Page 89 of Nixon’s Promise

“Yeah. Call us after you talk to McKenna,” Nix instructed Holden.

“Copy that.” Holden took off and before long, he’d blended into the crush of people milling about the busy sidewalk.

Being as Carpenter’s Hall was less than a mile down the block on South Fourth Street and Chestnut, the team decided to walk the short distance. There were twenty-three points of interest on what was called the Official Trail of Philadelphia. Ten of which surrounded Carpenter’s Hall—logically securing the area was a nightmare.

The marathon would take runners down Chestnut; passing the Science History Institute, National Liberty Museum, and Carpenter’s Hall all on the same block. Tiny passageways and tall buildings mingled together, making it impossible to lock down the route completely.

“This place is a Goddamned clusterfuck,” Jameson mumbled as they passed by the hand-carved stone steps and pillars of the First Bank of the United States. “I’ve spotted at least a dozen places a sniper can lay in wait. Did the disposal unit sweep the entire route?”

There were road crews covering manholes as they rounded onto Chestnut coming to the entrance, and a quick glance around told Nixon any portable trash receptacles had been removed from the area. That was something.

“Just found out this morning the Hall has been rented out for a gala tonight.”

“Christ,” Nixon clipped. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Nope. A fundraiser for the Art Institute. The building closes at four and preparations start at four-thirty.”

Nixon looked down at his watch. It was coming up on noon and they were officially out of time. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out and viewed the text.

“McKenna called, someone logged in,” he announced. “Holden’s sending her pictures of the patrons. Unfortunately there’s a lot of people on their electronic devices. It’s lunch and the pizza place offers free WiFi.”

“Alec, brother, this isn’t looking good,” Weston noted. “There will be unchecked delivery and catering crews in and out of the building. Not to mention, guests. Any chance you can shut this down?”

“Negative. I already tried. The bomb removal unit cleared the Hall and they’re only back to do a second sweep to humor me. The captain was not happy to send them. He’s got limited resources and twenty-six-point-two miles of route to clear.”

“I really hope your woman can work miracles, Nix. At this point, that’s what we need.” Weston shook his head before his hands went to his sides and his head lowered in resignation.

Nixon hoped like hell McKenna could pull off that miracle, because Weston was not wrong. They had a whole bunch of nothing. The clock had been fast ticking, but it was now down to the wire. Thousands of people were potentially in harm’s way. That was unacceptable.

Two hours later, Nixon excused himself from the group of men who were gathered on the second floor of Carpenter’s Hall. Holden’s call hadn’t come a moment too soon—Nix was ready to flip shit on the Philly bomb unit. They’d rushed clearing the basement, reiterating they’d already done it once and there was no need.

However, there was. A poorly made pipe bomb had been hidden in a crate. A crate that had enough mothballs to send every insect in the tristate area fleeing for fresh air.

Nixon was pissed. More than pissed.

The bomb was a poor excuse for an explosive device. The fucking thing was made out of PVC, not metal. Not to mention, the hole drilled in the cap was drilled too large and the detonation cord had fallen out when the bomb tech picked it up, rendering it useless.

Total bullshit.

They were not dealing with a group who knew jackshit about improvised explosive devices. The bomb would’ve been nothing more than a Goddamned firecracker had it gone off.

But the fact remained, there was a device and there could be more.

Nixon stepped outside. Finding a secluded location, he called Holden back.

“I’m gonna patch in McKenna,” Holden said immediately.

A few seconds later she came on the line. “Hey. I found a few things. Can we talk over the phone freely?”

Damn, she was cute.

“Yeah, babe, what’d you find?”

“First, I think Alec was right. I found a bank account in Miller’s deceased mother’s name. It had been stagnant since her passing a few years ago. There was like two hundred in the account collecting pennies for interest. Then two months ago, a deposit for eight-thousand dollars was made. For the last sixty-two days, eight-thousand has been deposited every day. Today, a four-thousand-dollar deposit.”

Holy shit. That was half a million dollars in two months.

“Damn,” Holden muttered.