Double Doublecross (27 page)

She nodded and said it was okay. Phil Speed walked over to the booth and sat down, placing the small bag between himself and the wall. He glanced down the menu and ordered a filet mignon, fries and a glass of Merlot.

As the waiter disappeared, he reached down under the seat searching for the empty cigarette packet he had taped to the underside of the seat a few days ago. His extended fingers groped frantically for the target. Then he felt it. It was still there. He felt a tingle of elation. It had not been detected. Now he could substitute the small explosive device for the empty cigarette packet. It was obvious nobody looked under the seat when cleaning the place out at night.

Ripping the old package off the seat, he opened the small bag, and was about to place it under the seat, when the
waiter suddenly appeared out of nowhere with his Merlot and dinner.

“Having a problem, sir?” a voice said. “Can I be of assistance?”

Feeling surprised and shaken, Phil Speed looked up from his crouched position.

“Everything's fine. I just had surgery on my ankle and it was giving me a bit of trouble. It'll be okay in a minute.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he watched the waiter disappear and feverishly fixed the package to the underside of the seat. He sat back and began to eat his meal. He had set the time for detonation at precisely ten o'clock that evening, figuring the three places would be clear of personnel by that time. If he guessed wrong, then it was just too bad. The real purpose was to give Rick Jacobs a warning jolt, hoping he would see the light and hand over the money. Only time would tell.

Pat James wandered around the house as if searching for something.

“What
are
you doing?” said Jake James.

“I'm looking for my bifocals. I thought I'd read a magazine for a change instead of staring at the TV. They must be here somewhere.”

“Okay, I'll help,” said Jake.

For thirty minutes they thoroughly searched the house but to no avail. The spectacles were nowhere to be found. Finally, they stopped the search.

“I must have left them at the office. I'll just go round there and take a look. It'll only take me five minutes. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Can't it wait until morning? It's nearly a quarter to ten.”

“No! I have to know now. Don't wait up for me. See you
in a minute,” she said reaching for her coat.

Arriving at the office, she noticed the plaza was practically empty except for a few cars outside the fast food place on the corner. Unlocking the office door, she made a beeline straight for her desk. There they were, lying next to the current files she was looking at before locking up.

She picked them up and put them in her parka pocket. ‘Better put these files away,' she thought. Next to the files were the disks containing all of the current sales and new listings. Picking them up, she made her way to the safe at the rear of the office.

She felt, rather than heard, the first explosion. Shards of glass filled the air like transparent mini-missiles. Instantly she ducked behind a desk trying to figure out what had happened, and what she should do next. The office was filled with smoke, and the wall between the office and restaurant was practically wiped out. Flames were engulfing the restaurant and were rapidly spreading to the office.

She picked up the files and disks then started to run for the door. The next explosion knocked her off her feet, and she felt herself being propelled sideways towards the flames coming from the now practically destroyed restaurant. She felt the heat from the flames on her hands and face. Her forehead was gashed by a piece of flying glass. Getting to her feet and clinging to the files and disks, she staggered out of the door into the cool night air, and collapsed into the arms of a person who had been eating in the restaurant.

“Okay, lady, I've got you. Let's get away from here. The cooking fat in the kitchen is fueling the flames, and there's the possibility there are some hazardous chemicals in the cleaners that could ignite.”

He held her as they hurried a safe distance away from
the enflamed businesses. She looked back in horror at the inferno, the blood trickling down her face from the cut. Her hands and face felt as if they were on fire, and her body ached from the force of the explosion.

“Here, press this hard on the cut,” an unknown voice said, placing something on her forehead.

“Sit on the hood of this car,” another unfamiliar voice said.

“Is anybody in there?” yet another voice said.

“I don't think so,” she managed to utter in a faint voice.

In the distance she could hear the wail of sirens getting closer by the second. Within minutes paramedics seemed to be all around her. A pad was plastered to her wounded head. She felt herself being lifted onto a stretcher or gurney and being slid into an ambulance.

“Lie still. Everything's going to be alright,” a comforting voice said softly in her ear.

“There's nothing wrong with me,” Pat said in a docile like voice.

“Now just keep still. We're taking you in for a checkup and some treatment for your burns,” the same voice said.

“What burns?” she said in a terrified voice.

“Don't worry, they're only minor but they need attention.”

“My husband! My husband! Will you call my husband?”

She gave him the number and he called, Jake telling him where she would be taken for treatment.

Jake arrived in a panic. Nothing had ever happened like this before. He was shocked, shaken and his knees had turned to jelly. The desk receptionist directed him to the outpatient area where she was being treated for minor burns and abrasions.

She lay on a stretcher with a patch over her right eye and a gel on parts of her face and hands. He ran over to her and
sat by her side, unable to touch her hands or face.

“What happened? Do you have any pain? How are you feeling?” he said in a doleful voice.

“One question at a time. First, I don't have much pain. Just a few minor burns and a small cut on the forehead. The doctor said there wouldn't be any scars. They want to keep me here until morning as a precaution. It appears I have a slight concussion. There's nothing to worry about.”

“What exactly happened? You've got cuts, bruises and burns, it must have been really frightening,” said Jake.

“I don't know exactly. I went into the office and found my glasses on the desk. I decided to put some of the files and disks away—when the whole place seemed to erupt. Looking back, I think there were two explosions, but I'm not too sure about that. Jake, I think you'd better call Rick and Stan. Tell them what happened and tell them I'm okay.”

A doctor appeared out of nowhere and touched Jake's arm.

“I think she should get some rest now, sir. She's been through quite a nasty experience. Come back tomorrow morning. She should be fine by then and ready to go home.”

Another figure stood behind the doctor.

