Page 61 of On Fire

Chapter Sixteen

Dave Keller

“We have one lead,” Finn says sliding his phone into his pocket. A cop, a high patrol unit from Rockland saw this van on Route 1 heading south, but the camera at 131 and 1 doesn’t have it coming through.”

I do a quick calculation. “So, that’s what, eleven miles of road times two miles of coast, peninsulas on one side and then eight different state routes coming off on the right.”

“It’s a place to start. You coming?” he asks, halfway out of his chair.

I know Finn rarely, if ever, uses an emergency light on top of his car, but I’m not surprised when he pulls it out and slams it on the roof of the Lexus.

Bryce and Mateus have the Colton helicopter and Carlson has one chopper in the sky as well. Colton is taking the ocean side, while Carlson’s team moves inland. By the time Finn makes a right to head north, Carlson’s already checked in.

A van was found in the mountains above Camden, opposite direction of where the cop saw it. Ten minutes later, it turns out it’s owned by a family of four who was completely bewildered when a S.W.A.T team descended on their house.

Carlson’s not fooling around.

“Where would you go to denotate bombs?” Finn’s question pushes through my jumbled thoughts.

“What?”

“I’m telling you, these are not sophisticated pieces of craftsmanship. According to Bryce and Mateus, they are pretty amateur. You’d have to test them, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And where would you go?”

“I’m not a bomb expert.”

“Look, we need something on this guy, we need to find out more about him. Maybe he left something behind. Where could you set off a bomb and no one would notice.”

Without even thinking, I say, “The quarry.”

Finn’s glance darts to my face. “You are a fucking genius,” he says and in a second beat, he swings a massive “U” turn, heading south again on Route 1.

The quarry is what we mid-coasters call the gravel company. Owned by the Abenaki, there’s a blasting range and signs along the two mile stretch of road that says CAUTION, EXPLOSIONS, though nothing is ever set off up by the road anymore.

The building and equipment look like something from a dystopian novel: huge steel structures linked by conveyor belts which are designated by size of the rocks for transport. Giant puffs of steam and smoke flare from three smokestacks. Except for today.

It’s shut down on weekends.

We pull in and it’s clear someone’s been here. The lock on the front gate has been snapped. Finn leaves for a second to investigate and returns.

“It’s been cut.” He radios Bryce and Mateus.

“Aren’t we going in?”

“We have to wait. They’ll be here in three minutes.”

I put a hand on the door, but Finn closes his hand over my arm. He shakes his head. “You aren’t trained for this. We need backup. No one is going in until Bryce and Mateus show up. They are explosives experts.”

Right then, the sound of a chopper cuts the air. Bryce sets the craft down on the other side of fence and Finn pulls the Lexus through. The blades haven’t even stopped spinning before both Bryce and Mateus are on the ground running toward us.

“Constant contact,” Finn yells tapping his earpiece. Mateus adjusts his.

“What are we looking for?” asks Bryce.

“Any evidence of bomb detonation, debris, paraphernalia,” Finn says and hands them small plastic bags.