Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) Read online

  That was God.

  “Well, I’m interested.” Jack realized he was smiling.

  “We can talk about salary and benefits if and when it happens. Again, the target is Thanksgiving.”

  “Super,” Jack said. But suddenly the doubt that had built up like a massive dam over the last seven months got the best of him. “What if, by chance, Sterling’s popularity should wane?”

  “We can cross that bridge then.” Buck stood. “I’m looking at this as a long-term relationship. If this doesn’t pan out, there’ll be other opportunities down the road. Let’s commit to keeping in touch.”

  “Okay.” Jack stood, debating whether to crack the joke that came to mind. What the heck. “I can call you every day, if you like.”

  “Jack, hold up!” The shout came from across the newsroom. It was Derrick, leading a group of dark-suited men and one woman.

  “Mr. Stevens, thank you again,” Jack said to Buck. “I’m going to say hello to Derrick.”

  “Fine. I’m going to scoot back to my office before I get swept up in all the hoopla.” Buck waved at Derrick’s group, then went the other way.

  Derrick approached, leading Martin Sterling and his entourage, and Jack felt as if he were in a dream. The whole morning at the newspaper had been a dream—a very good dream from which he had no desire to wake up.

  Sterling was flanked by two generic-looking security guards and his sharp young black-haired handler lady, who ran a finger down a clipboard, checked her watch, and whispered something to Sterling. A third security guy, portly and dark skinned, brought up the rear. He produced a toothpick from somewhere in his big mouth, swirled it on his tongue, and made it disappear again as he gazed about the newsroom, looking bored.

  “Jack, I want you to meet the next president of the United States, Martin Sterling.” Derrick smiled and gestured toward the senator. “Senator Sterling, this is my best friend, best man, and hopefully soon-to-be new reporter with the Gazette, Jack Crittendon.”

  Sterling had a viselike grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Jack. You two made quite a team on that Demler-Vargus fiasco. Woodward and Bernstein got nothing on you.”

  Jack chuckled. “Thank you, sir.”

  “We just did a photo shoot for the Sunday magazine,” Derrick said.

  “My mother-in-law is a huge fan of yours,” Jack said to Sterling. “Wait till she hears that I met you.”

  “Jenny, do we have a photograph for Jack’s mother-in-law?”

  From beneath her clipboard Jenny produced an eight-by-ten glossy of Sterling wearing a bomber jacket with an American flag on the shoulder. She uncapped a Sharpie and handed them both to Sterling.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Margaret,” Jack said.

  Sterling scribbled a brief message, signed with looping exaggeration, and handed the photo and marker back to Jenny, who blew on the signature and gave the photo to Jack.

  “Thank you very much. She’s going to collapse when she sees this,” Jack said. “I mean it. Over the past few months she’s become a diehard supporter, mainly because of your stance on national security and defense spending.”

  “We have a great deal of support from the elderly. More than the president does. That’s clear. At least that’s what the polls say. It’s the young vote we must have.”

  Sterling looked at Derrick to say, This is off the record, then turned back to Jack.

  “We don’t think young people grasp what the country’s in danger of losing. It’s about freedom and heritage and legacy. But they’re more concerned about taking pictures of themselves and posting them on Twitter and Facebook.” He lowered his voice and inched closer to Jack. “They’re so darn inward-focused … they’re asleep. They have no concept of reality. Not in their wildest dreams do they realize how drastically things could change.” He snapped his fingers. “Overnight.”

  “Senator.” The young lady tapped her watch. “We do have a tight agenda. Best we keep moving.”

  Sterling shook his head and waved a hand. “Aw, don’t get me started. Jack …” They shook hands. “Great to meet you. I assume I’ll be seeing more of you, if and when you come on board here.”

  Jack smiled. “Yes, sir. I look forward to it. Good luck in the days ahead.”

  Derrick and he bumped fists, and the Sterling entourage continued through the newsroom like a dark cloud working its way across a white sky.

  The new text waiting on his phone was another from Shakespeare. He was at the Sinclair, a tavern several doors down from the Gazette. With a bounce in his step, Jack made his way to the windy city street. He stood there for a moment, eyeballing the concrete landscape, high-rises, eateries, and businesses, and pictured himself working there.

  He took in an enormous breath of cold air. He hadn’t felt so excited in months.

  Thank you. That was good. Please … please let this happen.

  He ducked into the dark bar, let his eyes adjust, and walked toward the back. It smelled like … fish. Shakespeare lifted a drink to get his attention.

  “Hey, man.” Jack slid in across from him. “What’s going on?”

  Shakespeare reeked of booze. His drink was dark gold with no ice—whiskey, Jack presumed.

  Both elbows on the table, Shakespeare pursed his lips and swirled the drink. “Sheena’s leaving.”

  Jack deflated.

  A waitress appeared. Jack ordered a tonic and lime. Shakespeare ordered another short whiskey.

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  “I am a ‘survivalist freak.’ I have ‘lost touch with reality.’” His head wobbled back and forth sarcastically with each word. “I have taken my ‘threat addiction’ too far. I have failed as a husband and father … You want me to keep going?”

