Baggage Claim (Tru Exceptions - Christian Romantic Suspense Book 1) (8 page)

"Dawson!" Rachel managed to squeak out.

Glancing over at Rachel, he saw the changing display. His startled eyes shot to Rachel, the fear and helplessness written there conveying much more than words could express.

Breaking contact, his hand slammed the radio button.

"The bomb is active!" he yelled into the headset.

"That's impossible!" said the voice on the other end.

"I don't care if you think it's impossible! The numbers on the display say otherwise. This thing is going to blow in less than two minutes! 1:40… 39… 38…"

"Okay, okay!" the man conceded. We have no way of deactivating it." There was a pause. Then, "I'm sorry, Tate… you're going to have to get that thing as far away from Manhattan as you can in the time you have left."

"That's it, then?" Dawson asked. "Just, 'Sorry you're going to die. Do your best to minimize other collateral damage?'"

"I'm sorry, Tate," the voice replied with regret. "We're out of options. There's nothing we can do."

"Well, that's not good enough." Dawson ended the transmission.

1:20. Dawson already had the helicopter going wide open, flying at a dizzying speed while also increasing his altitude. Rachel looked down below, watching the land on either side of the bay come together, then separate wide as they entered the larger, lower bay.

Dawson spoke rapidly, "Okay, Rachel, I figure we have one shot at this." Rachel had to concentrate to keep up with Dawson's hurried words. "We have no idea how strong this bomb is, so I'm trying to get as far away from the city as possible. We'll have to push the suitcase out of the helicopter, but we have to time it just right so it explodes above the surface of the water. If we time it wrong, then the bomb will explode underwater, possibly causing a massive concussion wave that could hit the shore and cause serious damage. If it explodes too close to the helicopter, we'll be dead. The other option is to take my superior's advice and just go down with the ship."

"Let's go with option number one. What do I need to do?"

"I have to fly the helicopter, so I can't be the one to push the bomb out."

"I'll do it."

40 seconds.

"Push it out with about 20 seconds left. I'll hold it steady so hopefully we won't create a vacuum when you open the door.

Rachel put one hand on the door handle and the other hand on the suitcase, watching the numbers on the display count down.

25… 24… 23… Rachel pulled the handle and swung the door outward. She hefted the suitcase toward the open door. It wasn't moving. She pulled and pulled. It wouldn't budge.

"It's stuck!" she yelled, fear and frustration consuming her voice.

The wind from the open door whipped her hair around her face, making it difficult to see. Hands shaking, she reached below the suitcase and pulled up from the bottom. The corner moved. Jiggling and pulling, she inched the suitcase out.

Her frantic eyes caught the red display. 16… 15…

With all her might she threw the suitcase at the door, the effort making her lose her balance and launching her body toward the opening.

Down, down the suitcase fell.

Rachel tried to grab something, anything to right herself. Her hands caught the extended handle on the door. Off-balance, she shifted her weight, trying to get the door closed. The instant Rachel pulled the door into place, Dawson took off, trying to give them more distance from the explosion. He'd said they needed 20 seconds. She hadn't given him that.

Unfortunately, Rachel hadn't gotten her door completely shut. It was in the correct position, yet she couldn't get it latched. She struggled with the handle, but the door wasn't fitting securely against the frame and wouldn't lock in place.

"Dawson… Dawson, my door!" Rachel called, panicking and trying to get his attention. As if still watching the display, her mind had continued the countdown, fully expecting her life to end. 3… 2… 1…

Nothing.

Then, suddenly, the helicopter was hit. She saw nothing, and yet it felt like a giant hand knocked the helicopter down like a toy. With the first jolt, Rachel's door was wrenched open. She was flung from her seat directly into the open door. Her fingers, still holding the door handle, locked in a death grip halting her fall. Dawson struggled to maintain control as the helicopter twisted and turned, lost altitude, and shot back up again. As he fought to get the helicopter level, Rachel hung precariously from the door, her legs dangling into empty space. Her knuckles turned white with the effort of holding her weight. So strained with the effort, she couldn't make a sound.

Her fingers started to slip.

The helicopter finally leveled as Dawson managed to find the horizon. Then he quickly maneuvered the helicopter to an angle leaning toward the pilot's side. As her feet pumped the air, they finally connected with the landing skid, the bar running along the bottom of the helicopter. Supporting her weight on the bar, she then carefully transferred her hands one at a time to the interior seat. Her muscles weak and shaky from fear and fatigue, she still managed to pull herself up, hoisting one leg up and climbing in. Dawson stretched out his hand, grasping hers and helped pull her back in. Reaching out for the door handle once more, she grabbed it and slammed it shut.

