Remember Tuesday Morning (18 page)

He surfed for nearly two hours, attacking the waves until he felt a relief he wasn’t sure he understood. He ran his board back to the place where Bo was sleeping on the sand, grabbed his towel, and rubbed it over his arms and legs and through his hair. He and Bo were back in his Dodge heading out of the parking lot and south on Pacific Coast Highway when he thought of the REA again.

Never mind what Clay said. It wasn’t against policy or illegal for him to keep an eye on the REA’s headquarters. In fact, that’s exactly where he would go tonight, after dark. He would drive up and watch, maybe place a call to Owl and tell him about some bogus tip the REA might like having. Then he’d ask about the Oak Canyon Estates, whether he could help or be a lookout. Something. He would work the guy, have a conversation, develop that crucial trust he’d need if he were to keep getting information.

Alex couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night. If he couldn’t wear a uniform, he could at least keep an eye on the bad guys. If there was danger in that, then so be it. His connection to the REA gave him a window to the group’s activities. Because of what he’d learned, he could see the tragedy before it played out, the houses at the base of the hill in the path of the potential fire, the children who lived in the neighborhood. The death and destruction that could so easily lie ahead. He could imagine the firefighters rushing to the scene, running into the fire while everyone else ran out.

Just the way they’d done in the Twin Towers.

If only someone had been given a window before 9/11. Someone could’ve been looking for the al Qaeda terrorists at airports across the country, or even been aware of which airports they were planning to take off from that Tuesday morning. The terrorists could’ve been caught, and the Twin Towers would still be standing.

His father would still be alive.

Alex blinked back the dampness in his eyes. But there had been no window, no way Alex or anyone else could’ve helped his dad and the hundreds of others from the FDNY. That’s what made the situation with the REA so intensely urgent. This window was real, and it belonged entirely to Alex. He felt himself tense up, holding tighter to the steering wheel. He would make sure these terrorists didn’t cause the death of a single firefighter. He would watch them and be ready for them, and he’d keep Clay and the others updated. He would do what he hadn’t been able to do for his father, protect innocent civilians and firefighters. He would stop the REA, whatever it took.

Or he would die trying.

E
IGHTEEN

C
lay had a strange feeling when he woke up, an uneasiness that Alex was right — that something big was on the brink, some drug bust or hostage situation. Or maybe the fire Alex was worried about. In his years of working in law enforcement, a number of times God had impressed upon him an urgency or higher degree of alertness when he was entering a day that would require his very best. As he ate breakfast with Jamie and CJ and Sierra and as he dressed in his olive green uniform, he had that feeling today.

Or maybe it was just the wind.

They were a little more than a week into October, and sometime before dawn the Santa Ana winds kicked up with a vengeance. All morning he could hear them rushing through the trees out front, the haunting whistle signaling the sort of wind that could rip tree branches and down power lines. Once he hit the road for work, the force of the wind became easy to see. Strong and relentless, the steady gusts powered their way through the trees, bending them to one side and pushing against his car. Already some debris lined the gutters and sidewalks.

Unless the wind let up, there would be fires today. Anyone who had lived in LA more than a few years knew that much. Some might come from careless cigarettes tossed from passing cars or from a campfire left untended. Others would be set by kids messing around. But without a doubt, this was a day that could easily attract the REA.

The feeling of something big was still with Clay when he reached work, so he did something he often did after he parked just outside headquarters. He took the small Bible from the console between the front two seats and opened it to the last place he’d been reading. Proverbs. So much about life in that book. Clay was constantly amazed at the simple lessons provided in every chapter. He read a few paragraphs from chapter eighteen, then he turned back to the fourteenth chapter, to the place where he’d found the verse that had shouted to him about Alex Brady.

There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads only to death.
He still hadn’t shared the verse with Alex, but if the REA chose today to act on some of their threats, this was one day they could all use wisdom from God. Especially Alex. Clay looked at the verse once more. The kid was crazy, infiltrating into a volatile gang like the REA. The members weren’t known for their violence against people, but if they figured out Alex was a sheriff’s deputy, who knew what they might do? Whether he was armed or not, they could’ve overtaken him, found his recorder and his guns, and used them on him.

