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  I glanced up from the gruesome video on my phone. “It’s The Swarm, Joe. They just put a video feed up on their website. It shows the Florence victims being beheaded.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “I’ve got something,” Officer Hayden said, a few minutes later. “It looks like the Stewarts own a cabin over at the lake.”

  Hillsdale Lake was located a few minutes from the Stewarts’ house. The large body of water served as a reservoir with a scattering of small nearby houses and cabins.

  I googled the address of the cabin and we ran for the car. A few minutes later Dawson voiced his unhappiness when Officer Bean turned down the wrong driveway. “Barney, don’t be a David Adam. Turn this ass can around and pound the pedal.”

  “David Adam?” Officer Hayden said to me as his partner made a U-turn in the darkened driveway.

  I knew that what Dawson had said was police parlance for dumb ass. “It’s just a term of endearment,” I lied.

  “There it is,” Dawson said a couple of minutes later. He pointed at a small cabin that fronted a swampy portion of the lake. There was a newer model car in the driveway, and a light was on inside the residence. He turned to Bean and Hayden. “You yokels listen up. Our suspect is armed and dangerous. Don’t take any chances. If we get the opportunity, we take him alive, get him to talk, and then send him DTJ.”

  Hayden whispered to me. “Guess I need a translator.”

  I’d been around Dawson long enough to know the vernacular. “Direct to Jesus.”

  We drove past the residence, killed the headlights, and parked up the street as Dawson said, “We could have already been made, so let’s go in through the backyard.” He looked at the Lawrence cops. “Kate and me will go in the back door. I want you two to cover the front.”

  Ten minutes later, Hayden and Bean were moving through a side gate of the small cabin while Dawson and I approached the rear door. As we got closer I could hear voices. We ducked down as we drew our weapons, stepped up to the porch, and heard a man say, “It’s going to get a lot worse before this is over, Abby.”

  “He’s torturing her,” I whispered to Dawson.

  Seconds later there was a blast of gunfire that shattered the rear window. “Stay low!” Dawson yelled, as we scrambled off the porch.

  We’d found cover behind a storage shed when moments later we heard shots being fired in the front yard. A few seconds later a car engine was revving. By the time we got there, we saw that Officer Bean was down in the yard. The car that had been in the driveway was fishtailing wildly onto the highway. Dawson lowered his weapon, firing several shots in the direction of the car, before it disappeared up the street.

  I went over to Officer Bean. “Are you okay?”

  He moaned, “I’m shot…in the leg.”

  “What the fuck happened?” Dawson said as Bean’s partner came over and began using his shirt as a tourniquet on his partner’s leg.

  “He came out of the house shooting,” Hayden said. “We were surprised.”

  “Fuck.” He turned to me. “Let’s check the house.”

  We found Abigail Stewart in the kitchen. She was tied to a chair, and there was blood everywhere. Her captor had used a kitchen knife to carve up her face.

  “Please help me!” the young woman screamed. “He killed my parents.”

  I untied her while Dawson asked, “Any idea where lover boy went?”

  She shook her head and sobbed, “No…he’s insane.”

  Dawson waved a hand at me. “Let’s go.”

  As we were heading out the door, I told Stewart, “We’ll call for an ambulance. They should be here any minute.”

  I hated leaving her, but I also knew that if we didn’t move quickly, Nigel York would get away. Dawson got the keys from Hayden, who was still tending to his partner.

  When we got to the police unit he tossed me the keys. “You drive, I shoot.”

  Minutes later, we were back on the main highway. We headed south, reasoning that York would want to get away from any populated areas. There was little traffic, and after a few minutes we spotted his car. He began accelerating away from us, even as I stomped on the accelerator.

  “He’s made us,” I said.

  The passenger side window came down and Dawson’s gun came out. “Faster, Buttercup. I wanna be able to see the fly on his rear window when I unload.”

  “Remember, we need to take him alive,” I said, stomping down harder on the gas pedal and moving up until we were a couple of feet from York’s bumper.

  Dawson squeezed the trigger twice and the rear window of York’s car shattered. An instant later, the car swerved, went off the highway, and flipped over three times. It landed upside down with the headlights still on.

  As I slowed down and pulled off the highway, I had the feeling we had failed. We had less than two hours before the explosions in the cities were set to begin. Nigel York would be dead and we wouldn’t be able to stop The Swarm.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Out of the car, motherfucker,” Dawson said, at the same time he reached down and pulled Nigel York out of his overturned vehicle.

  Our suspect had a smear of blood on his face but otherwise looked unharmed. Up close, York was less innocent than he’d appeared in the mug shots we’d seen. He levelled his dark eyes on me and then Dawson as his lips parted in a superior grin.

  “You’re too late,” York told us. “You can’t stop what’s happening.”

  The fist that came up, knocking our suspect to the ground, was a surprise. York never saw it coming. He went down, groaning in pain as Dawson stood over him and massaged his knuckles.

  “That’s just the appetizer, asshole. I want the password and encryption codes to take down the website.”

  York spit blood at Dawson. “Go to hell.”

  He grabbed our suspect by the collar. “If I’m going there, you’re coming along. And before we arrive, I’m gonna give you a taste of what’s coming.”

