PART IV ONE WEEK IN OCTOBER Day four, Monday, October 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Monday, October 21

Near Key Largo, Florida


Mike had raced up A1A after receiving the phone call from Jessica. She’d been called out to assist two snorkelers when they’d made a discovery. Fortunately, Mike was in Islamorada, only seventeen miles down the highway. To expedite matters, Jessica met Mike at the Calusa Campground Marina located on the Gulf side of the Overseas Highway.

When he arrived, Jessica stood on the dock, waving to get his attention. She had several MCSD deputies with her and a young couple sitting cross-legged on the dock with colorful beach towels wrapped around their shoulders. The young woman was still crying, and her boyfriend appeared to be shaken as well.

Jessica walked toward Mike to meet him halfway.

“Hey, whatcha got?” he asked. Ordinarily, the two would exchange a kiss on the cheek, but not while on duty.

“Another body. May or may not be related.”

“Out there?” Mike nodded toward Tarpon Basin, a circular body of water surrounded on all sides by land except for a couple of openings to the Gulf.

“Out at Bush Point,” replied Jessica, pointing toward the north and the mainland. “They’d taken their kayaks up Dusenbury Creek to do some snorkeling around the point. They didn’t tie their kayaks off properly, and they’d both floated away, too far for the couple to swim to. Fortunately, the young guy had brought his cell phone secured in a waterproof pouch, so he could call for help.”

“Okaaay,” Mike began, stretching out the word. “How does a dead body fit into all of this?”

Jessica led him by the arm toward the college kids. “I’ll let them explain.”

When they arrived at the end of the dock, the deputies stepped away, and Mike knelt down in front of them. “Hi. I’m Detective Mike Albright. I know you’ve told these other guys about what you found, but would you mind telling me, too?”

The young girl sniffled and nodded her head in agreement. Her boyfriend took the lead.

“Well, we lost our kayaks, so I called for help while we were treading water. She was gettin’ tired, so I looked around the point to find some solid ground or at least a few mangrove branches to hold onto.

“Anyways, we snorkeled around the point, and that’s when this large cluster of lobsters grabbed my attention. It was early this morning, and I’ve been around long enough to know that lobsters are more active at night, so I thought it was weird.

“We floated there for a minute, watching them gnaw away at something until I noticed something metallic flash up ahead. I kicked my fins a little and moved toward it. It looked like a broken piece of dead coral stuck out of another cluster of lobsters. Only, the reflection of the light striking something shiny made me wanna take a closer look.

“I reached down to grab the coral branch off the bottom. When I pulled it up, the hand came with it. Then an arm floated by me with a watch around it. I started to panic. I broke the surface and gasped for air, and that’s when she started screaming. The hand floated toward her, and she twisted her body in the water, kicking her fins really fast to get away. I guess the turbulence stirred up the bottom enough until more body parts were dislodged.

“Another arm. A foot. An ear. We freaked out and swam away as fast as we could until she rescued us.” He pointed at Jessica.

The girl began to cry again, and the young man welled up in tears. Mike decided to give them a break, so he stood to speak with Jessica.

“Did you call it in, too?”

“Yeah. They’re sending forensics. Also, we have another one of our units out at the scene to preserve it and, um, gather up evidence.”

“Great. I wanna go out there. First, did you happen to bag what these two found.”

“I did,” she replied with a smile. “Just like the boss taught me.”

Mike chuckled as he followed Jessica to her boat. She jumped over the side and opened up a large ice cooler underneath the rear seat. On one side were several water bottles. On the other were several body parts secured in Ziploc baggies, identified by location and time. A bluish-white stretch of arm, or at least what remained after the crustaceans had fed off it, was lying on top of the ice. It had been drained of blood.

He joined her side and studied the hand, foot and ear. “There is some decomposition here. If this is related to our serial killer, it happened sooner. Forensics will tell us that. Also, look at the arm. How it was severed. Do you see here? On the side just above the elbow? It’s not a clean cut. This arm was brutally hacked off.”

“With what?”

“An axe maybe? Hell, there is a whole field of science on the various cutting tools to dismember a body. All I know is the wounds are different from the two victims we’ve already examined.”

Jessica asked, “If this person was murdered before the other two, as the decomposition suggests, it could be unrelated.”

“Or the killer is getting better at what he does,” said Mike, his voice trailing off. Mike stood and shielded his eyes from the sun to look out across Tarpon Basin.

