When Joan Cortez clicked off her phone after talking to Paul, she quivered with excitement. But she forced herself to sit and think. The scientist at the school had insisted the boys go back to school and go to mosque. She didn’t want to go off in the wrong direction, but this sounded like the plot they feared the most. Should she call the Army now?
On the one hand, she wanted to break the case and uncover the plot herself. This one would ensure her career forever. Still, she knew she couldn’t do it alone. ICE had the manpower, but not the technical expertise.
Poor Paul, so far over his head. By the time he figured out what was going on, she’d have it all wrapped up. A nice guy, but business was business. He would complain to her after she’d taken it down. She’d simply tell him, “Homeland Security.” If it was even half as big as they suspected, she’d be a national hero. Her grubby little life would change forever. Joan could give her son all he deserved. And no need for help from the deadbeat ex-husband. In fact, she might have lots of interested men in the future.
What scared Joan was the timetable. In a “few days,” the boy had said to Paul. That was a lot faster than expected. She calculated the rollout and realized they would have less than a week to head things off—not enough time.
Ribbons of sweat smeared down the sides of her chest. Joan took a deep breath. This wasn’t the same as chasing a bogey across the Mexican border; this would challenge everything they had to combat it. How far had the enemy progressed? Was it here yet? If law enforcement missed the small window of time to stop the bad guys, they might as well give up.
With all the pressure, her mind seemed to slow down until Joan could feel her thoughts struggling to organize themselves. To make sense of it all. To decide how to fight them. She looked at her watch.
Joan keyed her phone to an app specially developed by Homeland Security for just this occurrence. It would calculate the timing more accurately than she could. Let’s see . . . on Friday, the boy said.
Fear crept up from behind her, causing Joan to lose her concentration. She sat back for a moment, shook out her hands, and went back to keying in the data for the app. She ran the numbers three times to be certain. Finished, Joan pulled her sweater closer around her shoulders.
Finally convinced, she knew what had to be done.
Should Joan email them? Too slow. That was why he’d given her his cell phone number. Direct.
She picked up her cell and tried to dial the number, but her fingers couldn’t hit the small keys. She started again. This time it worked. The phone rang, kept ringing. Finally, someone said, “Yes?”
“It’s Agent Joan Cortez from ICE.”
“Yes—?” The voice sounded hollow, almost bored.
She swallowed. “I have a message for Dr. Sarnahan.”
“What do you have, Agent?”
“With intel we’ve obtained and after running the data through the app—”