  As York came up to his feet, he said to me, “I want a lawyer.”

  It was my turn to give him a piece of my mind. “That’s going to be a problem, since they’re all in hell, stoking the flames.”

  We got York handcuffed and placed in the back of the police unit. As Dawson pulled back onto the highway, I said, “What have you got in mind?”

  He scanned the highway up ahead. “I just need a place with a couple of trees and a hose.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we pulled off the highway. Dawson yanked York out of the back seat. I could see the fear in our suspect’s face as he said to my FBI partner, “What are you going to do?”

  Dawson pushed York down a driveway, toward a house. “You look a little parched, genius. I think you need to hydrate.”

  We were at a small home off the main highway. I didn’t see any lights on and the residence looked deserted. Dawson said to me, “Turn the car toward the house and leave the headlights on, so I can see the yard.”

  I did as he instructed. By the time I got back into the yard, I saw that Dawson had York on the ground. His arms were handcuffed to a porch railing and his legs were shackled between a couple of small nearby trees. Dawson was bringing a hose over. I could tell that York’s earlier defiance had been replaced by fear.

  Dawson had a wet cloth and held the hose, which had a stream of water, up to York’s face. “Last chance, Einstein. I want the passwords. NOW.”

  York’s features hardened. “Go to hell.”

  I walked over and told Dawson to wait. I bent down, my eyes drilling into York. “He means business. This is your last chance. Believe me, you don’t want to see what he’s capable of doing. I’m not going to interfere again.”

  Our suspect’s eyes locked on me as he said, “I won’t stop what’s already set in place.”

  I looked at Dawson and exhaled. “Go ahead.”

  I’d never seen anyone water boarded before, but from what I’d heard about the procedure it was gruesome and terrifying. The process involved water being poured o
ver a cloth that’s on the victim’s face, covering the breathing passages. I’d read somewhere that the water torture can cause panic, extreme pain, and the sensation of drowning. Subjects sometimes vomited and aspirated it into their lungs. The lasting physical effects could include brain damage.

  As Dawson covered Nigel York’s face with the wet cloth and brought the hose up again, York’s demeanor suddenly and dramatically changed. He was clearly agitated and frightened. He tried to say something, but it was unintelligible.

  I went over and pushed Dawson’s arm back. “Hold on.” I removed the cloth and bent down to York. “What?”

  He shook his head in defiance again, apparently now changing his mind about cooperating.

  I thought about the cities erupting with violence, the bombs that were set to detonate, and the victims beheaded in Florence as I screamed at him, “This is just going to get worse until you tell us what we need to know. Don’t be stupid.”

  “Let me do this,” Dawson said, trying to push past me.” He again lowered the cloth toward our suspect’s face.

  “Wait.” York screamed, signaling that we’d finally broken him. “Just let me up and take off the cuffs, they’re cutting into my wrists.”

  Dawson reluctantly stopped the procedure and agreed to his demands. When York was back on his feet, the big FBI agent said, “All right, fuckstick. Tell us everything—NOW!”

  York flinched. His voice was weak, barely audible, as he said, “The password is Mansur, encryption key seven nine one two.”

  We had less than thirty minutes left when I made a call to Agent Rooney. I waited on the line as his team of experts used the password and key, trying to take down the website. It was a couple of minutes before the midnight deadline when I heard Rooney’s voice again. As he spoke I saw that Dawson still had Nigel York by the arm. I wondered if the terrorist now regretted giving up the password and encryption key.

  “It’s down,” Agent Rooney said with a sigh of relief. “The website is down. With any luck it will call off The Swarm.”

  I turned to tell Dawson the good news at the same time I saw our suspect take off running. Dawson had his gun out and was ordering him to stop as I ran after them.

  “Don’t shoot,” I said to Dawson. “We still need to know what he knows about…”

  I heard the blast of an air horn as I looked over at the highway. Nigel York ran into the road at the same time a semi-truck was barreling down the highway. The impact sent our suspect flying. Even before we got to his shattered body, I knew he would be dead.

  Dawson and I went over and saw York’s broken and twisted body as the truck stopped on the highway. The driver was coming over, saying something about not being able to stop in time.

  “God damn it,” I said, looking at Dawson and trying to catch my breath.

  His pale blue eyes shone in the moonlight as he looked at me and said, “I hope York brought a change of clothes. It looks like there’s gonna be a big party in hell tonight.”

  THIRTY

  “I’ll have the eggs and bacon,” I told the waitress after Joe Dawson had placed his order.

  We were in a café in Lawrence the next morning after spending a long night debriefing what happened to Nigel York with John Greer and other members of the taskforce. We doubted that Greer had completely bought our story about stopping at the farmhouse so that our prisoner could relieve himself, where he gave up the password and encryption code before running into the street. Regardless of that, we knew we’d stopped a serial killer and prevented dozens, if not hundreds, of killings.

  “I got word early this morning that most of the rioting has finally stopped,” Dawson said, after sipping his coffee. “The national guard is supposed to pull out of most of the cities later today.”