Today was Alex’s first day back at work. Clay exhaled slowly and closed his Bible. Alex meant well. The guy was already a legend in the department, a hero by any definition of the word. He had a passion for solving crime, catching crooks, and eliminating a problem before it came to pass. All admirable qualities for a deputy. But Alex had to be careful not to take his passion to an obsessive level. If Clay could find a minute alone with him today, he’d tell him about the verse, about the fact that he’d been praying for him to find the kind of peace that couldn’t come from any amount of fighting crime.

Clay went inside and found Joe in the break room adding sugar to his coffee. Alex wouldn’t be in for another few hours — since K9 guys mostly worked the later shifts. Clay lifted a cup from the stack and was filling it when he heard the radio in the corner crackle and an urgent voice come through the speaker.

The call was an APB to all departments. A fire had been set at a new housing development. Two homes were on fire, igniting a blazing section of brush. Ten acres already. There were reports of people being evacuated in neighborhoods near the fire, and of at least three residents trapped by the flames. All fire stations in the area were responding. Witnesses described a light green Honda hybrid leaving the scene and heading south on the Ventura Freeway.

Clay and Joe moved closer to the radio. “All deputies be on the lookout,” the voice ordered. “Suspect driving the Honda appears to be a Caucasian male, medium build with …”

The description went on, but Clay could hardly focus. He felt his heart skip a beat and then slam into double-time. Had the REA finally acted on its threats and attacked the Oak Canyon Estates? Clay stood motionless, waiting for more information while his mind raced.

“Alex warned us.” Joe leaned his shoulder into the wall and stared at Clay. “You followed up on it, right?”

“Of course.” Clay sat on the edge of the closest table and tried to think if he’d missed anything. He’d checked for reports from the developer and found several — each one claiming a threat of arson. Clay had personally assured the guy that the department was aware of the danger, and that they’d have deputies drive by often to keep an eye on the place. He rested his forearm on his thigh, frustrated. “I talked to Lost Hills and asked them to patrol the area. Not much else we could’ve done.”

Before Joe could add anything, the radio came to life again with the address of the development, a new neighborhood in the hills west of Pasadena. The woman rattled off a few other details and finished with the one that told the most:

A flag had been left at the scene with the letters REA.

Clay took a deep breath and stood again. He silently prayed that one of the deputies would catch the guy, but he couldn’t keep himself from feeling somewhat relieved. To have a fire set in broad daylight at a location where they’d already been warned would be frustrating and embarrassing, both. “So much for Alex’s tip.”

“Not a surprise, really. They might’ve noticed the extra patrol at Oak Canyon Estates. Maybe changed their target because of that.”

“True. Or maybe they never trusted Alex from the beginning. Told him the wrong location on purpose.”

The SWAT guys had talked about the fire threat — not just from the REA but from all sources. There was no way to patrol every remote area or every hillside cluster of homes — not with crime still breaking out on the valley floors.

Clay walked to the window and stared toward the west. Already the tell-tale smoke darkened a section of the distant sky. If the wind here was similar to the conditions up on the mountain, it would be a long day for firefighters. Joe came alongside him. “Kind of eerie, the wind today.”

“The fire’s gonna be a big one, hard to contain.” He tried to imagine the sick strategy of a group like the REA. “There could be more targets today.”

“Got that right.” Joe breathed in sharp and slipped his hands in his pockets. “Make a call to Lost Hills. Be sure they send a deputy up to patrol the Oak Canyon Estates.” Concern showed in his eyes. “With half our firefighters up in Pasadena, what better time to hit it?”

The wind howled outside, and in the distance the cloud of smoke grew. Fire danger hadn’t been this high in two decades, and across the city firefighters and law enforcement had prepared for what could be devastating fires. With a group like the REA out there, there was a citywide awareness that the devastation could be worse than anything they’d seen before. Clay had a feeling that wherever Alex was, he knew about the fire by now, and he was probably already on his way in.

Looking for a light green hybrid Honda as if his life depended on it.

When Alex woke up and heard the wind, he immediately called his sergeant and asked for an okay on overtime. He’d already shared with him his taped conversation with Owl and the other two REA guys. His sergeant wasn’t as concerned as Clay had been. After all, Alex was part of the task force assigned to the REA, and he’d done the research on his own time, not as a representative of the sheriff’s department — so he hadn’t needed permission. There wasn’t enough information for an arrest, but if a case was ever built around the ecoterrorists, the tape could help.

