“Ten minutes to landing,” Tony said, and Chris checked his watch. It was 4:32 A.M.
Dawn would be here before he knew it, and the first order of business was to find the target. ATF and the other federal agencies couldn’t shut down every highway, bridge, and tunnel in the Northeast. They couldn’t issue a warning to all federal buildings and state buildings. They had to learn where the disaster was going to strike, so they could avert it.
The helo began to descend in the night sky, tipping forward.
Chris felt like a guard dog straining against a leash. He couldn’t wait until they touched down, setting him loose.
Chapter Fifty-one
Chris hustled from the helo toward the staging area, a white tent that had been erected on the front lawn of the Shanks’ farmstead. Bright klieglights flooded the area, illuminating folding tables, chairs, and laptops that had been set up. Federal agents hustled back and forth in blue windbreakers labeled JTTF, FBI, and ATF. The local uniformed police stood at the perimeter around their squad cars.
Chris looked beyond the staging area to the farm, a compound that struck him as a poor man’s version of Skinny Lane Farm. Its layout was almost identical, with a stone farmhouse behind a pasture, an old barn, and several outbuildings, albeit in disrepair. Faded blue shutters hung askew on the windows, and its clapboard was peeling in patches. The roofs sagged, and the barn had faded to a dried-blood color. The pastures had been overrun by tangled overgrowth of scrubby weeds, and the fences missed boards everywhere. Farm equipment, a truck, and an old car sat rusting on cinder blocks.
Chris spotted the Rabbi running from the farmhouse to meet him. “Hey, you got anything new?”
The Rabbi reached him out of breath. “The joint is jumping, and the gang’s all here. Let me brief you before we get inside. We’re on top of each other in there.”
“Okay.” Chris hated that, too. Neither of them played well with others.
“Let me show you my phone. I got two videos. Check this out.” The Rabbi held up his phone and pressed PLAY. “We ran the tag you gave us, and it belongs to a pickup, 2014 black Dodge dually, reported stolen from a used car lot outside of Central Valley. The locals sent us a traffic cam video.”
“Good.” Chris watched the video, in which a dark Ford Ranger pickup pulled up in front of a used-car lot and someone got out of the passenger seat wearing a black ski mask, black sweatshirt, and black pants. Unfortunately, the license plate wasn’t in the frame.
“Now here’s the video from the used-car lot.” The Rabbi began thumbing through his videos, stopping at another one. He pressed PLAY, and the video showed the ski-masked figure breaking into the dually, with its characteristic double tires in the rear for bigger payloads. An old black cap covered its bed. The figure climbed inside and presumably hot-wired the dually, because he drove it out of the used-car lot.
“So far, so good.”
“Stay tuned,” the Rabbi said, and on the video, the dually drove away, but one moment later, was followed by the Ford Ranger pickup. The last frame showed the license plate of the Ranger before it slipped out of the frame.
“So you ran a plate on the Ranger.”
“Yes, and it’s Jimmy Shank’s. So we got Jimmy on auto theft, and it got us into the farmhouse.”
“You got anything on the target? And where’s Evan and Courtney?”
“Nothing on Courtney or Evan, but come in and I’ll brief you. We’ve narrowed possibilities for the target, and we put out a BOLO for auto theft. JTTF doesn’t want to notify the public that we’re talking about a domestic terrorist.” The Rabbi headed for the farmhouse, and Chris fell into step beside him, checking his watch.
“But it’s almost five o’clock in the morning. People are going to work soon.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Can’t we issue some kind of general warning?”
“We’re not calling the shots. JTTF is.”
“But it’s our operation.”
“We know that but nobody else does.” The Rabbi lowered his voice. “Humor them, Curt. It’s the best way to get along. We divided the labor, and so far, we’re living in harmony.”
“So what’s the division of labor?” Chris hid his frustration. He hated bureaucratic crap.
“Their guys searched the farm, and everybody’s gone—the Shank brothers, Courtney, and Evan. We all went through the house, and the FBI found some of the files, and we found some others.”
“What files?”
“I’ll show you inside.”
“Where’s the burn site, the testing ground?”
“At a farm five miles away. Owner is Jason Zucker, and he’s been in the hospital for a long time. Lives alone. Zucker is friends with the Shanks, so it makes sense that the Shanks would have used his backyard for testing while he was away.”
“And nobody goes there?”
“It’s in the middle of the woods. The FBI’s command post is there. They think that’s where the Shanks built the IED but they haven’t found any bomb-making equipment yet.” The Rabbi picked up the pace as they approached the farmhouse. “The Shanks took their laptops. We know they had them because there are boosters in two of the rooms. They left nothing behind. They’re not coming back.”
“But they’re not suicide bombers.”
“No, I don’t think so. They must have a getaway plan.”
“They’re going to make Evan do it, aren’t they?” Chris felt his chest tighten. “They’re going to make Evan drive that dually. They’re going to kill that kid.”
“You’re assuming he’s not in on it.”
“He’s not in on it.”
“Even with the IRS indictment?”
“Even so, I just don’t see it going that far. I just don’t see him or Courtney going that far.”
“Evidently they are.”
“You don’t know if Courtney or Evan’s with them.”
“I got a good guess.” The Rabbi hurried along. “Another possibility is that Courtney and Evan went off together. Killed her husband and took off. Let the brothers bomb their hearts out, but the kid runs off with the teacher.”
“The brothers wouldn’t let them get away. They couldn’t take that risk.”
“You think they’d turn on their sister?”
“You tell me. I never had a sister.”
“Instead of life in prison? Yes. And the youngest always gets picked on, especially a girl. I drove my sister nuts.”