“You wanna take a look?” she asked.

“Yeah. Wait. The kid said something about a watch.”

Jessica turned around and pointed toward an open compartment in the boat’s center console. “I didn’t put it in the cooler. Nice watch, see?” She handed him another Ziploc.

Mike held it up. “Well, we can either rule out robbery, or the killer didn’t know what he had.”

“Whadya mean?” she asked.

“This Omega is expensive as dive watches go. It’s not a Rolex Submariner, but a Seamaster like this one sells new for about four grand.”

“Can you use this to ID the victim?”

“Maybe,” Mike muttered before retrieving his cell phone. He placed a call into the conference room where the other detectives were following up on leads related to the two existing homicides. “Hey, on this new Key Largo case. I need someone to run down our list of missing persons. Contact the families and see if any of the missing persons own an Omega Seamaster Diver 300 wristwatch. Also, check Miami-Dade missing persons.”

Mike might have just taken on another case, but he might have caught a break as well.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Monday, October 21

Driftwood Key


It was another beautiful day in the Florida Keys. As the operator of a resort hotel, Monday wasn’t especially different from any other day. Guests came and went seven days a week. Meals were prepared. Drinks were served. Entertainment was offered. Daily maintenance functions were undertaken.

Fantasy Fest was underway in Key West, and thousands of people were jamming A1A as they descended upon the southernmost point of the Continental U.S. The Driftwood Key Inn was full, as always, with another couple of bungalows turning over that morning.

Two elderly couples had arrived early, and while their room was being prepared, Hank took them on a short tour of the beach amenities. He offered to walk them down the dock, and then he’d return to the main house to meet with Sonny and Phoebe to place their wholesale orders and discuss their work projects for the week.

“I believe this is your first visit to Driftwood Key,” said Hank casually as the group strolled along the dock toward where Hank’s fishing boat would normally be tied off. Jimmy had taken a family fishing early that morning for half a day. “Is it your first time in the Keys?”

One couple came regularly, and the other had never been to Florida. They were residents of Colorado. As if on cue, just as they arrived at the thatched covering, Bob Marley’s music began to softly play through the speakers that dotted the beachfront. It set the tone for the group to observe the turquoise waters swarming with fish that day.

“Would you mind telling us about the Conch Republic?” asked the man from Colorado politely, pointing at the flag gently flapping in the breeze.

Hank smiled and nodded. This question was often asked while he interacted with guests. He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his Conch Republic passport. The novelty item, issued by the official Conch Republic office in Key West, was bent and cracked from decades of spending time in Hank’s pockets. He studied its crest, a combination of the Conch Republic flag, a dolphin jumping out of the water, and a sailing ship on the ocean. He ran his fingers across the official motto and read it aloud to his guests.

“We seceded where others failed.”

He handed the passport to the man from Colorado, who opened it and began to flip through its pages. It looked as official as any passport from any nation he’d visited.

As they admired it, Hank explained. “Here’s what happened. Many folks down this way believed the United States declared war on the Florida Keys. In April of ’82, as part of its anti-drug programs, the U.S. Border Patrol set up a roadblock and customs checkpoint just before A1A crossed over to the Florida mainland, which, as you probably know, is the only way in or out of the Florida Keys.

“It was the first time the U.S. government had set up an armed checkpoint that was within the territory of the U.S. itself and not actually at any internationally recognized border. Customs agents began checking IDs and systematically searching every vehicle leaving the Keys, looking for drugs. Within hours, the stopped cars had produced a traffic jam nineteen miles long, forcing travelers to wait for hours before being allowed to continue on.

“Over the next few days, as word spread across the country about the massive delays, tourists began cancelling their Key West vacations. Delivery trucks from the mainland stopped going to the Keys. The businesses, like ours, that were so dependent on outside tourists and supplies, were completely paralyzed.

“It so happened that Skeeter Davis, the owner of the Last Chance Saloon right in front of where the border patrol had set up the roadblock, was a friend of Key West mayor Dennis Wardlow. After a day, he was on the phone to the mayor, asking if he could do anything about the situation. The Key West City Council met and decided to have their lawyers seek a federal court injunction to force the border patrol to lift the roadblock.

