Tasker kept watching the man. He seemed sincere, for the moment.
Bolini asked, “When are you looking at getting a warrant?”
“Maybe today.”
Bolini’s eyes opened wide. “That’s crazy. What’s the rush? Shouldn’t you find him first?”
“Why wait? I’ve got enough.”
“Like when you arrested him for the Stinger?”
Tasker scooted back from the table, drawing looks from a couple of the other diners. He said, “That was based on what one of your agents saw. An FBI agent.”
“So now it’s the Bureau’s fault again. Isn’t it time you found a different scapegoat? Couldn’t you be wrong about the cruise ship?”
“I’ve got evidence.”
“Like what?”
“Wells is on a list of buyers for TATP, the explosive used in the bombing. The stuff he bought is a chemical match for the explosive, and the explosives-maker can positively ID Wells. And he’s gone. Out of the house. No info. Just disappeared.”
“What about family?”
“Gone.”
Bolini considered all that and said, “Outta sight, outta mind. It’s an ATF case, I’d drop it.”
“Can’t do it. I’m the one who let him out on the street.”
“So what-he’s no threat now.”
“How do you know that?”
“A redneck like that. You got him running. He hasn’t the time to cause any trouble. Shit, you probably scared him straight. He’s probably deciding where to move so no one ever bothers him again about a prank at the port.”
“A prank? Someone got killed because of that prank.”
“Hey, don’t get so hot. I’ll tell you what. If you want to hand over all your stuff to me, I’ll take a look at it. Maybe that’ll help.”
“Work with the FBI on this?”
“Oh, hell no. The Bureau would never touch you again. I mean I might take a look at it myself, then decide if it’s worth pursuing.”
“No way. At least I know I’m making an effort to find him. If you guys won’t help, then you can go to hell.”
“Whoa, is that why you asked me to lunch? To tell me to take a hike? What are you looking for from me?”
“I need to at least find Wells. That’s why I called you. He’s got relatives in Tennessee and a few other places out of state. He’s in your intel base. Could you check around and see if you can find him?”
“Sorry, slick. You got into this mess, you can get out. If my bosses knew I helped you, I’d be on airport-security detail, checking for bombs shoved up people’s asses.” He took the last bite of his Cuban sandwich and added, “You’re on your own.”
Tasker thought, What else is new?
…
In the woods on the side of the trailer he’d rented, Daniel Wells pulled down his mask again and applied the flame to the wire weld. The heat inside his van varied from miserable to unbearable, but he kept at it.
He’d been lucky to find this place west of Homestead, so close to his own house but out far enough that no one would bother looking for him. He’d even been back to the house twice without anyone the wiser. He’d read the search warrant the cops had left and knew that they had made the surfer from Florida City talk. He’d have known anyway, from his friend. But this just made it seem more official. He kept the note from Bill Tasker. He did owe the guy, but his special feeling was bigger than his debt to a state cop. He might call him just for laughs. The effort they had put into linking him to the two-year-old bombing actually made him feel better, more satisfied. It showed that what he had accomplished did matter. It had wreaked havoc on the ship and with the cruise lines for a while. He’d done some welding work for them and knew that the bookings would drop and cause more and more people to worry. It was like making the mood last longer than just the bang. Unfortunately, the cruise lines had gotten back on track pretty quickly and he needed something else to satisfy him.
He knew that his next move would have to be big. Even if he’d tried something smaller so he could enjoy Alicia and kids a while longer, that had all changed now. Now he needed to make a statement and show people what one man can do if he set his mind to it. The dang Muslims bragged about everything they did, but it always took a whole bunch of the little buggers to pull something off. They caused terror, there was no doubt of that, but they had to plan for years, use all kinds of confederates, and then die in the act. Wells hoped to show those little bastards that one smart, determined American could pull off an equally spectacular plan with only a little planning and no extra people who could blab. The most important point was that it would be one man… who survived… and didn’t get caught.
He took a break, sitting in the van with the side door open. He turned off the torch and took off the welding mask. This was a great place. Cash rent, a landlady who didn’t even know his last name. Plenty of room, too. Wells didn’t even know where the property line ran, with all the pine trees and scrub brush clogging the yard. He had the Toyota behind the double-wide and the van in the cleared driveway, where he could work on it. The thick pad of pine needles made it easy on his knees when he had to stoop down outside the old van.
He looked at the crease across the top of the Toyota parked fifty feet away and thought about the piece of rebar he’d blown across the field that day. That was a good experiment, and it led directly to the device he had loaded on the Sea Maiden. That had been a good plan. Pack the suitcase with some TATP, two bottles of lighter fluid to make sure something burned, and lots of old rags. He’d just placed it with a stack of luggage a family from New York had set on the dock to be loaded and it went right up the plank. He had a timer that would’ve made it blow as it was headed out to sea but before it reached a cabin. At least that was what he thought. The damn baggage handlers must have thrown it so hard it detonated. That’s why the handler had been killed. With Wells, it wasn’t a numbers game. He couldn’t care less as long as it caused confusion. Confusion and terror for the passengers and crew. He imagined it had, but he was sorry the explosion hadn’t been on a higher deck with a more visible result. He would have been happy with the big bang and people scurrying about like mice, but the killing had spooked people. The death had added another element to his feeling, his urge. Made the story last a little longer, too. But now, he didn’t care. He might want some numbers this time. After this, he’d be a damn folk hero. This was definitely a big plan, and he loved that he was the only one involved. No one to betray him to the police.
When it was all over, he’d have to go deep underground. Get the kids and Alicia and head out to the Northwest maybe. When people saw what he’d done, he could pick and choose where he laid low. Every fanatical crackpot group would want to hide him and the family from the authorities. Where would he go? He had to think of the kids. He couldn’t go with the white supremacists. They had good accommodations, but he didn’t want the kids affected by all that negativity. Besides, most of those guys were pretty stupid. And the local group, the American Aryan Movement, still owed him a thousand bucks for building a bomb. That simple fact stuck in his head and pissed him off every time he thought about it. He wanted the kids around smarter people, folks who would set good examples.
Maybe the tax protestors? He didn’t really care about them much. He’d never paid much in taxes anyway, but it was something to consider. He’d find someone. Keeping Alicia in line would be the biggest problem. She’d been pretty good, but his uncle said she’d left last week, and even though she’d paged him, it sounded like from a bar when he called back, and she hadn’t seen the kids since she left. That worried Wells a little bit. He could always let her go. She didn’t know too much. Hell, even if she did, she didn’t know what any of it meant. But, man, could she shake it.