Prophet of Death

Chapter 7

      "What we need is one of those bombs, in one piece, so we can trace parts and try to zero in on this nut ball," Grozza replied. "The feds are going to take the scene of Cooper's plane."

      "Let them." Pete scratched his four-day-old beard. "We have plenty of leads to follow up here."

      "What about the other planes?" Jones asked. "Aren't they in danger?"

      "Not for long." Pete knew exactly what Allan was going to do. It took the FAA less than an hour to shut down all air traffic in their state as well as two others. All planes were grounded, and flights cancelled until further notice. People at airports were going to be pissed, but it was their safety everyone was looking out for. Police dogs all over the city were called out to all airports and would be sniffing for bombs on planes all night, just to be safe.

      Pete had a feeling that all airports in the area were going to be shut down; there was no way they'd focus on just one airport and tip off the press to what they were really concentrating on. Gibbons sent the K9s to the private field first, to look for more bombs attached to private planes. He was sure there were bound to be a few. Not every rich man was going to run on day one, so he was confident that they'd find at least one unexploded device. Pete was working at his desk after sending Jones down to forensics to get an update with the nerds when his cell went off. It was an unknown number but he answered it anyway.

      "Detective Gibbons," he quickly said, distracted by his work.

      "Can you help us?" a voice replied.

      "Who is this?" Pete asked. "Please identify yourself."

      "My name is Gerry; we spoke earlier at the airport," the man said. "You gave me your card, and I gave you the letter the Prophet sent me."

      Pete finally realized what was going on: it was the old man from the private airfield. "Where are you right now?"

      "We're in the air," Gerry answered. "My wife was watching television, and we're very scared."

      "Sir, you need to land your plane as soon as possible," Pete ordered.

      "We can't," Gerry replied. "We're halfway across the Atlantic. Going back will take even longer to land. We'll be in England in less than an hour."

      Pete took a deep breath. "Besides the news, do you have any other reason to believe you're in danger?"

      "You mean besides the bomb someone planted in our overhead cabin?"

      Pete paused to let that sink in. There was another bomb, but it hadn't gone off yet. "How did you find the bomb?"

      The moment Pete said bomb out loud, Grozza put down his phone and hung up on whoever he was talking to.

      "It started a digital countdown less than ten minutes ago," the old man answered. "We heard the sound but it took us a few minutes to discover where it was coming from."

      "How much time is left on it?" Pete asked.

      "Less than twenty minutes," the old man answered.

      Pete knew that wasn't anywhere near the amount of time they would need to land somewhere. "I want you to stay on the line. I'm going to find someone who can help you."

     "Thank you," Gerry replied.

     Pete covered the receiver and waved Grozza to come over. "We need an expert from the bomb squad, right now!"