Page 94 of Nixon’s Promise

“McKenna, stay on those text messages and Shea’s location,” Nixon instructed.

“Testing and diversion,” Jameson started. “The bombs we found were duds, all planted to keep the local disposal units occupied. The ANFO will be the diversion. They won’t detonate it near where McCabe is being held.”

“The ANFO will be planted in a high-value area across town,” Weston added.

Nixon thought about the city as a whole—national monuments, museums, public transportation, piers, the major highways, the Ben Franklin Bridge…

“The bridge,” Nixon blurted. “They’re going to take out the Ben Franklin Bridge. Look at the map.” Nixon pointed to the red lines they’d mapped out. “All egress routes are west of South 7th Street, all headed north. The bridge is to the east. If they’re looking for a high value target, one that will have all first responders traveling away from their location, the bridge is it.”

“Shea is traveling north on South 9th Street,” McKenna informed the team. “Holden is behind him.”

“Who has the ANFO and who’s going to break Ronan McCabe out of a Homeland Security Investigations holding site?” Weston inquired. “And which one are we going after?”

Now there was the dilemma.

Nixon turned to Alec, and with a raised brow, wordlessly asked him to make the decision, when McKenna spoke.

“Shea got a text. It reads, “traffic on 626 at a standstill. Delay twenty minutes.””

“Shea’s going after McCabe,” Nixon deduced. “Alec, call Philly bomb disposal and give them a heads-up. They have twenty minutes to clear and secure the Ben Franklin Bridge.”

He stopped and looked at his team. “Grab your gear.”

Alec had his phone to his ear, briefly removing it so he could slip his Kevlar vest over his head. Weston, Jameson, Chasin, and Nixon followed suit, slipping on their body armor and securing their sidearms. Alec was still on his cell when Nixon picked up his rifle case and made his way to the door.

“Let’s roll.”

McKenna had directed the team to the corner of South 7th and Market Street. James Shea had parked on the bottom floor of a parking structure across from the U.S. Courthouse. Thank God for Philly bridge traffic—Nixon and the team had barely made it to the parking garage before Shea received another text and they were on a three-minute clock.

“Do you have eyes on Shea yet?” Nixon radioed to Holden.

Now that they were in a close proximity, they could utilize their two-way radio comms.

“Affirmative. I picked him back up when he was crossing Market. He’s standing in front of the Declaration House,” Holden answered.

Nixon adjusted his button up flannel shirt in an effort to conceal his tactical vest and sidearm. There were tourists and locals alike still milling about the streets. It was nearing dinner time and the city was packed full of people.

A blast on the Ben Franklin Bridge would be heard, then smoke would billow, and anyone on the street would see it. In today’s world, the news would travel fast through social media and there would be chaos. Which was exactly what Shea and the Connolly gang wanted.

“Is he alone?” Weston asked.

“Yes.”

“How many agents will be with McCabe?” Weston questioned Alec.

“At least two.”

“Then he’s not alone. He’ll have backup. Two, maybe three more of his crew. They’re here, we just don’t see them,” Nixon surmised.

“Bomb disposal said they’re swarming the bridge watching for any vehicles that stop,” Alec informed the team.

“Shea got a new text. One minute,” McKenna told him.

“Holden, sixty seconds,” he radioed, then to McKenna, “Gotta go, babe.”

“Nixon… be careful.”

“Copy that. Good work.”