Suddenly, the helicopter faltered again, rocking in a wide arc and knocking Rachel around like a pinball before she had time to put her seatbelt on. She felt pain explode in her head as she was flung against the now closed window.

She didn't know if she lost consciousness; she was just aware of Dawson calling her name over and over as if from a long distance.

"Rachel… Rachel. Come on. Talk to me."

When he reached over and rubbed his hand along her arm, she stirred, sitting up slowly and mechanically drawing her seatbelt across her body.

"Rachel, are you okay?

"I think so," she responded, taking mental inventory of her body. "Just a really bad headache."

"Rachel, you've got to be more careful!" Dawson said angrily.

Rachel looked at him sharply. What a ridiculous statement! Of course she was being careful! She was about ready to tell him so and include a few angry accusations of her own when she noticed his hands shaking as they worked at piloting the helicopter. She hadn't ever noticed his hands shake when they had been in dangerous situations before. He had always seemed so calm. Had he actually been afraid… for her?

Not waiting for a response, Dawson activated the radio. "This is Dawson Tate. The bomb has been exploded above the water." He gave coordinates for the blast. "We are returning to New York. The helicopter is damaged and difficult to control. I need to know the nearest place I can land."

"Tate, you're alive?" the voice said.

"Of course I am. I'm talking to you, aren't I? I think we managed to explode the bomb above the surface of the water, but I can't be sure. You should probably check satellite feed and be on the lookout for increasing water levels."

"We caught the explosion on satellite, but I didn't think you'd made it. I'm looking forward to your full report." The voice then gave Dawson coordinates for a landing site.

"Oh, and we'll need a medical team on the scene," Dawson added.

"Roger that."

As he ended the transmission, Rachel looked him over carefully. "Why is a medical team needed. Are you hurt?"

"No, you are. You hit your head pretty hard. And that's the second time. Remember the taxi wreck?"

"Just give me some aspirin and I'll be fine."

"You're going to get checked out anyway." His tone left no room for discussion.

"What about the helicopter? It's damaged? Will we make it?"

"We'll make it. I just have to make adjustments for whatever keeps pulling us off center."

"I'm sorry, Dawson. If I had managed to get the suitcase out the door with twenty seconds left, maybe we would have had enough clearance to not be impacted by the blast."

"No, Rachel, you did great. It wasn't the blast that got us. It was a massive air disturbance caused by the explosion—like an insanely strong gust of wind. I wasn't sure on the altitude. If you had gotten it out earlier, it may have detonated underwater. It was a long shot to begin with. The fact that we're alive and the helicopter has minimal damage is a miracle."

They both were silent for the next few minutes. Rachel's entire body began shaking uncontrollably. She kept silent, realizing by the helicopter's frequent jerks toward the pilot's side that it was requiring a lot of concentration and effort to keep it under control. Dawson was probably so focused that he didn't even notice her significant tremors.

It didn't take long before they were landing on the top of a building in Lower Manhattan.

The second the helicopter touched down, Rachel's door was yanked open and a man was reaching in to remove her bodily from the helicopter.

"Miss Saunders, you need to come with us right now."

Rachel slid to the concrete. The man took hold of her upper arm and began leading her away from the helicopter. Rachel turned, looking around frantically for Dawson.

"Holmes, wait!" Dawson called, jogging up.

"Tate, we have to get her out of sight."

"I understand," Dawson replied. "But she's in shock. She most likely has a concussion."

"She'll be taken care of. You need to go give your report to…"

"Me." An older man and a younger woman joined them. The older man was tall, balding, and wearing a suit. By the air of respect his presence seemed to command from others, Rachel realized he was the man in charge.

"Well, Tate," the man said, "since you managed to detonate the bomb in a way that caused no damage, I guess I can overlook the fact that you disobeyed my order to die."

"I would appreciate that, sir," Dawson replied, smiling slightly. Rachel recognized the man's voice from the helicopter radio, but this was the most respectful Rachel had heard Dawson since she met him.

"So the explosion had no effect on Manhattan?" Dawson asked.

"None. We reviewed the satellite feed. It was as you said. The explosion was sizeable, but it occurred right above the water and too far away from land to cause any damage. We need to get your full report right away, though. We're still working to sort out all the pieces of this terrorist plot."

"Fine. And Miss Saunders…?" Dawson asked, indicating Rachel.

"Holmes, she shouldn't even be out here," the bald man said to Rachel's escort, obviously annoyed. "You were ordered to take her below immediately."

"Yes, sir, I…"

"Miss Johnson," he said, turning to the young woman at his side. "See if you can assist Mr. Holmes in completing his assignment. You will be handling Miss Saunders anyway."

