subsequently extended to include the willing incineration of living flesh as part of a sacrifice or protest.”
“So, McDonnel was on a heavy-duty religious trip.”
“Maybe,” Theel replied cautiously, pulling up onto Aurora Way south, “but in spite of the religious overtones and the so-called experts the networks came up with, I don’t think so. No, I think the self-immolation thing was intended to generate some attention-grabbing video and dress the whole thing up to look like an act of self-sacrifice rather than the cold-blooded murder that it actually was.”
The rain was falling steadily by then and Rossi watched the wipers smear it back and forth. “What about the video? Who shot it? They had to know about the attack in advance.”
“Yes, they did,” Theel agreed grimly. “We’re looking at the footage shot by the local TV stations and the university’s surveillance cams. The lab has it along with the folks in Counter Terrorism.”
Rossi nodded. “Good. I want the bastard. Or bastards as the case may be.”
Theel glanced her way. “We’ll get them. How’s Missy?”
Rossi sighed. The ELA videographer was efficient if nothing else. All three of the local TV stations had copies of his raw footage within an hour of the murders—and all three broke into their regular programming to run it. While she was still at the university, working to secure thecrime scene and coordinate the initial response, Missy had been at her father’s place watching television. The special news bulletin popped up right in the middle of A Charlie Brown Christmas . Within a matter of seconds, the little girl was looking at pictures of a person on fire and a woman firing her pistol. Then, as the agent turned to scan the crowd for more perps, Missy saw a tight shot of her mother’s face.
Vanessa said Missy had been hysterical at first, certain that her mother had been hurt in some way and desperate to talk to her. Later, after the two of them spoke on the phone, the little girl finally started to calm down. She hadn’t been allowed to watch TV since. “It was hard,” Rossi replied bleakly. “Really, really, hard.”
Theel nodded, and conned the car through downtown traffic and into an underground parking garage. The building swallowed the sedan—and the Bureau swallowed Rossi.
Chapter Two
Though nothing like the storm raging out in the Pacific, thirty-knot winds pushed six-foot waves east through the Strait of Juan de Fuca, which would have been a problem for a small boat but were barely noticeable on the bridge of the 53,000-ton ship South Wind . It was warm inside the tightly enclosed bridge, too warm by Captain Hans Kroger’s standards, but the rest of the multi-national crew liked it that way. The fact that the air was thick with stale cigarette smoke, the smell of strong tea, and the helmsman’s rank body odor made the situation that much worse. Vertical wipers thumped from side-to-side, banks of instruments glowed green, and the soft mutter of radio traffic could be heard in the background as the Coast Guard’s Puget Sound Vessel Traffic Service Center (VTS) kept in contact with two dozen ships. It had been six months since Kroger had been to Seattle and the merchant marine officer was looking forward to making port. There were bars to visit, plus a woman who had proven to be cooperative in the past, and what more could any sailor want?
A blast of cold air invaded the long, narrow space as the hatch that provided access to the starboard bridge extension slid open. First Officer Akio Suzuki closed the door, shook himself in the same way that a dog would, and sent rain water flying in every direction. The yellow storm suit was so bulky it caused him to waddle. The Japanese officer had a broad forehead, almond-shaped eyes, and was perpetually in need of a shave. “Captain.”
Kroger nodded gravely. “Number One.”
Neither one of the men spoke the other’s native language, which was why all of their
“So, McDonnel was on a heavy-duty religious trip.”
“Maybe,” Theel replied cautiously, pulling up onto Aurora Way south, “but in spite of the religious overtones and the so-called experts the networks came up with, I don’t think so. No, I think the self-immolation thing was intended to generate some attention-grabbing video and dress the whole thing up to look like an act of self-sacrifice rather than the cold-blooded murder that it actually was.”
The rain was falling steadily by then and Rossi watched the wipers smear it back and forth. “What about the video? Who shot it? They had to know about the attack in advance.”
“Yes, they did,” Theel agreed grimly. “We’re looking at the footage shot by the local TV stations and the university’s surveillance cams. The lab has it along with the folks in Counter Terrorism.”
Rossi nodded. “Good. I want the bastard. Or bastards as the case may be.”
Theel glanced her way. “We’ll get them. How’s Missy?”
Rossi sighed. The ELA videographer was efficient if nothing else. All three of the local TV stations had copies of his raw footage within an hour of the murders—and all three broke into their regular programming to run it. While she was still at the university, working to secure thecrime scene and coordinate the initial response, Missy had been at her father’s place watching television. The special news bulletin popped up right in the middle of A Charlie Brown Christmas . Within a matter of seconds, the little girl was looking at pictures of a person on fire and a woman firing her pistol. Then, as the agent turned to scan the crowd for more perps, Missy saw a tight shot of her mother’s face.
Vanessa said Missy had been hysterical at first, certain that her mother had been hurt in some way and desperate to talk to her. Later, after the two of them spoke on the phone, the little girl finally started to calm down. She hadn’t been allowed to watch TV since. “It was hard,” Rossi replied bleakly. “Really, really, hard.”
Theel nodded, and conned the car through downtown traffic and into an underground parking garage. The building swallowed the sedan—and the Bureau swallowed Rossi.
Chapter Two
Though nothing like the storm raging out in the Pacific, thirty-knot winds pushed six-foot waves east through the Strait of Juan de Fuca, which would have been a problem for a small boat but were barely noticeable on the bridge of the 53,000-ton ship South Wind . It was warm inside the tightly enclosed bridge, too warm by Captain Hans Kroger’s standards, but the rest of the multi-national crew liked it that way. The fact that the air was thick with stale cigarette smoke, the smell of strong tea, and the helmsman’s rank body odor made the situation that much worse. Vertical wipers thumped from side-to-side, banks of instruments glowed green, and the soft mutter of radio traffic could be heard in the background as the Coast Guard’s Puget Sound Vessel Traffic Service Center (VTS) kept in contact with two dozen ships. It had been six months since Kroger had been to Seattle and the merchant marine officer was looking forward to making port. There were bars to visit, plus a woman who had proven to be cooperative in the past, and what more could any sailor want?
A blast of cold air invaded the long, narrow space as the hatch that provided access to the starboard bridge extension slid open. First Officer Akio Suzuki closed the door, shook himself in the same way that a dog would, and sent rain water flying in every direction. The yellow storm suit was so bulky it caused him to waddle. The Japanese officer had a broad forehead, almond-shaped eyes, and was perpetually in need of a shave. “Captain.”
Kroger nodded gravely. “Number One.”
Neither one of the men spoke the other’s native language, which was why all of their
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