  “What about the kids?”

  Shakespeare tossed his head back, draining the drink. “She says she’s taking ’em.” He wiped his mouth with the back of a wrist and nodded slowly.

  “Does she want the house?”

  “She doesn’t care. Just wants out.” His speech was slurred.

  “Maybe it was just a bad day,” Jack said. “Didn’t she do this once before?”

  “She’s talked to a lawyer. She means it this time.”

  “Man …”

  He lifted up and craned his neck toward the bar. “How long does it take to pour a whiskey?”

  “So what’re you gonna do?”

  He looked down, shook his head, then tipped the empty glass way back again, loudly sucking at the last few drops. “Looks like I’m gonna be flyin’ solo.”

  “Dude, I know a really good marriage counselor. She’s helped a couple of my friends. One says she saved their marriage.”

  The waitress showed up, and Shakespeare eyed his drink as if she’d just arrived with a lobster dinner.

  “Christian, I suppose.” He didn’t take his eyes off the drink.

  “Yes.”

  He took a swig, puckered his lips, and let out an “Ahh,” as if the drink was his lifeline.

  “You’re not driving home. I’ll take you,” Jack said.

  “I’m not like you, Jack …” Shakespeare winced. “There’s something different about you. I’ve always admired it—”

  “You need to make an appointment with this lady—”

  “I mean it. You’re a real Christian. You don’t just hang out with other Christians. You’re friends with everybody. You care about people. Phhh … what a concept.” He took another swig. “Most of the Christians I know are self-righteous idiots. Think they’re better than everyone else. Bunch of hypocrites. It’s all just talk. I can’t stand it.”

  “God knows our hearts, dude.”

  “Yeah.” Shakespeare chuckled but didn’t smile. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Jack got out his phone and searched for the counselor’s name and
number. He and Pam had actually discussed going to see her on several different occasions.

  “Don’t bother. She won’t do it. She’s done.” Shakespeare looked at his watch. “Thanks anyway.”

  “What if you and I were to get together? Say once a week.”

  Shakespeare looked at Jack intently, his mouth sealed shut.

  “Maybe Pam could even get together with Sheena. I could talk to her about it.”

  Shakespeare gave a half smile. “I take it you don’t mean for drinks …”

  15

  Festival Arena, October 6

  From a corner of the drafty room where Everett and Karen Lester talked quietly and their son read a book on the floor, Jack made a quick call to the house to fill Pam in on what was going on—but he got no answer.

  How could that be? Unless they’d run out for dinner. But Pam hadn’t felt like going anywhere, especially at night—in the cold.

  What had she meant in her text about having a surprise for him?

  Could she possibly be in labor—early? On the way to the hospital?

  But no, she would want him there.

  A wave of dread rolled over him.

  Surely Margaret would let him know as soon as possible.

  What about the girls? The hospital was no place for them.

  He should’ve left when Clarissa gave the option. Idiot. It was too late now; he was needed here. But if Pam really was in labor, he would have to go. But … just leave?

  He thumbed to his favorites for Pam’s cell number.

  “Jack, we’re switching things up.” Clarissa strode into the room and got right in his face. “I want you and Sid to escort Lester and his people to suite 213 now. Use the service elevator.”

  He nodded, his mind racing.

  She continued, “As soon as Shakespeare gets back, he will bring Sterling up. Lieutenant Wolfski thinks this is the best play right now.”

  “But if the bad guys are already in the building, shouldn’t we stay put?” Jack said.

  Her shoulders collapsed, and her head dropped in frustration. “Mr. O’Dell says we are to do everything SWAT tells us. That’s the order from the top.”

  Wolfski was in the hallway, talking on his radio. Sterling was in a deep and private conversation with Jenny King.

  “So let’s roll.” Clarissa turned to face Everett and Karen. “Mr. Lester, Jack and Sid are going to escort you and your party up to the club level now. We have a nice suite waiting for you.”

  “Clarissa.” Jack couldn’t hold it back any longer. “Can I talk to you one minute?”

  She scowled at him and asked the Lesters to excuse her. “What is it?”

  “My wife’s eight months pregnant. She’s not answering the house phone. I was going to try her cell.”

  Clarissa rolled her eyes as her head tilted back, then evened her gaze at Jack and breathed out before speaking. “Just get them up there safely, make sure they’re comfortable, then go outside the door and make your call.” Her voice was amazingly calm. “If she’s in labor, tell me. We’ll figure something out.”

  Jack’s whole body eased. “Thank you, Clarissa.”

  With renewed zeal he instructed Sid to follow behind the Lester party as he led them all out the door into the long concrete hallway. Stopping, Jack counted nine people in all, including Everett, Karen, Cole, Gray, and five security and staff members. The rest of Lester’s entourage were backstage preparing for the show.

  He glanced at his phone again. Nothing from Pam or Margaret.

  “Okay, folks, just follow me.” Jack began to walk at a good clip. “We’ll have you up to your suite in no time.”

  “Daniel!” Derrick yelled to his cameraman over the clamor of the crowd, jabbing a finger toward the helmet-clad SWAT soldiers jogging single file into the arena lobby, carrying shields and armed with clubs and heavy artillery.

