.

CHAPTER 45

What’s going on? Dance wondered.

She and O’Neil were back at the Global Adventure entrance, having heard reports that for some reason hundreds – no, thousands of park guests were moving in this direction. The agent and detective were outside the entrance turnstiles and fence.

The patrons clustering on the other side, waiting to exit, were edgy, anxious. Some exchanged harsh words. A shoving match or two broke out when people cut into the line ahead of the others to leave. The crush could have been relieved if the wide gate was functioning but the unsub’s steamy Chevy still blocked it.

Dance thought of the Liverpool fans clustering outside Hillsborough Stadium, the disaster her father had told her about.

Twenty-five years ago. I still have nightmares …

O’Neil and Dance walked up to the head of park security and Sergeant Ralston.

Dance asked, ‘What is all this?’

Both Herb Southern and Ralston were on their phones. Ralston said, ‘Jesus.’ Whatever he’d learned was very troubling.

Southern disconnected.

‘There’s panicking inside. A couple guests beat up one of my security guards. I don’t know why.’

Ralston hung up too. ‘Okay, this is a problem. We’re getting calls from everybody – the Sheriff’s Office, media, FBI, Homeland. Reports terrorists’re in the park. Machine-guns. Suicide vests. Fucking rumors but nine one one’s flooded, circuits’re almost overloaded.’

Dance muttered, ‘He’s doing it.’

‘Your perp?’

She nodded.

O’Neil said, ‘All it took was him telling a few people the rumor, one news report, a few blog posts, and it’s spread like fire.’

‘It’s what he does. He starts panics. And he’s real good at it.’

O’Neil said, ‘He’s going to try to get out this way, thinking we can’t check everybody.’

‘That’s pretty damn close to true,’ Sergeant Ralston muttered.

Herb Southern walked to the turnstiles, on the other side of which a crowd thirty or forty deep jostled to get out. ‘There’s no emergency!’ he shouted to the crowd. ‘You’re safe. You can stay in the park. Don’t push. Don’t push!’

Everyone ignored him.

Dance asked, ‘What’s the procedure if it were a terror attack?’

‘Lockdown. Get everybody off the rides and have them wait where security tells them. We have designated places of cover from gunmen and bad weather, fire.’

‘Evacuation?’

‘Not a mass evacuation,’ Southern said, staring at the growing sea of patrons. ‘Ma’am, today’s a slow day but we’ve still got thirteen thousand souls in the park at this moment. If they all head out together – well, you can imagine.’

The crowd was swelling as people from inside the park joined the other exiting patrons in bottlenecks between two gift shops, which jutted into the entrance walkway. Every face seemed terrified.

At the turnstiles serious fights were starting to break out and there were more and more instances of people shoving others aside and jumping the barriers, which led to more panic. The crowd was now fifty or sixty deep. And growing. One woman screamed as she was jammed against a fence. Her wrist had broken. Two guards got to her and managed to calm that cluster of patrons. But as soon as they did another fight broke out, more pushing, more screams. Dance watched two other patrons fall. They were trampled before guards got them to their feet. The workers’ faces were as alarmed as their guests’.

Dance said, ‘It’s on the borderline of manageable. We’ll be okay as long as nothing more sets them—’

From the distance came a half-dozen gunshots.

‘Hell,’ she muttered.

Then, over the loudspeaker: ‘Emergency evacuation. All guests. There are terrorists in the park. Suicide bomber in the park. This is not a drill. Everyone evacuate immediately!’

‘That’s not procedure!’ Southern snapped, his face in shock.

‘All guests, this is an emergency. Evacuate at once. There is a suicide bomber in the park.’

‘It’s him. He got into the security command post somehow.’

O’Neil snapped: ‘Get a team there now!’

Ralston lifted his radio, made a call.

The security man was on his phone. ‘Derek, what’s going on? … Is he in the CP? … Okay, find out. Cut the power to the PA system.’

‘Evacuate! Evacuate immediately. We have shooting victims! If you’ve been wounded, seek cover immediately. Medical teams are on the way!’

Southern explained to Dance and O’Neil, ‘We’ve got a network of underground tunnels – where our security office is. We take sick guests out that way, pickpockets, people’re drunk. It’s the command post too. He’s in there. He’s going to try to get out through the tunnels. There’s an exit to a parking lot on the far edge of the property … Oh, Jesus … Look!’

A wave of a thousand, two thousand people was now charging the exit.

‘Get back, it’s all right!’ the security head yelled to them. Pointless, as before.

Parents had abandoned strollers and were carrying their screaming children. The people waiting at the turnstiles turned back and saw the tide approaching.

The screams rose and those behind the patrons in front began scrabbling over the others to get to the turnstiles. Some began running through the broken gate, climbing over the unsub’s Chevy. One man fell on his back and lay still.

Dance, O’Neil and Southern ran forward, holding their palms up to stanch the flow of human bodies, shouting that there was no attack.

But the crowd had no rational mind. Safety, escape – those were the only things that mattered.

A creature … not human …

‘They’re going to be crushed,’ Dance said.

O’Neil: ‘The gate. We have to get it open. Now!’

He, Ralston and a half-dozen park workers ran to the unsub’s car and, by using pure muscle, pulled it back – five feet, ten, twenty. They then grabbed the gate and swung it open. It screeched on the concrete.

O’Neil leaped aside as the tide, twenty bodies wide, swarmed through the open space. Others continued to push through or leap over the turnstiles.

A mother, holding a young child of about four, staggered through the gate, then turned toward an empty part of the parking lot and stumbled in that direction. Dance noticed that her arm was badly broken. She got about ten steps toward a bench, then eased her daughter to the asphalt and collapsed. Dance ran to help.

She had just gotten to the woman when there was a shattering of glass and dozens of people leaped onto the sidewalk. They’d broken a large window of one of the gift shops and were fleeing out of the park through the gap. This herd soon swelled to several hundred.

They were bearing down on Dance, the woman and her child. Even though they were out of the park, panic had seized them and they were sprinting madly.

‘Get up!’ Dance cried to the groggy mother, scooping up the child by the waist. The crowd was forty feet away, thirty.

The woman suddenly gripped Dance’s collar. Unbalanced by her awkward crouch, the agent fell backward. She landed hard, still clasping the child. Stunned, she looked up to see a wall of a hundred patrons stampeding directly for them. To judge from their feral eyes, not a single one even saw them, let alone had any intention of turning aside.