The sergeant sounded grateful for his call. “It’s already busy around here, Brady. Get in when you can.”

Wind made people do crazy things. Not just setting fires, but committing bank robberies and assaults. As if the whipping of the trees and the driving gusts didn’t only set people on edge, but pushed them over. In addition to the threat of fires, there would be more of the common troubles today, for sure.

Alex parked his truck, changed into his uniform, and he and Bo climbed into the squad car just after nine in the morning. As soon as he turned on his radio, he heard the news. A fire had been set at a housing development — but not Oak Canyon Estates. Some place outside of Pasadena. The part that mattered, though, was that witnesses had seen a suspect leave the site of the arson.

He was halfway to the estates when he got a call for backup. An elderly woman in Calabasas had been calling 9-1-1 all morning needing help with about a hundred soldiers who were milling about her backyard and wouldn’t leave. He and another deputy were closest to the woman’s house, so the call was theirs.

Alex huffed his frustration. The woman had called in the same complaint before. Everyone at the Lost Hills station knew about her and the delusional concerns that drove her to call for emergency help. Cats covering her roof … aliens landing in her kitchen … plants overtaking the house … and now this. He’d never responded to a call at her house, but from what he heard in the Lost Hills break room, the deputies never accomplished anything, never solved the problem.

He flipped on his lights and sped down the 101 Freeway a few exits. A call like this was a waste of time when the arson risk was so high. He drove as fast as he could, and in ten minutes he reached the small, neighborhood home where the old woman lived. One of the Lost Hills deputies was already there, waiting in his car. Alex left the air conditioning on for Bo, cracked the window, and went to meet the other deputy, one of the newest in the department, a guy named Scheidel.

“You know the old girl. She’s loony,” Scheidel shrugged. “Not sure what we can do but check it out.”

Alex felt his stress level double. He wanted to be back on the road, looking for the suspect, driving up to the Oak Canyon Estates before the REA struck again. He steadied himself and nodded for the deputy to join him. “Let’s do it.”

They didn’t quite reach the door when it flew open. Standing there was a frail, white-haired woman, her face stricken with fear. She clung to her oversized house jacket, and her arms and legs shook. “They’re everywhere! Everywhere, I tell you!” She stepped onto the porch and grabbed hold of Alex’s arm. “Help me, young man! Please help me!”

Alex stiffened and started to take a step back. Nobody touched him on a call, not for any reason. But then he stopped himself. The woman wasn’t going to hurt him, and something about the terror in her face touched him. The feeling was strangely unfamiliar, and he couldn’t help but wonder how his father would’ve handled the situation. “Ma’am, calm down.” Alex put his hand on her shoulder. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Soldiers! They’re everywhere!” She was panting now, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Get them out!”

His partner stepped up. “Show us where they are, okay?”

“This way.” She remained at Alex’s side, clutching him, her whole body trembling. They walked through a cluttered living room to a patio door off the kitchen. The woman waved her hand at her backyard, a patch of overgrown grass and weeds surrounded on all sides by a rotting wooden fence. “See?” She tried to hide behind Alex. “Soldiers everywhere!”

“Ma’am, come here right now.” Scheidel’s tone grew stern, his patience pressed. When she peered out from behind Alex, he motioned for her to come closer. “Now, ma’am.” He jabbed his finger at a spot on the floor beside him. “Right here.”

The woman seemed stricken at the idea of leaving Alex’s side, but she took three shaky steps toward Scheidel and cast frantic eyes at him. Her voice was a pathetic whine. “Make them go.” She clutched at Scheidel now and squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, make them go!”

Scheidel shook his arm free. He pointed to the backyard. “Ma’am, open your eyes and look out there.”

It took her a few seconds, but finally she opened her eyes the slightest crack. As if she were really seeing something, her eyes darted from one side of the yard to the other. “They won’t leave!”

“Ma’am,” Scheidel lowered his voice to the methodical, patronizing tone typically reserved for young children and dogs. “There are no soldiers in your backyard. Not one single soldier.”