“Yeah. What about it?”
“He knew exactly what he was looking at, but one thing didn’t seem right. There were markings on the map to show where the drilling should take place, and Lassenger thought they were in the wrong place. That he would never drill where those markings were.”
“Damn…,” Emmit said, realizing.
“Exactly. If I’m right, those markings weren’t showing anyone where to drill. They were showing Rhodes where to place the explosives.”
Emmit stepped harder on the gas, and we went faster than I would have thought possible.
As evacuations go, this one was a loser.
With Alex Hutchinson exhorting the people from the podium to disregard Holland’s plea, and to resist the police efforts, Brus was having no success in getting the bulk of the people to leave.
After twenty minutes of cajoling by the police, perhaps eighty percent of the crowd remained, and showed no inclination to depart. Most of those who did leave were parents with children, uncomfortable about the turn things had taken.
Holland directed Brus to take stronger measures, but Brus was trying to talk him out of it. “These people are not being violent,” he said. “You want me to teargas them?”
“I want you to do whatever is necessary. Once they see we’re serious, they’ll leave.”
“These are not the LA riots, Mayor. We don’t have a court order, and there is no reason to risk injury, to the people or to my officers.”
“That is your opinion, but mine is the one that matters. I am giving you a direct order,” Holland said.
“And I am refusing it. You want to move them out, do it yourself.”
With that he turned and walked away. The conversation between them was caught on camera, and not by accident. Brus had orchestrated it; he wanted the voters of Brayton to see exactly what the Mayor wanted to do, and especially his heroic resistance to it.
Brus walked the grounds, ordering his men to the perimeter, an act that was greeted by cheers of triumph from the protesters. It had gone exactly as planned, so well that he didn’t even think the Mayor would have the political capital to fire him.
Holland, realizing the police would no longer do his bidding, sought out Alex Hutchinson. “Alex, we need to get these people out of here.”
“No, we don’t,” she said.
“Yes, we do,” said Lucas Somers.
It was seven thirty, and Tommy Rhodes had planned to be on a nine o’clock flight.
If I was wrong, we had all the time in the world. If I was right, we could be minutes from disaster.
“Alex, listen to me. I have reason to believe that explosives were planted all over this property, placed on timers. The strong likelihood is that it is programmed to blow at any minute.”
“You too?” she asked.
“No, not me too. I have no dog in this fight. It’s not my problem, and I basically don’t give a shit what happens to this land.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“But I care what happens to these people, and what happens to you. And right now, standing here, I care what happens to me.”
I was waiting to hear her reaction, and trying to figure out what I would do if she wasn’t convinced. There was no way Emmit and I could move these people out ourselves.
We could try and bring in the New York State Police, but the Governor had already refused to act. In any event, it wouldn’t be possible to accomplish it on a timely enough basis.
She was honest about it. “I don’t know whether to believe you.”
I nodded. “I understand that. And if I’m wrong, then the downside is you’ll all leave this area for a few hours and then march back in. But if I’m right, then the downside is incalculable.”
She didn’t answer, just thought about it some more, so I said, “The time to do this is right now. Not in five minutes. Right now.”
She turned and walked away, towards the podium. She got up there, took the microphone, and said, “Listen to me, everyone. This is important.”
She said it a few more times, and waited while the crowd quieted and turned its attention to her. “The state police have told me that they have reason to believe it is dangerous for us to be here. They’ve asked that we walk down the road a bit while they check the place out.”
There were some shouts of surprise and resistance, as the people tried to decide whether Alex had gone over to the other side. “I believe them,” she said. “Once everything has been cleared, we can come back; Lieutenant Lucas Somers has promised that. Come on, my friends, safety is the reason we are here in the first place, so safety comes first.”
Some people started to gather their possessions, and Alex said, “You can leave your things here; we’ll be back in a little while. This is just a precaution, but it is an important one.”
While she was talking, Emmit had gone over to the Brayton Police. He apparently persuaded them to re-engage; Emmit can be a powerful persuader. They walked back among the crowd, helping them to move quickly and orderly from the area, where Alex had gone to lead them down the road.
As they walked off, Emmit and I stayed in the back to round up any slow movers, and in twenty minutes everyone was off the property. It seemed like a lot longer.
I wasn’t sure what a safe distance would be, but this wasn’t a forced march to Bataan. There were elderly people and children in the group, and there was a limit on how long a walk they would tolerate.
We stopped at about a half mile, and I called Barone, explaining the situation and asking him to pull whatever strings necessary to get the bomb squad out here.
I saw Edward Holland trying to mend fences with the people, but it seemed like he was going to have his work cut out for him. He kept explaining that he was only concerned for their safety.
It was a claim that had far more credibility a few minutes later, when the world exploded.
I’d never seen anything like it.
Well, maybe in the movies. We were half a mile away, and the ground shook so hard I was sure it was going to open and swallow us. The flashes of light, maybe three or four of them, were so bright that for those brief moments it seemed like daylight.
The crowd started to panic and run away from the explosion, though their flight was brief. Within seconds that seemed like months the blasts stopped, and peaceful darkness settled in. Sounds of children crying could be heard; I suspect each of them had some serious therapy sessions ahead of them.
Edward Holland was standing next to me. “My God…,” he said, which pretty much summed it up.
Alex Hutchinson came up and asked, “Is it over?”
I nodded. “I think so, but there’s no way to know for certain. Make sure nobody goes back there.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she said, and started walking towards the crowd. She stopped, turned, and said, “Thank you.” Then she went and started comforting people, trying to calm them. The police were doing that as well, and Holland joined in.
People started leaving, though I assume their cars were destroyed in the blast. In thirty seconds Brayton had become a community of pedestrians.
Emmit and I waited for the bomb squad to arrive, and we told them what we knew, basically the type of explosives that had been used and the fact that they were detonated by timers. Remote detonation seemed unlikely, since Rhodes was no longer around to have done so.
When we got in the car, Emmit said, “I guess you were right.”
I shrugged. “It happens.”
I called Julie at the hospital, and asked her how Bryan was doing.
“He’s drifting in and out of consciousness; at least that’s what they’re calling it,” she said. “I prefer to think of it as sleep. They said it will last awhile.”
“Does he know you’re there?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about the prognosis?” I asked.
“Too soon to know. But the first forty-eight hours are key; at least that’s what they’re telling me.”