Page 144 of Broken Wheels

“I’ll call the minute I have something,” Josh promised.

“You’ve got less than twenty-four hours,” Carson reminded him. He gave a raw chuckle. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“Doc? Go be my genius,” Dixon said in a warm voice. “And when you have news, call me too.” He said goodbye and ended the call.

Josh went to work, opening up the files and searching for the one he hoped would provide them with the help they so badly needed. He was grateful for the password, because it opened up a whole new.... Wait. He widened his eyes as an entire trove of files was opened for him. Carson was damn good, and Josh hoped he could learn from the man.

“So what’s in there?” Gary got up from the couch and came over to him.

Josh scrolled through the documents in the folder. “There are several files in here that might prove useful.” He chuckled. “This one is titled CHICAGO. You think that might be of interest?” He clicked on it, and the breath died in his throat. “Oh my God. Carson really is a genius.”

“You’ve found something?”

Josh grinned, lighter than he’d felt in a long while. “Not just something—I’ve hit the motherlode. The jackpot. This is nothing short of dynamite.”

Gary peered over his shoulder, and his gasp filled Josh’s ear. “Holy fuck, jackpot is right.” He pointed to the text. “Look at that part there.”

“I know. Let me see if the other docs are similar.” He opened the file titled STUTTON, and laughed out loud. “Oh, Mr. Spencer. You are going to rue the day you tried to mess with me.” He glanced at Gary. “Make the call. Tell Carson we’re going to email him some very important documents.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “Lord, I wish I could be a fly on the wall when all this comes out. Just to see Spencer’s face.”

“You are not going anywhere near that press conference, you hear me?”

He snorted. “Are you kidding? Dixon would cut off my balls and give them to Coby to play with. I’ll have to content myself with watching it on TV. Because we know Spencer loves the cameras, right?”

There was light at the end of the tunnel.

Finally.

Josh could hardly sit still as the hour approached for the press conference. The TV screen showed the large room at the National Press Club in DC, filled to capacity. Behind the rows and rows of chairs, every one of them occupied, was a huge bank of cameras, and aides stood at every side, armed with mics for questions from the journalists. At the front of the room was a lectern with a teleprompter and mic, standing between two bronze pillars, an American flag on each side of the stage. Behind the lectern was a white screen.

“Carson said we need to watch when it gets to question time.” Gary chuckled. “Why do I have the urge to make popcorn?”

Josh didn’t look away from the screen. “If you do, I like mine with butter.”

Gary laughed. “I think that was Josh-speak for, ‘Make popcorn, Gary.’”

“Too late. It’s about to kick off.” Josh stared at the TV as Spencer made his way to the lectern, as immaculately dressed as usual. A hush fell over the assembled journalists when Spencer placed a sheaf of notes on the podium, reached into his pocket, and removed a pair of glasses. He raised his head and gave the filled room a polite smile.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for coming.” Spencer put on his glasses. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the horrific event that took place in Stutton, Arkansas. We mourn with those who lost family and friends, and we seek justice for them. As yet, the perpetrator of these heinous attacks remains at large, but the authorities are still involved in a search for him, and they won’t rest until he is captured and answers for his deeds.” Spencer lifted his chin. “The reason for this press conference is to bring news of a series of planned attacks—which have all been thwarted.”

Murmurs erupted among the journalists.

Spencer nodded. “Yesterday, I received information that there were to be attacks at five locations in Chicago, namely the John Hancock Tower, the Field Museum of Natural History, the Shedd Aquarium, the Navy Pier, and the Willis Tower. Late last night, I deployed my teams to each of these locations, and my people were able to find—and disable—the devices, which were set to deliver the same toxin used in Stutton and a few other locations.” He picked up a remote and aimed it at the projector hanging from the ceiling. “The team leaders took these photos before disabling the devices.” On the screen flashed images, showing the bombs, and Spencer’s teams in their hazmat suits. There were rumbles from the crowd of journalists. “What appalls me is that these devices had been placed in areas that usually enjoy large numbers of visitors. The devastation that could have resulted if we hadn’t discovered them doesn’t bear thinking about.”

A journalist raised her hand. “Why didn’t the police defuse these devices?”

“We didn’t want to cause widespread panic,” Spencer told her. “Once we knew of the existence of the bombs, I spoke with my government liaison, who gave me the green light to deploy my teams to remove them without attracting too much attention. That was the reason for making this a nighttime operation.”

One by one, the journalists stood, giving their name and newspaper or TV channel before firing their questions, and Josh cringed when his name was mentioned yet again as the instigator of the attacks.

“Wow, he doesn’t give up, does he?” Then he froze when a journalist stood and introduced himself as Paul Brady from the NYT. “Oh, thank God. Here we go.”

“Mr. Spencer,” Brady began, “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I thank you for the stellar work your teams have done in recent years, going into these scenes of devastation to clean up, looking after those afflicted….”

Spencer smiled. “I did it because someone had to.”

Brady nodded. “However, I must admit to being a little confused.”

“I’m happy to answer any questions to help clear up your confusion.”

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