Joe Ledger by Jonathan Maberry Page A

previously. Not for long, a matter of a few hours each time. The handler eventually realized that Burke was using a bicycle to get into town or out of town via one of the two bridges. I had Bug do computer pattern sweeps on commerce records of stores within bicycle distance of the safe house. We’ve been able to establish that on the dates in question, and inside the window of time, there were purchases of six disposable cell phones. Burke has been making calls.”
    “Who’s he calling?”
    “Add this to the equation,” Church said. “Interest in Burke and his unstoppable novel plot has increased substantially in the weeks following those purchases.”
    “Well, that’s interesting as hell.”
    “Isn’t it, though?”
    “You think he’s trying to sell it?”
    “We have to be open to that possibility.”
    What Church didn’t say out loud was: In which case Burke becomes a National Security liability.
    “We need to put this idiot in a bag,” I said. “But we can’t put out an APB. That would draw every shooter east of the Mississippi.”
    “Likely it would draw shooters from around the globe,” said Church. “A dozen countries come to mind.”
    “What if he’s already dead?”
    He looked at me. Church wears tinted glasses that make it tough to read his expression. “Is that what you think?”
    I thought about it, and shook my head. “No. Considering how important Burke is, a pro would either be under orders to get him out of the country or get him to one of their safe houses. Or they’d want him splashed all over the headlines. Either way, the odds on him seizing the opportunity to leave a message are pretty slim.”
    “Agreed.” Church took another cookie. Another vanilla wafer. Weird.
    I nodded to the recorder on the table. “Play it again.”
    “This is Simon Burke…look, you jokers said you’d protect me. They’re going to tear me apart. Look…I don’t have much time…this is really hard. You got to do something. God—please! They’re killing me here. You got to get me out of this. Jesus Christ, you said this wouldn’t happen.”
    He played it three times more. It sounded just as bad each time, and Burke sounded just as terrified. I rubbed my eyes and stood up.
    “He sounds genuinely scared,” I said. “And outraged. I can’t see him making that call after he’s contacted potential buyers. It would make more sense for him to do that as a result of getting no action on this kind of a cry for help.”
    “Agreed. Which means we are short on answers, and time is not our friend.”
    “Then I guess I’d better get my boys and get gone.”
    “Sergeant Dietrich is prepping a helo,” said Church. He cocked his head at me. “Have you ever been to that town?”
    “Pine Deep? Sure, but way back when I was a kid. My dad took me and my brother to the big Halloween Festival they used to have. That was before the trouble, of course.”
    The trouble .
    Funny little word for something that stands as one of the worst disasters in U.S. history. More than eleven thousand dead in what has been officially referred to as an act of terrorism and insurrection by a domestic terrorist cell formed by members of a local white-supremacist organization. The terrorists dumped a lot of LSD into the town’s drinking water. Had everyone convinced that half the town was turning into monsters.
    “Terrible tragedy,” said Church.
    “I saw the movie they did on it,” I said. “ Hellnight , I think it was called. Hollywood turned it into a horror picture. Vampires and ghosts and werewolves, oh my.”
    Church chewed his cookie. “There was a lot of confusion surrounding the incidents. The official report labeled it domestic terrorism.”
    I caught the slight emphasis he put on the word official . “Why, was there something else going on?”
    He very nearly smiled.
    “Have a safe trip, Captain Ledger.”
     
     
    Chap. 3
 
    Route A-32
    Bucks County, Pennsylvania
    August 16; 4:22 p.m.
     
    The chopper put us