The Bomb Maker's Son Read Online Free PDF Page A

that, right?”
    “Rachel O’Brien, Charles Sedgwick, Belinda Hayes were the other principals in your collective. Can they exonerate you?”
    “They wouldn’t help me.”
    “At her trial, O’Brien said you assembled the bomb and planted it.”
    “She lied.”
    “Did she lie when she testified that you planted explosive devices in buildings where people were?”
    He puffs up, sheds years, and now resembles the radical orator I saw on Wikipedia . “I’m not ashamed of what we did. We waged a just war against the government that even Martin Luther King called the greatest purveyor of violence in the world. Our collective was responsible for nine bombings of federal facilities and corporations in the western United States that supported American imperialism and oppression of the poor and minorities. No one was ever injured as a result of those operations. Not even a scratch. That was intentional. Other than the one that exploded at Playa Delta, I built every one of those bombs. I was good at it. My actions were noble. I don’t apologize for them. But I did not bomb the Playa Delta VA.”
    How convenient that he admits only to the crimes for which the statute of limitations has expired.
    “If you didn’t, then who did?” I ask.
    “No idea.”
    “So you want us to get you off on a legal technicality, right? COINTELPRO’s illegal activities? Who cares about the facts so long as the system failed you, huh? Or maybe you don’t want the truth to come out because you’re guilty of murder.”
    Lovely starts to say something but catches herself.
    “Grow up, Parker,” Holzner says. “So you had a tough childhood. How tough could it have really been? You were a pampered actor making millions and having a bunch of people cater to your every whim. And now you live in a million-dollar condo on the Silver Strand and work when you feel like it. Not such a bad life. Open your eyes and take a look at people who’re really struggling.”
    I study his face and see a past that never was, a rescuer who never came, and possibly a murderer.
    “You said there was a second reason you were going to turn yourself in,” I say.
    “Because of my past, because of my fear, when I became Martin Lansing I never discussed my true political beliefs with anyone, not even my family. I posed as a middle-of-the-roader, the apathetic workingman. I didn’t teach my son to question a government that fabricates justifications for senseless wars. I didn’t teach him to question a government that spies on its citizens.” Though the steel-tough quality to his voice remains, his eyes shine with moisture, but only that, as if he can control the amount of tears that will flow.
    “I behaved like my Orange County neighbors would if their children had joined up,” he continues. “Flag-waving, patriotic. Anything to fit in, to make sure I didn’t blow my cover. When Dylan told me he was joining up, I said I was proud of him. I even boasted to people at the shop that my son was going to be an officer in the Marines. I talked about how when he got out he’d be a member of an exclusive club that spawns CEOs and successful politicians. I’d lived a lie so long, I forgot who I really was. The selfishness . . .” He grimaces in disgust. “Because I was a coward, because I ran from Ian Holzner, I killed my own son. So, I am a murderer of sorts, just not the kind you think. And now it’s time to atone.”
    We’re quiet for a long time.
    “There’s something else, Parker,” he says. “You have a sister. Her name’s Emily. She’s seventeen. A senior in high school. By doing this, I’ve essentially made her an orphan. Unless you can get me off.”
    Lovely places her hand on my forearm. “Where’s Emily now?” she says.
    “She’s with my boss . . . my ex-boss now, Ernesto. He’s family, her godfather. He takes that stuff seriously.”
    “You say you’re doing this for Dylan, but what about your daughter?” I say. “She’s alive and she