Susan felt speechless, then realized it wasn’t the time for words anyway. She got out of her chair, went around the side of the table, and put her arms around her beloved firstborn, holding him close to her. He turned and wrapped his long arms around her waist, and neither of them said anything, clinging to each other. She didn’t have to say anything to him, unlike Raz, because he knew her so well, and deep inside, she knew that he was coming back, returning to her again.
And more important, coming back to himself.
Chapter Forty
Chris drove away from Abe and Jamie’s house, feeling a pang. He hadn’t known Abe that long, but the teacher had made an impact on him, maybe in the way of all teachers. Chris had always loved school because it was his only constant; it was always him and a teacher, even as the schools changed, because he never had many friends. He’d earned good grades, eager to please those who had provided him even a temporary sanctuary, and he realized now that Abe had become for him every teacher who’d helped him, sheltered him from the hell of his home life, and encouraged him to go to college and find a career that actually helped people, in return.
Chris knew in his bones that Abe had been murdered, but he didn’t know who had done it or why. He sensed it was connected to the baseball team, but he couldn’t tie the two together. There was a piece of the puzzle missing, and he had faith that he would find it—just not in time. The Rabbi still hadn’t gotten back to him about the work-around on the Kiefermanns’ farm, and he still didn’t know where Dylan had been last night, when he sneaked out of his house.
Gravel popped under his tires as he accelerated onto the country road. He had been in this situation before, but he’d been part of a larger operation and had access to the full array of ATF resources—other special agents would be deployed, police records and other official records subpoenaed, CIs, or confidential informants, questioned, and there would have been electronic surveillance for months, plus visual and cyber surveillance. The general public had no idea how much personnel, resources, techniques, and electronic fact-gathering was demanded by a major ATF operation. But that wasn’t Operation Varsity Letter, manned by one undercover agent.
Yet as Chris drove, he felt more motivated and determined than ever. In other operations, he had been instrumental, but he’d also been a cog in the wheel, working with the Rabbi and other agents. This time, he was completely on his own, with only his wits and experience to guide him, and it struck him that he felt like a cowboy, from Wyoming of all places.
Chris whizzed by farmhouses, cornfields, and horses grazing in pastures, seeing all around him that which he wanted to protect—innocent people, this beautiful countryside, his homeland. The buildings of Central Valley rose in the distance and he couldn’t wait to get home to study his audios, lay out the information he knew, review the photographs he had taken and all the mental notes he had made, to try to make sense of things, to find the missing piece, solve the puzzle, and connect the dots.
Suddenly the text alert sounded on his phone, and he looked over. The text was from the Rabbi, and it read:
Something is going down. Meet us in 15 mins. Same place.
Chris felt a surge of new energy. Information must be coming in, and the “us” referred to Alek, so it must be big. If Alek and the Rabbi had the missing piece, they could bust the conspirators. Nobody else had to die, nobody else had to get hurt. Central Valley could go on living its quiet life. Jordan would be safe, and so would Heather.
Chris turned the car around and raced toward the abandoned development.
Step Three
Chapter Forty-one
“You can’t shut me down!” Chris said, furious.
The Rabbi and Alek stood opposite him, with the Rabbi looking pained and Alek in his stupid ballcap and aviator sunglasses, like the Unabomber on a federal payroll.
The Rabbi said, “Curt, we have to, this is big—”
“No!” Chris interrupted. “You were supposed to get back to me with the work-around. I’m this close, I’m one inch from the finish line. I’m telling you, the teacher was murdered. It wasn’t a suicide. And I caught one of my suspects sneaking out last night. All I have to do is put it together.”
The Rabbi shook his head. “I hear you, but this is bigger, and we need you up north. I’m going up myself. You fly with me.”
“Are you serious?” Chris guessed that Alek had made the Rabbi do the talking, because this wasn’t a conversation, it was a sales pitch.
“There’s no time to waste. We believe it’s about the Oklahoma anniversary. We have one day to figure it out, and it’s all hands on deck.”
“Where up north? Why?”
“I can fill you in on the way.”
“Fill me in now. Because I don’t want to get pulled off this.”
Alek interjected, “Curt, we don’t need to justify this to you.”
“Yes you do,” Chris shot back. “I’ve taken it this far, I know I’m close. I’m not gonna drop everything just because you say so.”
Alek pursed his lips. “I’m your boss. You work for me.”
“I work for ATF, not for you. There was a you before you and there’ll be a you after you. You’re all the same guy. I’m doing the right thing.”
“Keep it up and I’ll fire you.”
The Rabbi stepped between the two men as if he were separating two boxers. “Curt, hear me. Here’s what we got. About two hours away from here, the northern part of the state, that’s part of Marcellus Shale, you ever heard of that?”
“Not really,” Chris said, though he had. He just didn’t feel like cooperating, even with the Rabbi. If they wanted him to drop everything, they were going to have to lay it out. He’d been on too many wild goose chases sent by bureaucrats like Alek who had no idea what they were doing.
“The Marcellus Shale is one of the largest deposits of natural gas in the country, and it’s one of the major fracking sites. In fact, the most fracking sites in the entire country are in Pennsylvania, on the Marcellus in Susquehanna County and a bunch of others. Towns like Dimock, Montrose, Springville, Headley. As you know, the gas companies use explosives to drill and they have the FELs.”
“Okay, I got it, what’s the point?” Chris knew that FELs stood for Federal Explosives License, which allowed companies to buy and sell explosives necessary in the course of their business.