“To avoid the traffic, Mayor Wardlow and a few other officials flew to Miami to make their case. On April 22, the court ruled against them and refused to issue an injunction. As they were leaving the courthouse, reporters asked him what the city would do next, and Mayor Wardlow announced to the reporters, ‘We’re gonna go home and secede. Tomorrow at noon, the Florida Keys will secede from the Union!’”

The group laughed as Hank relayed the mayor’s words with an excited voice as if he’d uttered them himself. He’d told the story hundreds of times before, so he continued with the unwritten script that he’d recited from memory and practice.

“Well, the story flew around the country, and when the Key West city government gathered at Clinton Square, in front of the old customs building, at noon on April 23 to formally announce their secession, they were surrounded by reporters from across the US. They were also surrounded by federal agents wearing earphones and blue suits, who stood out amongst the locals, who were wearing tee shirts and flip-flops.

“The mayor stood on the back of a flatbed truck and announced that since the U.S. government had decided to treat the Keys as a foreign country and had already established the border to be at the Last Chance Saloon, Key West might as well be a foreign country.

“He declared himself to be the prime minister before presenting the Conch flag just like the one above us. He even had a pledge of allegiance.”

“Do you know it?” asked one of the guests.

Hank smiled and placed his right hand over his heart. “Of course, I’m a Conch.” The group chuckled as he turned reverently to face the flag and recited the pledge.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of my tiny island nation. And to the Republic for which it stands. One nation, under the sun, indivisible, where the liberty is true and the justice is divine. Long live the Conch Republic!”

Hank thrust his fist into the air as the group of four guests cheered him on. Everyone exchanged high fives, and Hank imagined they’d be racing down the highway shortly to join the movement.

Hank left out the part of how the newly anointed prime minister then formally declared war on the United States of America, and for one full minute, the citizens of the new Conch Republic attacked the US Navy and Coast Guard officials who were present by pelting them with stale Cuban bread. It was all in good fun, of course, but would generate a far different reaction if it had occurred today.

While the guests got a good laugh, Hank felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was a text message notification from Peter.

Peter: Call me. 911.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Monday, October 21

Washington, DC


The U.S. Department of State was headquartered in the Harry S. Truman Building in an area of Washington, DC, known as Foggy Bottom. It was one of the oldest neighborhoods in the District located just west of the White House. In the nineteenth century, Foggy Bottom received its name because it was in a low-lying marshy area near the Potomac River. Fog, and later industrial smog, would settle there, lending the appearance of a perpetually cloud-covered part of the city.

The State Department had been labeled with the metonym Foggy Bottom when the Truman Building was constructed in the late 1940s. Peter’s friends would often ask him, “How are things over at Foggy Bottom?” Today, the answer was not so swell.

He paced the grassy lawn across C Street from the Truman Building. The National Academy of Sciences was closed for refurbishment, so pedestrian traffic was light. It was the only place he could think of without prying ears.

“Come on, Dad,” he muttered as he checked his phone’s display for the fifth or sixth time. Finally, the phone rang, and Peter picked up the call before the first ring finished.

“Son, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Dad. I’m fine. Listen, I need to tell you something. Nobody outside Foggy, um, the State Department is aware of this yet. Definitely not the media, okay?”

“Sure. I understand. What’s up?”

“My friend at Defense tells me Pakistan is on a war footing with India. Here’s the thing. The Kashmir region—the disputed borderlands between India, China, and Pakistan—has always been a flashpoint for a war. Overnight, there were tit-for-tat airstrikes across the cease-fire line established by the UN last year. These two have been fighting over the Himalayas for nearly forty years.”

“Son, that sucks, but how does that affect the U.S., or me for that matter?”

“An hour ago, India sent military jets into Pakistan and bombed its nuclear facility at Chashma. Dad, this is two hundred miles into the center of Pakistan from the Indian border. Islamabad is freakin’ pissed!”

“What does that mean, exactly?” asked Hank.

“NSA recon birds indicate Pakistan is repositioning their nuclear-capable, road-mobile ballistic missiles. It could be a bluff, or they could be preparing to retaliate.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Hank said, “Bottom line it for me, son.”

“Dad, the president is already on the hot seat for not coming to Israel’s aid after Iran shot first. If Pakistan does the same, and he chooses to stay out of it, this will make us look weak to Russia, China, and the North Koreans. We’ll be vulnerable to attack.”

Hank still appeared uncertain of how that impacted the U.S. or Florida. “Are you suggesting we need to be searching for a bunker?”

