Killer Instinct (Instinct #2)(61)

“So you’re saying this cell is probably a little smarter, huh?” I said.

“That depends,” replied my father.

“On what?”

“If there’s actually a backpack in there with no bomb in it.”

I turned to the rest of the group. “Okay, that was more than ten seconds,” I said.

No one had moved.

Kneeling down, I slowly opened the side panel of the trash bin.





CHAPTER 85


THERE IT WAS.

The backpack was stuffed in the corner on the same side as the panel’s hinges. The zipper was exposed, the pull tab at the top and right in front of me. All I had to do was reach for it.

I turned around again. “Anyone want another ten seconds?” I asked.

Except now there was an extra pair of eyes staring back at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

If I didn’t know better, it was Jeremy Renner from The Hurt Locker. He was certainly dressed like him with the full blast suit, head to toe. His visor was flipped up over his helmet. Even if the visor had been down and concealing his eyes I was pretty sure I would’ve still been able to feel his stare.

I was also pretty sure he’d asked a rhetorical question. He knew exactly what I was doing. Or was about to.

The Irish have a saying. A good retreat is better than a bad stand. I simply stood up and backed away.

Renner didn’t ask who anyone was. He flat-out didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, we all answered to the name Idiot. When Pritchard tried to explain, the guy raised a big padded arm with his palm out front. Talk to the Kevlar hand …

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are,” he told Pritchard. “I need all of you to vacate the area, and not in ten seconds,” he said. “I need you to do it now.”

Behind him, far behind him, was the rest of the bomb squad, standing in various poses, none of them happy. These guys had enough to deal with—the threat of being blown up, for instance. They certainly didn’t need the added headache of an abnormal psychology professor trying to explain himself. Or just as bad, someone else trying to do it for me.

“Of course,” said Pritchard, motioning across the concourse. “We’ll be over there if you need us.”

“Make it way over there,” said Renner.

To Pritchard’s credit, he let the guy have the last word. Or maybe he was just saving up his ammo.

The argument I knew was coming had arrived.

We’d barely reached the middle of the concourse when Pritchard turned to my father, Foxx, and me as if we were some three-headed CIA monster. “I know what you boys are thinking, and it ain’t going to happen,” he said. “So get it out of your heads.”

I couldn’t speak for my father or Foxx. Nor did I need to. I had plenty of my own thoughts on what Pritchard was talking about. I cut right to the chase.

“If you close down this station, you’ll kill our best chance of catching them,” I said.

I stopped walking, thinking Pritchard would do the same.

“Keep moving,” he said instead. “We’re not far enough away, in case you’re wrong about that backpack.”

“I’m not wrong about it. I’m also not wrong about why you have to keep the station open as if nothing had happened here tonight.”

“Oh, yeah? And what if we do keep it open and something does happen? Should we gather all the grieving families together at once so you can explain the CIA’s ethical theory of utilitarianism or would you prefer simply going funeral to funeral?”

With that, Pritchard stopped. We all stopped. We were in front of a Zaro’s Bread Basket. When was the last time I ate?

“If we close down the station, it’s game over,” I said. “They’ll know we’re on to them, and they’ll just choose another target.”

“Then we catch them before they do,” said Pritchard.

“Yeah,” I shot back, “just like you caught them before Times Square.”

Me and my big mouth …





CHAPTER 86


I KNEW the moment I said it I’d gone too far. So did Foxx and my father. Before Pritchard had even raised his arm to clock me, they’d stepped in between us. They had to hold him back, and it was definitely a two-man job.

“I apologize,” I said. “That was the wrong thing to say.”

“You’re damn right it was,” said Pritchard.

“He has a point, though,” said Foxx. “You know this is our best chance. You don’t have to like it, but you can’t deny it.”

“You’re the ones in denial,” said Pritchard. “You’re trying to rationalize the risk. How do you know this station doesn’t already have a half dozen other backpacks planted?”

“The same way I know there isn’t a bomb in the one in that trash bin,” I said.

“We’ll see about that,” said Pritchard.

“You’re right, we will. In the meantime, do you see a sitting dog anywhere?” I asked.

The handlers were working the far side of the concourse, where we were now standing. They’d yet to find anything.

“Even if you’re right about the backpack and the station is clean, you’re forgetting one thing,” said Pritchard.