  With the fluidity of a cat, Daniel weaved his way through the crowd, shooting frame after frame of the SWAT officers as they stationed themselves along the front doors of the venue.

  “This way, folks. This way. Keep moving,” called one of the orange-jacketed EventPros, his hands held high in the air as he motioned for people to move deeper into the facility. Down the way, other EventPros stood at the open doors leading into the bowl, calling and waving their hands for guests to file into the seating area.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the spectacular Columbus Festival Arena!” a booming voice echoed over the PA system. “If you will, please make your way inside the event hall through the many sets of double doors. This is a general admission event and we have many guests to accommodate, so again, please make your way inside the event hall while the best seats are still available.”

  Derrick went with the flow through the first set of doors and, once inside, hopped out of line near the top of the steps, where he stood next to a large column to get a bird’s-eye view. All around the oval-shaped arena, people were making their way down the long rows of steps, many filling in the seats around the stage.

  His cell phone vibrated, and he glanced down to read a text from Daniel:

  Where did you go?

  He checked the sign above him and texted back that he was at the top of section 103. While he had his phone out he thought of calling Zenia, but it was too loud to hold a conversation, and he couldn’t explain it in a text.

  Daniel came through the doors wide-eyed, jockeying his way to Derrick. “Man, this is nuts. Those people outside are ticked off.”

  “It’s gonna be an interesting night,” Derrick said. “You have any reservations?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It could get dangerous …”

  Daniel shook his head. He had a shiny brown baby face with huge brown eyes, the whites of which were crystal clear. “This is what we do. I’m all in.”

  Derrick nodded, wishing he felt the same. Of course, he would have when he was young and single like Daniel, but now he was over thirty and married—both good excuses.

  “You think anything’s going on up there?” Daniel nodded up high, toward the top of the arena, where a black curtain gusted and a black railing ran the entire circumference of the venue.

  Derrick exhaled aloud. “I hope not.”

  “You think we ought to catch back up with Sterling?”

  “Yeah. We’ve seen what the public’s seeing. Let’s find out what’s going on behind the scenes.”

  16

  The Crittendons’ house, three days earlier

  “What was that?” Pamela asked.

  Margaret clicked the mouse, quickly closing the screen she’d been viewing when Pamela came around the corner into the family room. “What?” She continued to look at the computer and clicked open something new on the screen. “Just checking the old email. Shakespeare’s been sending me links. You don’t know how survivor savvy I’ve become.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. What was that video you were watching?”

  “YouTube.”

  “Did Shakespeare send you that link?”

  “No.”

  “What was it, Mom? It looked like a close-up of someone with a gun.”

  “He was sliding the rack on a nine-millimeter semiautomatic.” Margaret pronounced every word like an expert at a gun show. “It interests me, that’s all. Gee whiz, can’t a girl have a little fun—and privacy?”

  Ha. Privacy! It was something they’d had none of since Margaret moved in with them so many months ago.

  Pamela was sorry the second she thought it.

  “Mom, yes, you can have privacy. I just don’t want you to get carried away with all that Shakespeare survivalist stuff. It’s not healthy. I’m fine with your buying some extra food, ordering the water filter. But watching videos about guns?”

  “It’s not health
y to ignore the threat.” Margaret continued to work the mouse, examining the screen.

  “Yeah, well, if your little food stash gets any bigger, we’re going to need to rent storage space.”

  “Very funny. You won’t laugh when the stores are all closed and my little stash is what’s feeding your girls—and the baby.” She’d purchased dozens of jars of baby food.

  “You heard what Sheena said. It’s an obsession with Brian. And now look at them—they’re totally unhappy.”

  “If you ask me, she’s the one who’s a little off-kilter,” Margaret said. “I wonder if she isn’t clinically depressed. It’s no surprise he’s found … other interests.” She quietly murmured the last few words.

  There were times Pamela had to count to ten to keep her mouth shut. She took out her frustration by fluffing and straightening the big pillows on the couch. Then she picked up crayons and coloring books the girls had left out, all the while trying to process the fact that her mother was watching YouTube videos of rednecks firing guns.

  But then again, what difference did it really make? Her mother was old. She wasn’t bothering anyone. She was harmless.

  “Look at this. Even CNN is saying Sterling won Monday night’s debate,” Margaret said. “If they’re saying it, you know he dominated.”

  Ever since Jack had gotten to meet Senator Sterling at Derrick’s newspaper office a week ago, they’d all been following him on the news, cheering him on, knowing that if he remained strong in the polls through Thanksgiving, Jack would have a full-time job as an editor at the Columbus Gazette.

  The thought of being able to stay home with the baby made Pamela’s heart soar. She would be a full-time mommy again for Rebecca and Faye. Laundry and housecleaning and grocery shopping had never looked so good. She would be able to nurse the baby, change her, put her down for naps—all day long.

  It was funny, but the whole pregnancy Pamela had been referring to the baby as “she.” That was probably because they were just so used to having girls. They certainly had all of the clothes and toys a girl would need. But what if it was a boy? She smiled. Jack would be ecstatic.