“No. Well, maybe. I am saying you need to know where one is. At the worst case, if war breaks out over there and we’re not drawn into it, supply lines and commerce will be disrupted worldwide. It will have a huge impact on everything, including food and gas prices, as well as availability.”

“Okay, son. Listen, I trust you. This is actually the second conversation I’ve had about this in as many days. Let me relay what you’ve said to Mike, and do you have a moment to call your sister?”

“I’m on it, Dad. Listen, you know I don’t like to interrupt you with phone calls. I’ll text if I have solid news, okay?”

“Love ya, Pete,” said Hank.

“I love you, too, Dad.”

The two men disconnected the call. Peter wandered around the lawn and thought of how he might approach his sister. She was not an alarmist and probably had a more level head than he did. He’d just lay out what he knew. It would be up to her and Owen to decide what was best for them and Tucker.

He dialed Lacey’s number and got voicemail. His chin dropped to his chest. He fired off the same text he’d sent his dad, hoping for a quick reply. After several minutes, she hadn’t, and he’d just received a text to report to the Office of Press Operations at the State Department. With a worried look on his face, he ran across C Street, dodging taxis and travelers going about their day, oblivious to the events in South Asia.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Monday, October 21

Driftwood Key


Hank hailed Sonny on the island’s two-way radio system. He told him to find Jimmy, who’d returned from the fishing trip and was on a lunch break. He wanted them to meet at the main house before he sat down alone with Phoebe to place their food and liquor orders.

While he waited for his top employees to arrive, he sat in his office and took a moment to log in to his portal on the First State Bank website. They’d been the Albright family’s bank since 1955 when they first opened an office in Key West. He navigated between the primary business checking account and his personal account.

Hank was a saver, and he’d managed the business well. Although Mike had no part of running the inn, he was an owner by virtue of inheritance. Hank made sure Mike was kept abreast of the inn’s financial affairs. Hank received a fair salary, and Mike received an annual stipend. The two brothers used to joke that Mike’s share was protection money because of his law enforcement career.

He logged out of his accounts and checked his watch. It was almost three. He could hit the branch in Islamorada before it closed at four, or for sure make his way to the drive-thru by five that afternoon. What he planned on doing couldn’t be handled by an ATM machine after hours.

Hank glanced out his office windows in the direction of the beach. He wished Erin hadn’t left with her sisters for Key West like so many others that day. They were interested in seeing what Fantasy Fest had to offer without getting caught up in the madness brought by the larger crowds as the weekend approached. Without giving away Peter’s inside information, he felt the need to talk with her about what he’d learned.

A light tapping at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Mr. Hank, can we come in?”

The door was ajar and then opened slightly. The three faces of the Free family poked through the opening from shortest, Phoebe, to tallest, Jimmy. Hank managed a smile despite his serious mood. He loved them all as if they had Albright blood running through their veins.

“Come in, guys.”

Phoebe led the way with her oversized ledger pulled tight against her chest. She’d used the same Wilson Jones ring ledger system for years. Every January, she’d set it up for the year and filed the previous year on a shelf in the outdoor storage building where cleaning supplies and other housekeeping related items were kept. Nobody entered that storage building without Phoebe unlocking it. She ran a very tight ship.

She took a seat in an armchair in front of Hank’s desk while Sonny and Jimmy sat on the rattan sofa across the spacious room. All three of them had a look of concern on their faces, as it was unusual for Hank to have a meeting such as this.

“Mr. Hank,” began Phoebe tentatively, “I hope there’s no bad news.”

“No, Phoebe. Not yet, anyway. That said, we need to do a few things. Unusual for our normal routine, but nothing that will go to waste. Let me get Sonny and Jimmy started first because they have some errands to run.”

“Okay, Mr. Hank,” said Sonny, who sat up on the edge of the sofa.

Hank spun around and pulled out two small notepads bearing the Driftwood Key Inn logo on them. They were complimentary in each guest room. He tossed them to Sonny and Jimmy along with a logo’d pen.

“This is gonna seem out of the ordinary because, well, it is. At the same time, I’ll feel better when we’re done.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jimmy.

Hank stood and paced the floor, mindlessly glancing out the windows of the corner office space as he gave instructions. He tried to process everything logically, thinking of the operations of the inn during any given day and week.