Miss Johnson moved to Rachel's other side and began walking toward the door.

"Kelsey," Dawson called. Miss Johnson turned without pausing her stride. "Make sure she gets some medical treatment ASAP, okay?"

"Don't worry, Dawson. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks." Dawson turned toward his boss, ignoring the evil glares Holmes was sending his direction.

Once through the door on the roof, Rachel was led to an elevator. She was then taken to a small room with no windows and told to sit in a chair. The man called Holmes left immediately.

"Miss Saunders," Miss Johnson said. "May I call you Rachel?"

"Sure, and you are?"

"I'm an agent with Homeland Security, like Dawson Tate. Just call me Kelsey."

She certainly didn't look like Rachel's idea of an agent. She was young, probably a few years older than Rachel, and petite. Her hair was long and black, pulled back in a ponytail. Her skin was pale, her features delicate. Rachel thought she looked exactly like Snow White.

"Just sit tight a minute, Rachel. I'm going to run and get the doctor."

Kelsey left, but was soon back with an aging doctor. He might have been a robot for as much bedside manner as he showed. Rachel was still shaking uncontrollably, yet he said not a word as he examined her, listening to her heart, taking her pulse, listening to her lungs, examining her eyes.

"Did you lose consciousness?" he finally asked.

"I'm not sure," Rachel replied honestly. "It's all kind of fuzzy. I have a pretty bad headache."

"You were also exposed to some smoke?"

"Yes."

"Still having bouts of coughing?"

It really hadn't occurred to Rachel until he asked, but, now that she thought about it, she was still having frequent moments of coughing and breathlessness. She realized that Dawson had been having similar episodes too, but they had both been so focused on survival, it hadn't even registered until now.

"I guess so," she replied

Completed with his examination, the doctor stood, walked to the door, and addressed Kelsey.

"She's in shock. She's dehydrated. She has a concussion. I don't think it's severe enough to warrant further tests. She has also had some significant smoke inhalation. Some oxygen will probably do her some good. Other than that, she needs rest and fluids. When she's asleep, see that she's woken up every few hours. I'll have some medication for the headache and some oxygen sent in."

The doctor left, and Kelsey turned back to Rachel.

"I know you're exhausted and feel terrible, Rachel. I wish I could just send you to bed. But, it's very important that I get your statement about what happened tonight. Something you say may provide some clues to this investigation."

"I understand. What do you need to know?"

Kelsey pulled out some paper, pen, and a recording device and set them on a table.

"I need to know everything."

The door opened and Holmes came in with an oxygen tank, several bottles of water, and a bottle of pills. After Rachel took the medication and got situated, Kelsey sat down across from her. She pushed the record button.

"Start when you first arrived at the airport," she instructed.

Rachel obediently related all of the night's events. She felt a little strange talking with oxygen tubes resting in her nostrils, but she just wanted to get this over with. Although she mentioned Dawson kissing her in front of her hotel (she didn't figure she could leave that out), she skipped over the parts where he kissed her again then said he wasn't interested. She also didn't mention that she had threatened to kill him if he kissed her again.

She also glossed over some of the unimportant details of her own involvement, completely omitting the part where she shot out the rearview mirror of the terrorists' car and minimizing her role in the fight in the alley. She said only that after she managed to disarm the terrorist threatening her, Dawson shot the one whose weapon was pointed at him, and he was then able to take the other one captive.

It wasn't as if she was seeking to be dishonest or even overly humble. She was just tired and didn't want to deal with the disbelief and questions that would surely follow if she relayed her entire involvement. She also didn't feel that any of that was essential to the narrative or the case. She wasn't a DHS agent, Dawson was. They weren't really interested in her, other than for her statement. So, she simply tried to focus on what they need to know about Dawson and his actions, which, all things considered, were remarkable and heroic at every turn. She tried to keep the narrative very factual, omitting her personal emotions and fear.

She ended with relaying how she pushed the bomb out, lost her balance, and managed to climb back aboard assisted by Dawson's skillful piloting. Finally, she fell silent. She noticed that, at some point, her body had finally stopped shaking.

Kelsey asked her a few questions and asked for full descriptions of the man who brought the suitcase to her in the airport and all the other terrorists she encountered.

"I think that's all for now," Kelsey said finally, pushing a button to stop the recording. "You did a good job, Rachel. Your statement was very concise yet thorough. I'll let you know if we need anything else from you."

"Could I ask a couple questions?" Rachel asked. At Kelsey's cautious look, Rachel rushed forward. "I don't understand how the bomb was activated when your people said they had fully disabled both it and the tracking device."

The door opened and Dawson came in the room, catching the tail end of Rachel's question.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Kelsey replied. "I can't really discuss that. Everything about this case is highly classified."

