Emily counted the blocks. One. Two. At the third, they stopped for a red light. Come on, come on. She sat on the edge of her seat, ready to move the minute the bus pulled over. How long had it been since she saw Rutger running? Two minutes? Three?
The light turned green. They rolled again. Block four. Five. Emily looked out her window. Nothing suspicious yet.
The bus began to slow. Emily gathered her energy and leapt up. Pain shot through her knee. She looked down to see it still oozing blood.
Terrific.
They stopped. The doors whooshed open. Emily jumped onto the sidewalk, hurting her knee even more. Her head swiveled to check the street. None of the drivers in the first few cars behind the bus were Rutger. Beyond that, who knew?
She stood in front of a gas station. Next to it, a strip mall. She limped toward the strip mall and veered into the first business—a small Mexican restaurant open for breakfast and lunch. Emily spotted the restroom sign and followed it toward the back, into the women’s bathroom. With shaky hands she pulled out her cell phone and dialed information for the L.A. FBI office. The automated service read off the number and connected her.
“FBI, Agent O’Malley.”
Emily’s head came up. “I . . . need to talk to Agent Rutger, please.”
“Rutger.”
“Do you have an Agent Rutger?”
“Not here. But there is an agent by that name in the San Francisco field office. Do—”
Emily punched off the call and stared at the phone. Of course Rutger was from the San Francisco office, near her mother’s home. He’d come down here after her.
Rutger was real.
Now what was she supposed to do?
Could she trust the L.A. FBI office? How would she know?
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. God, I really need Your help. I’m going crazy here.
Footsteps sounded outside the bathroom. She pushed off from the wall and listened.
The steps faded.
Emily stayed still for a moment longer. Then dialed her friend Dave’s private line at work.
Please, please answer.
“Emily?” Dave’s voice came on the line, sounding worried.
“Hi. I’m in trouble.”
“Ronnie said an FBI agent was looking for you.”
“He’s trying to kill me. They already tried to kill my mom and grandmother.”
“What?”
“It’s the video. And now you have a copy. See why I didn’t want you to keep it?”
“Who wants to kill you?”
“The terrorists who are going to hit the grid tonight.”
“But this is FBI.”
“Some of them are part of it, Dave!”
Shocked silence.
Emily’s throat was closing. Any minute now she was going to totally lose it. “I need to get out of town. Now. Can you help?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Fresno.”
“Fresno?”
“I can’t stay anywhere near here. And I sure can’t go home. Ronnie gave that guy my address.”
“I don’t—”
“She also told him what kind of car I drive, so guess what—he slashed all my tires.” Tears bit her eyes.
Dave made a sound in his throat. “You call the police?”
“Yes. I mean—no. It’s a long story. I need to get to Fresno.”
“What’s there?”
“A place to stay. Can you come get me now? I’m hiding, and that guy’s looking for me. I had to hop a bus, and my pants are torn, and my knee’s bleeding. And I really. Have. To get. Out of here!”
The last words exploded from her. She leaned against the wall, gasping air.
“Okay, okay. Tell me where you are.”
She managed to tell him. “Dave, you wouldn’t happen to have a black wig lying around, would you?”
Chapter 31
SPECIAL HOUSE SELECT COMMITTEE INVESTIGATION INTO FREENOW TERRORIST ACTIVITY OF FEBRUARY 25, 2013
SEPTEMBER 16, 2013
TRANSCRIPT
Representative ELKIN MORSE (Chairman, Homeland Security Committee): We come now to the fourth homicide, correct?
Sergeant CHARLES WADE (Sheriff’s Department Coastside): Yes. About ten o’clock on the morning of February 25, a policeman discovered a body in a vehicle at the rest stop off Freeway 280, south of Highway 92. Slumped in the front seat was a man who looked to be in his thirties. He’d been shot four times. In his pocket was an FBI badge and a tag with his picture and signature, reading “Samuelson.” In the passenger seat was a laptop computer and small backup drive. Subsequent investigation of both items found them to belong to Hannah Shire.
MORSE: And how did this information tie into your current investigation?
WADE: A body discovered on an I-280 rest stop would normally fall under the jurisdiction of California Highway Patrol. But when it was discovered the victim had items from Mrs. Shire’s house, we became part of the investigation. Further, this victim looked very much like one of the forensic sketches we’d done the previous evening with Hannah Shire. And she had told us one of the supposed FBI agents who’d shown up at her house had the name of Samuelson. I contacted the FBI to find out about this apparent agent. There was an agent Ted Samuelson at the Sacramento field office, but he was very much alive. It became clear this victim had been impersonating an agent, using the real agent’s name.