“Jimmy, you first. I need you to take every vehicle on the island. I mean trucks, personal cars, and even the golf carts. Top them all off with fuel. While you’re at it, find every available gas can and fill them up as well. Diesel, too. I want you to use a different station with each fill-up. Also, while you’re there, buy more gas and diesel cans. Fill them up, too.”

“Mr. Hank, is a hurricane coming that we didn’t know about?” asked Jimmy as he exchanged glances with his parents.

“No, not exactly. However, we’re gonna get prepared in the same way and then some.”

“Okay, how many gas cans do you want me to buy?”

“All of them,” replied Hank without emotion. Noticing the questioning looks on their faces, he added, “Just go with me on this. We need to stock up. The worst case is we’ll use it over time and this afternoon was unnecessary.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Anything else?”

“No. You’re good to go,” he replied as he looked from Jimmy to Sonny. “I’ve increased the spending limit on your debit card, so you shouldn’t have a problem.”

Jimmy rose and started out the door. “I’ll see ya later.”

Hank raised his voice slightly. “Oh, Jimmy, also buy several cases of bottled water at each stop. Again, no discussion or explanation is owed to anyone. That’s why I want you to use different stations throughout Marathon, okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Hank.”

He turned to Sonny. “I need you to contact the propane company and our gas suppliers. Fill up all the storage tanks we have on the property. Then take the boat to the marina and fill it up, too. When you get back, come find me. I’ll have a list for the Home Depot in Marathon.”

Sonny left with his marching orders, leaving Hank alone with Phoebe. Hank knew he wouldn’t be able to brush off her questions as easily as he had the others’.

She calmly set the food and supply ledger on his desk, followed by her glasses. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. Then she gave him the look. It was the look all women learned from their mothers and grandmothers. The one that shouted no bullshit, mister, without saying a single word. Hank had experienced it his entire life.

He stood and closed the door, which Sonny had left open. “Okay, it’s just you and me,” said Hank as he eased back into his chair, locking eyes with Phoebe.

She forced a smile and nodded. “That it is.”

Her tone was threatening, in a motherly sort of way. In seconds, she had Hank spilling the tea without asking a single question. He held back the direst of warnings garnered from his conversations with Peter and Erin from the day before. He revealed enough to Phoebe to provide her a sense of urgency and to not question his intentions. After he was done, she summed up the preparations succinctly.

“It’s like preparing for a hurricane, except on steroids.”

“That’s a pretty good way of putting it,” he said.

“I can place the order on Sysco’s website. Some of the things, like cleaning supplies and personal hygiene, I’ll order from Southeast Wholesale.” Phoebe thought for a moment as she made notes in her ledger. She looked up over her glasses and asked, “For how long?”

Hank gulped as he thought to himself, I don’t know. How long do you wanna live? However, he resisted the urge to share his inner drama.

“A few months for nonperishables. A year, odd as that sounds, for basic supplies.”

“Like?” she asked.

“Think of your everyday activities. Not just as Phoebe the chef but as Phoebe who just rolled out of bed. Consider what you do first, second, third, etcetera. Same is true for every waking moment until you go to sleep. Whatever products you use, stockpile a lot of it. Make sure you buy for both men and women, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand. We’re gonna need more storage space.”

Hank closed his eyes and nodded. “If you order this afternoon, when will the trucks deliver to us?”

“Tomorrow, first thing. As long as it’s in by seven this evening, it’ll be dropped off early in the morning.”

“Good. We’ll find the space to store it.”

She continued to ask for direction. “What about perishables? Produce, dairy, stuff like that.”

“Order as much as your walk-in coolers can handle. We can keep them running with our generators until the food is gone.”

“Why would we need generators?”

“For when the power goes out.”

Phoebe sat back in her chair and removed her glasses. She stared at Hank for a long, uncomfortable moment. She finally spoke. “When? Or if?”

Hank exhaled. “We need to prepare for the worst, Phoebe. If nothing happens, then we have a lot of extra food and supplies to use up before we buy any more. Here’s the way I look at what we’re doing today. It’s kinda like buying insurance. I invest in peace of mind with every payment to Chubb. I hope nothing happens, but if it does, I have a plan. Same is true with what we’re doing right now. We are ensuring our ability to deal with the worst-case scenario.”

Phoebe glanced at her watch. “All right, Mr. Hank. I’d better get started so I can place the orders before I prepare dinner for our new arrivals. Will you be joining them tonight?”

