Page 47 of Cross Down
Cars are strewn around as if they were toys grabbed and tossed by some angry child. The most heavily damaged vehicle appears to be a Honda. It’s a charred mess, its roof peeled off.
Three yellow blankets are inside, one over the driver’s seat, two in the rear.
Okay. At least eight dead, then.
A young man in a dark suit wearing his FBI shield around his neck comes over and says, “Agent Burt Nansen.”
Ned identifies himself and says, “What do we have here?”
“Apparent car bomb,” Nansen says, notebook and pen in his smooth hands. “Parked in an illegal spot over there. Most of the damage was to storefronts and pedestrians. This Honda over here”—he points to it with his pen—“took the brunt of the explosion. There were three people in there, an Uber driver and two passengers.”
Firefighters carrying tools and a large yellow sheet approach the charred Honda.
Agent Nansen says, “Found the ID of one of the two victims in the rear of the Honda. The woman was a student at a place called George Washington. Is that near here?”
Mahoney stares at the young agent in disbelief. “You don’t know where George Washington University is?”
“Sorry, sir, I’m from the Augusta, Maine, field office,” he says. “I was temporarily transferred to DC to help shore up the staffing. My apologies.”
Mahoney shakes his head. “None needed. Sorry.”
“Yes, sir,” the young agent says, and he spends the next few minutes telling Mahoney the familiar story of how the investigation will proceed: interviewing witnesses, tracking down any surveillance-camera footage along L Street and New Hampshire Avenue, and looking into the origin of the car that held the bomb. Was it stolen? Purchased? Borrowed from some innocent?
All of which will probably turn up nothing of use. It hasn’t for the previous car bombings in the District.
Mahoney hands his business card to the young agent as a dark blue stretch van bearing the insignia of the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner and the flag of the District arrives. Men and women, their dark blue windbreakers markedATFin large yellow letters, are examining the bombed vehicle. “It looks like you’ve got a good handle on the scene, Agent Nansen. Call me if anything of interest comes up.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, and Mahoney looks over at the destroyed Honda with the three victims. Two DC firefighters have unfolded the large yellow sheet, blocking bystanders’ view of the delicate yet ugly work happening on the other side: removing burned bodies that have partially fused with the burned upholstery of the car.
Mahoney breathes deeply through his mouth, walks a few steps, takes out his phone, and hits a number on speed-dial.
It rings twice and then John Sampson’s recorded voice says, “You know the drill.”
After a sharp beep, Mahoney says, “John, you okay? Give me a ring ASAP. Things here are…they’re getting worse. Hope you and your army buddy have found something out. We…” He pauses, then says, “We have nothing. Not a damn thing. We’re depending on you, John.”
Mahoney ends the call and walks away from the scene. Now he’ll head to the trauma ICU at GWU Hospital to see how Alex is doing.
But his thoughts go back to John.
This is the third time he’s tried to call him.
Why isn’t he answering? Where is he?
Chapter
58
I wait untilI can’t wait anymore, then I wait a little longer.
The yard is quiet.
Even the smell of gunpowder has dissipated.
Time to move.
I slosh my way out from underneath the boat dock, Glock pistol in my shivering hands. I move as quickly and quietly as I can back into the cottage, strip off my wet clothes, rub myself down with the thick towels in the bathroom, and dress in dry clothes. The inside of the cottage is a mess; it looks like the aftermath of a battle in downtown Baghdad. I don’t envy the police detectives who will have to figure out what happened here. I grab my gear bag and leave.
On the dirt road, I quickly walk to my parked Cherokee. Part of me wants to go back to Mel’s body and maybe say some words or prayers over him, but the practical side of me is telling me to get the hell out of here before neighbors or cops arrive.
