Page 90 of Nixon’s Promise

“I also ran the pictures Holden sent over. I still have five more to go, but I think I found who we’re looking for, James Shea—"

“Why him?” Nix cut her off.

“Once I had names to go with the faces, I ran a basic background check for any criminal records. James Shea has a long criminal history. But mostly because he’s in the Irish mob. He’s affiliated with the Connolly gang. They have crews in Philly but their stronghold is in South Boston.”

“Fuck,” Nixon barked, then looked around making sure there were no families or small children around. “Anyway, did you cross reference the names you found with the message board member list?”

“I did with the user names I was able to find real names for. None matched. And just to say, no one else I checked had anything criminal in their backgrounds. I could check their credit card charges, but that will take a while. The last five I have are women. I’m running those now.”

Nixon thought about the information McKenna had given him, Shea did make the most sense, but they needed more.

“We’re being played,” Holden cut in. “Anything in Carpenter’s Hall?”

“Yeah, a bullshit IED that wouldn’t have caused more than a bang, if it even detonated. The Philly PD has it and is going to run it for prints.”

“What do you mean if it detonated?”

Nixon quickly explained the shoddy work and finished with, “Whoever made it found the plans on the internet. No doubt about it. Anyone who knows anything would never have used that setup and especially not PVC.”

“What now?” Holden inquired.

“McKenna, dig deeper into Shea. Were you able to get into his computer when he logged into the public WiFi?”

“It’s a cell phone, and yes. I’m in, with full access. When he leaves the pizza place, I’ll track his location.”

Goddamn, she was good.

“Good work, McKenna. Holden, you stay on Shea. We’re working under the assumption he’s our man. We got nothing else and no more time. By the way, there’s a gala at Carpenter’s Hall tonight. Hundreds of unchecked guests will be in and out, not to mention, the vendors.”

“What the fuck? Alec didn’t think that was important?”

“He didn’t know,” Nix explained.

“Hey, what’s A-N-F-O?” McKenna asked, spelling out the acronym.

“Come again?” Nixon demanded, cold fear infused his spine.

“Shea sent a text: A-N-F-O in place. What is that?”

“Babe, fuck running everything else. Your top priority is to find out who Shea is texting and any further information they give about the ANFO.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “What about Miller?”

“Fuck Miller. Shea is our man. Holden, do not lose sight of him.”

“Copy that. McKenna, I turned on that app you sent me. Can you see my location?”

“Yeah, Holden, I can. Nix, I’m sending the app to you, too. Please download it on your phone and turn it on. I’ll be able to track you from here.”

Damn, his woman was smart.

“Copy that, McKenna. Send the app to all the guys phones, please. I gotta run and grab the team. We’re heading back to the hotel. Keep me updated.”

Nixon disconnected and jogged back to the entrance of Carpenter’s Hall. They’d most certainly been played. The team had been chasing their tails, following decoys. Depending on how much ANFO Shea had, he could level a city block. The industrial explosive was a simple mixture of granular ammonium nitrate and fuel oil. The combination so deadly if the team didn’t find the payload, the destruction it would cause could be catastrophic.

He made his way up the stairs, found his team, cleared his face of any emotion, and ordered, “Let’s roll.”

His team being the professionals they were, didn’t question his directive. They simply said their goodbyes and followed him.