Hank grimaced. He was far too preoccupied to socialize; plus he wanted to corner Erin when she returned from Key West.

“Will you pass along my apologies and tell them I’ll make it up to them this week?”

Phoebe nodded, and then a scowl came over her face. “Mr. Hank, our families have been through a lot. I don’t doubt the Albrights and Frees could face any challenge. But we’ve got eighteen bungalows filled with strangers from all over. What about them?”

Hank’s face turned ashen. He hadn’t thought about all the people on Driftwood Key that he bore responsibility for. Not to mention those who might be en route to fill their places on checkout. He grimaced as he realized he’d have to get rid of them and cancel incoming reservations. But when? And what if he was wrong?

“I don’t know. Let me think on it. Now, I’ve got to go to the bank and make a couple of other stops.”

Phoebe waved her hand and left his office. Hank gathered his wallet, car keys and a notepad. He made his way into the master bedroom suite that had been occupied by his parents and their parents before them. He walked to a solid wood door, the only one that wasn’t louvered in the main house. The key to the lock was kept in his bottom dresser drawer. Hank bent over to retrieve it and then tentatively unlocked it.

As the door swung open, he muttered, “I never thought I’d need to get in here.”

Inside the walk-in closet stood a gray Liberty gun safe with Lady Liberty emblazoned across the front. The safe had been there for many years, still requiring the user to turn a numbered dial to get inside. In the closet, on both sides of the safe, were shelves of ammunition stacked neatly by brand and caliber.

Most of the ammunition was seven years old. Mike, who was an expert marksman and personally managed the Albrights’ cache of weapons, made sure the oldest ammunition was used first when he and Jessica went to the range. Hank had never taken an interest in guns, and other than training with Mike years ago, he never practiced. He didn’t think it would be necessary. He was wrong.

He started making notes. Tonight, he would consult with Mike, who was really wrapped up in his murder investigation, especially since they’d discovered the third body. Hank would have to make multiple trips to Bass Pro Shops as well as local bait and tackle shops to stock up.

He began his list until he noticed the time. It was 4:30. He needed to get to the bank before it closed. He planned on making a cash withdrawal that would probably make the local branch manager wonder if he was making a drug deal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Monday, October 21

McDowell Residence

Hayward, California


Lacey had been at her store, Jefferson Outfitters, working with one of her best customers when Peter called. She didn’t see the text message until after lunch, when she frantically began calling him to see what was wrong. After they had a conversation along the same lines as he’d had earlier with their father, Lacey told her employees to close up for her. She decided to pick Tucker up from school so he’d be with her. Just in case.

Her son was very level-headed and mature for his age. Fortunately, his interests were similar to his parents’. Enjoying the outdoors. He wasn’t into music or the party scene teenagers found themselves exposed to in the Bay Area. Tucker would rather go hiking, camping or snowboarding than attend a concert or hang out with other kids his age.

“Mom, you know Uncle Peter and I are tight. He never goes highkey, you know what I mean?”

No, not really, but she caught his drift. Lacey’s thought caused her to smile. Highkey was Tucker’s era. Catching his drift was hers.

“Dramatic?” she asked.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s a reporter, and I know it’s his job to hype things up. He’s never done that with us.”

Lacey nodded. Her younger brother wouldn’t ring these alarm bells with their family if he wasn’t genuinely concerned, and certain, that something was coming that could possibly affect them.

“The question is, what do we do about it?” she asked.

“Have you called Dad?”

“I spoke to him briefly. He said he wanted to look into something, you know, on a hunch.”

Tucker laughed. “Dad’s big on his hunches.”

The phone rang. It was Owen. “His ears must’ve been burning.” Lacey connected the call through the SUV’s sound system. “Hey, honey.”

“Hi, Dad.”

“Tucker? Aren’t you supposed—?”

Lacey cut him off to explain. “I decided to pick him up. I thought it would be a good idea for us to sort this out together.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” said Owen. “Listen to this. I reached out to our department that analyzes internet searches around the world. A lot of people don’t realize this, but search engines like Yahoo! have a literal pulse on the mindset of a country or locale based upon their trending searches. It’s mind-boggling what information we have access to that can be cross-referenced through search activity.

“Anyway, when you relayed Peter’s concerns, I thought I’d check with our people and have them look into Yahoo metrics for Pakistan and India. While they did, I called my buddy at Google. Face it. Google dominates outside the U.S., with like ninety-eight percent of the market share.