“Excuse me, doctor. I'm a police officer and I'd like a word with the patient,” a firm voice said.

“She needs rest,” the doctor started to say.

“It's okay, doctor. I'll tell the officer what happened. I'm not dead yet, you know,” Pat James said with a grin.

Pat retold the whole story to the officer, describing it in as much detail as she could remember.

Finally the officer stood up and was about to turn away, but he turned back and said. “So you thought you heard
two
explosions. That ties in with the information we had from a
witness. One last question, do you have any enemies?”

“None that I know of.”

“Did you notice any suspicious characters hanging around that night or any other time?”

“No, it was late. Nobody was around.”

“Thank you for your time. Hope you feel better tomorrow,” he said as he left the room.

Jake followed the officer out of the room and went to the reception desk to inquire if he could use a telephone for a few minutes. Rick answered the phone. He had already been contacted by the local police and was just leaving the house for the scene, but the news about Pat James was a shock to him. Jake assured him she was doing fine, and she would be ready to go home the following day.

Rick arrived at the strip mall only to see flashing lights from fire trucks, several police cars and paramedic vehicles all at the center stage of the chaos. Smoke and flames were belching out from the buildings, firemen's hoses created a rough tic-tac-toe pattern across the pavement. Water was everywhere, cascading into the road, working as if in competition with the rain to add more dampness to the turmoil.

Rick forced his way to the front of the now growing group of onlookers, reporters and photographers. Firemen and police were keeping the crowd back from the danger area. He wondered where all these people came from at this time of night.

A burly uniformed figure grabbed him as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

“Keep back. Give the firefighters a chance,” he said in a gruff frustrated voice.

“That's my store going up in smoke. I want to talk to
someone in charge,” Rick cried, shouting above the cacophony of noise.

“Right this way. Go to the man wearing the white helmet.”

Making his way towards the bobbing white helmet, he caught a glimpse of Stan Turner and the owners of the other bombed stores talking to the man in the white helmet.

Rick seized Stan Turner's arm.

“What happened here, Stan?”

“Don't know exactly. Apparently there were explosions on both sides of our office. The walls on either side are totally destroyed. Pat was in there looking for her glasses when the place blew up. I've talked to Jake and she's okay. He said she saved most of the current files and disks.”

“Good for her,” the fire chief said. “They'll get the forensic team in to determine what caused it. It could have been chemicals from the cleaners, or maybe some cooking fat from the restaurant's kitchen ignited.”

Rick looked around him.

“Shit! This will impact us quite a bit,” he said. “We'll have to find new temporary office space, new equipment, some furniture and connectivity to the multiple listings database. Christ, I was planning on taking my annual holiday in Florida within the next few weeks.”

“Well, this might be the best time to take it. I can take care of finding new office space and getting in new equipment. I'll contact the insurance company in the morning. If Pat's up to it, she can give me a hand. Money might be a bit tight though.”

“Don't worry about the cash. I can take care of that. I'll have it in a day or two.”

“Where are you getting all that? I thought you were
broke
,” Stan said with a curious look.

“Rich uncle,” Rick said with a grin. “I'll tell you about it soon.”

“Better call it a night. We can't do anything here right now. See you in the morning,” said Stan Turner.

Reaching home, Rick opened the front door and met Sara in the kitchen. They sat in the breakfast nook while Rick told her the whole story. He looked at her and noticed she had a puzzled look on her face. Sara wondered if this had anything to do with Carl Regis.

“I have a feeling Carl has something to do with this.”

“You know him better than me. What do you think?”

“No, I don't think so. First of all, he doesn't have the balls, and second, he doesn't have the knowledge to do anything like this. He's a spineless little jerk.” Sara said.

“That's for sure,” Rick said emphatically.

“Do you think it might be terrorists, Rick?”

“No. It wasn't big enough. Nobody hurt, damage too small. Let's go to bed. I've got a lot of work to figure out tomorrow morning. I want to check on Pat and then meet with Stan to discuss our strategy.”

They climbed into bed and Rick instantly fell asleep with exhaustion, but Sara lay awake with a feeling that somehow Carl had something to do with the explosions. Rick had explained to her what had happened in great detail, and it seemed very extraordinary to her the two bombs had been placed on the adjoining walls either side of his office. With this running through her mind, she decided to wait and see if the police or forensic tests could pour any light on the subject.

Rick showered and dressed early the next morning and called the hospital to check on Pat James' condition.
Apparently she'd had a good night and would be going home that day. Calling Stan Turner, he gave him the good news about Pat and arranged to meet him at the scene of destruction in thirty minutes time. Gulping down his coffee and a piece of toast, he took off to meet Stan.

Pulling up in the plaza parking lot, he saw Stan talking feverishly into his cell phone. As he approached him, he saw he was grinning from ear to ear.

“I've just contacted a realty friend of mine, and he can find some temporary space for us in his office. It's just a half a mile from here. He should have everything sorted out in a couple of days then we can move in. With a bit of luck, we can be halfway up and running in about a week.”

“Thanks, Stan. That's great news. You must have been on the phone all night calling people.”

“No, just calling in a favor somebody owed us,” Stan said with a grin.

“What did you mean by being halfway up and running?”

“We can get the basics going, but we need time to get a couple of new computers, connectivity and some other stuff like a fax machine, copiers and assorted printers. This might be a good time for you to take the Florida vacation. I can handle everything from here for a week or two.”

“I'll see about that,” Rick said.

“Are you the occupants of one of these premises?” a voice boomed behind them.

They turned to see a short but burly figure in a green parka smiling at them.

“That's us,” said Rick. “Who are you?”

“I'm from the forensic squad. Which of these three places is yours?”