"Oh, come on, Kelsey!" Dawson interjected. "She already knows way too much anyway. What's the harm in filling in a few of the details? I know that very question was one of the first things I asked Andrews."

Kelsey still looked unsure.

"Fine," Dawson replied, turning to face Rachel directly. "The only explanation DHS has come up with is that the bomb was specifically rigged so both tracking and remote detonation could not both be simultaneously disabled. If the tracking was deactivated, the remote detonation was available if needed, but if the remote detonation was disabled, the tracking would automatically turn on again. It really was an ingenious failsafe. That's why the terrorist didn't overreact when they lost track of the bomb after the nightclub. They knew we were working to disable remote activation. The minute we succeeded, they could track the bomb again."

"That's how they knew we were at the dock," Rachel said, putting the pieces together.

"Exactly. And when our guys saw that tracking was reactivated, they worked to turn it off again."

"And when they succeeded, the terrorists could once again remotely detonate it."

"Which of course they did," Dawson finished. "They couldn't risk having the technology and potential clues to their organization fall into our hands."

Dawson turned to Kelsey. "Are you done with her now, Kelsey? I talked to the doctor. She needs some rest."

"We're done," she replied. "I just need to check with Andrews to make sure the arrangements have been finalized. Then I can take her to the hotel."

"I already checked with Andrews. I'm going to escort her to the hotel. You're supposed to check in with him, take care of a few details, and meet us there."

"She's my assignment, Dawson," Kelsey said, with a touch of iron lacing her voice.

"Andrews is sending both of us. I already discussed it with him."

"Dawson…" Kelsey said, disapproval in her tone. Something that Rachel didn't understand passed between the two agents. "Fine. I'll check with Andrews. Rachel, I'll meet you at the hotel shortly."

Kelsey walked out the door.

Gently Dawson removed the oxygen and unplugged it. "Kelsey will bring this and anything else you need. Let's get you out of here."

Dawson guided her back to the elevator, down to a parking garage, and into a waiting car.

"Did the doctor check you out too?" Rachel asked.

"Yes. I'm fine."

Rachel doubted that was the whole story, but she also doubted she would get any more information out of him.

"I have no idea what time it is. Do you think the hotel kept my reservation even though I didn't check in last night?

"It's about 8:00 in the morning," Dawson replied. "And you're not going to the InterContinental Times Square anyway."

They left the parking garage, Rachel seeing Manhattan bathed in full morning light. She had completely lost track of time and felt both surprised that so much time had passed and surprised that so much had happened in such a short amount of time.

"Why am I going to a different hotel?"

Dawson sighed, as if reluctant to answer her question. "You're still in danger, Rachel. We're taking you to a different hotel where Kelsey and I will keep you safe."

Dread settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach. "The bomb is gone. The terrorists have been apprehended. Why would I still be in danger?"

"We can't be certain that we have all of the terrorists. These terrorist rings can be massive with players on many different levels. The investigation is still ongoing. Although you were chosen randomly to be the mule, you can be certain that at least your name and picture will have been distributed, especially since you disappeared with the bomb."

"But the bomb is gone," Rachel repeated. "There's nothing left. Why would they still be after me?"

"Not everyone in the organization may realize the bomb has been detonated. Although the explosion was visible from shore, it happened early in the morning and the DHS has been able to keep it out of the media. The terrorists know you aren't a government agent, but they might also want you for information you could give them about our operations and their colleagues that have been apprehended."

"So how long will it take before I'm safe? I'm only supposed to be here for the weekend. My flight leaves on Monday. I would like to have at least part of my weekend in New York." Rachel knew that she was probably sounding somewhat desperate, like she was grasping at straws. But, at this point, she wanted to completely forget the past fifteen hours or so and enjoy her weekend, pretending that none of this had happened.

"I'm sorry, Rachel, that won't be possible. I'm taking you to a hotel so you can rest, recover, and get cleaned up. After which you will have to take an immediate flight home."

Rachel looked at Dawson, shocked. He was completely serious. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She realized there was nothing she could do.

"Will I still be in danger in Montana? Will they follow me back home?" She asked practically.

"We don't think so. This terrorist ring has already taken a big hit. By the time you're back home, we will have made even more progress in the investigation. They won't have the means or the need to follow you. Besides, we don't believe they have that much information about you. Everything through the hotel and travel agency says you're from Helena, but you aren't actually, right?

Our ranch is a ways outside of Helena," Rachel said. "That's just the city we're closest to and where my flight originated."

"We wouldn't be sending you home without protection if we had any reason to believe you to be in danger. Once you're out of New York, you'll be safe."