“Well, anyway, I heard back from both resources just now. Search terms related to the term nuclear are off the charts in both countries. And get this, on Google, one of the top five trending searches today is nuclear fallout shelter near me.”

“Wow!” said Tucker excitedly. “Uncle Peter’s right. We need to get ready.”

Lacey furrowed her brow as she turned into their neighborhood. “What do you think, Owen?”

“Well, most of the time these search results are based on media-driven hype. The airstrikes by India in Pakistan are the top news story in most countries on that side of the world. Here, there’s hardly a mention.”

Lacey pulled the truck into the driveway and opened the garage door. As she waited for it to open completely, she suddenly put the car in park. Tucker looked over at her with a puzzled look on his face. She held up one finger, indicating he needed to wait a moment.

She took a deep breath and studied herself in the mirror. Her eyes moved from side to side as if to surveil her surroundings, but in actuality, she was making sure everything around her was real and not a dream.

“Honey, are you still there?” Owen asked.

“Yes. I hate to ask this question because I’ve never wanted you to feel pressure to leave the office. Um, but what time will you be home tonight?”

Owen replied in all seriousness, “As soon as I can shut down my computer and walk out the door, I’ll be on my way.”

She glanced at the time. It normally took Owen an hour or a little longer to travel from Sunnyvale out to their house in the hills overlooking Hayward.

“Tucker and I are gonna run to Safeway. We should be back about the same time you get here.”

“Are you gonna pick up dinner?” asked Owen.

Lacey reached up to close the garage door again. “Something like that. Love you!” She disconnected the call and backed out of the driveway.

“Mom, what’s the plan?”

Lacey set her jaw. “We’ve got some shopping to do, son.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Monday, October 21

Oval Office

The White House


It had been a long day, and President Helton was exhausted. He’d just been briefed on the airstrikes at the Pakistani nuclear facility. He was beginning to be concerned the American military presence in the region was being stretched too thin. They simply didn’t have sufficient assets deployed to fight a conflict in the Middle East and defend their Indian allies in South Asia. Tensions needed to be tamped down, and he tasked his most loyal cabinet member, the secretary of state, to handle it.

He had a scheduled meeting with the Iranian ambassador in thirty minutes. It was a rare face-to-face opportunity for the man who was capable of spewing more lies than any propagandist the president had ever met. However, because Iran stubbornly continued to block the Strait of Hormuz with no apparent achievable goal, President Helton wanted to deliver a personal ultimatum. Get out of the way, or we’re going to sink every ship in your fleet.

The Pentagon was prepared to back up the threat, and military assets were being positioned to carry out his orders. But then the government in New Delhi gummed up the works. Their preemptive attack on Pakistan wasn’t a bad idea; it was the timing that caused problems for American interests. Now, with the intelligence confirmed that Pakistan was maneuvering its nuclear warheads into position via mobile launchpads, the region was a powder keg with a short fuse.

He’d asked his advisors how bad it could get. They equivocated in their response. China was the wild card in the region. The Kashmir region, the source of the ongoing military hostilities in addition to the cultural ones, was in the Himalayas at China’s border. A ground invasion would almost certainly draw their attention and likely lead to a declaration of war by Beijing. The land was beautiful, and it had certain religious ties to the Pakistanis, but President Helton couldn’t fathom why it was worth fighting a war over. Especially a nuclear war.

To their credit, both India and China had maintained a no first use doctrine in which India promised to use its nuclear weapons only in response to Pakistan’s first strike. Pakistan had refused to issue any clear doctrine to that effect.

For years, U.S. presidents have grappled with the possibility a false-flag terrorist attack might generate a nuclear response. Through some mishap or error, the nuclear missiles could fly. An escalation in Kashmir could be another cause. Certainly, the air strikes were a very bold provocation, one that angered most world leaders.

President Helton planned on taking the lead in deescalating the conflict. He was going to ask for restraint and demand both countries come to the negotiating table to work toward a long-term fix. He would impress upon them that the last thing either government, or the world for that matter, needed was more mushroom clouds.

With this on his mind, he turned his attention to the Iranian ambassador, who was about to get a promise of his own. Get out of the Strait of Hormuz or prepare to deal with the full brunt of America’s military might.

Tomorrow, he’d deal with Pakistan and India.

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