  I was already working on my second cup of coffee. “I heard they took several suspects into custody in Boston and Chicago who were carrying explosive devices.”

  “I doubt they’ll get much out of them. I think The Swarm is made up of a bunch of followers who were indoctrinated to carry out their mission, without knowing much, if anything, about those higher up.”

  “What about York? Do we have any idea how he fits into the bigger scheme of things?”

  Dawson suppressed a yawn. We were both operating on about four hours sleep. “It looks like he was mostly in it for the money. The speculation is that he wasn’t going to get paid until the countdown was completed and the bombs were detonated.”

  I’d heard that York’s former girlfriend was in the hospital recovering from her injuries, but would need lots of plastic surgery because of what he’d done to her face. What happened to Abigail Stewart and her parents only confirmed that we were dealing with a heartless group of killers.

  Our food arrived, and as we ate our conversation turned lighter, Dawson telling me that he planned to take a few days off.

  “What does Joe Dawson do for fun?” I asked, at the same time thinking that I couldn’t imagine him doing anything other than chasing killers.

  “I binge watch reruns of Wheel of Fortune, try and solve the puzzles.”

  “Really?”

  He smiled. “I’ve got a fishing pole and a cooler full of beer. I disappear into the wilderness for a few days. Forget about the world.”

  I brushed the frizzy hair off my forehead. “That sounds more like it.”

  “What about you?”

  I thought about what he’d said and realized I didn’t really have any hobbies. Then I thought about my friends. “Natalie and Mo are usually good for a distraction or two. After a few hours with them, my troubles seem pretty small.”

  His pale eyes held on me for a moment. “And your mother’s letter, the conspiracy…”

  When he didn’t go on, I had a thought that maybe he realized he was opening the door to something I wasn’t ready to talk about. “As I said before, I won’t rest until I know everything and bring those involved to justice.”

  “You ever need any help, you know where to find me.”

  His features had softened and his voice had lowered. I knew that he genuinely cared about me. “I appreciate that, Joe. Thanks for the offer.”

  He tipped up his coffee cup, set it down. “Blue-eyed soul, Kate. We stay strong for one another, protect what’s at the center.” He glanced out the window before looking back at me. “I realized something the other day, something we both have in common.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Now that my brother’s gone…and my parents…” He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “It probably sounds strange, but I’m an orphan in the world, just like you.”

  What he’d said was something I’d also thought about, especially as I’d read my mother’s letters. Losing your parents, no matter what your age, makes you realize that you’re basically alone in the world. It’s something you never think about as a child, but it impacts your soul when it happens.

  I looked at my friend. “All the more reason to stay strong, watch each other’s back.” I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He blinked several times before his gaze drifted off again.

  I finished my coffee and then took a breath before looking back at him. “So, what happens now, Joe?”

  “We wait it out, go back to our lives. There will be another attack. It’s just a matter of time. In the meantime, the agency and Homeland will continue to work the case. It’s got the highest priority.”

  “And Janice Taylor?”

  He shrugged. “Her attorney is still saying she’s got nothing to say. I guess we also wait her out.”

  We paid the bill and left the café. I saw that my driver was at the curb, waiting to take me back home, back to my other life.

  We stopped on the sidewalk and I hugged Dawson. I then looked into his eyes and had a thought that they looked paler than I’d ever seen them. “Be safe, Joe. I’ll see you soon.”

  “You too, Buttercup.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  I picked up Bernie at Robin’s and got h
ome early that afternoon. Since I wasn’t scheduled to be at work until tomorrow, I decided to take a nap. My plans were interrupted when Natalie and Mo saw me arriving and came over, asking about The Swarm.

  “It’s pretty much what you probably saw go down on TV. I heard there was some rioting in downtown Los Angeles.”

  Mo was using a hair pick on a mound of something on her head that resembled pink cotton candy. “You got that right. The whole city was about to come unglued before they made the announcement that crazy website was taken down and that York guy ate it.”

  “They said he got swatted like a bumble bee,” Natalie said. “Ended up a road pancake.”

  I yawned, hoping they would take the hint. “At least he’s not going to cause us any more problems.”

  Mo, never one to take a hint, went on, “They also said it’s a matter of time ‘til the group pulls something else, maybe even bigger. You and Joe gonna be there?”

  “Probably. For now it’s a waiting game.”

  “Me and Mo wanna be involved,” Natalie said. “We can help you put a pasting on the bunch of grot.”

  “It’s a federal matter, so I don’t think that’s going to be possible.” I saw that Mo was studying me with one eye, in that way she has when something’s on her mind. I looked at her. “What’s the matter?”

  “You read your mom’s letter, didn’t you?”

  I nodded. “The second one. How did you know?”

  “Something’s different ’bout you.” She folded her arms and had her head cocked as she still regarded me with her right eye. “You seem more determined.”

  Natalie’s voice pitched higher. “You found out who the div is that’s your father, didn’t you?”

  I shook my head. “I still don’t know who he is, but I did find out that my love-dad was killed to cover-up the murder of Jean Winslow.”

  Mo’s eyes suddenly looked like a pair of giant moons, while Natalie took a step closer to me, both of them talking at the same time and demanding that I tell them what I found out.