There was a brief silence in the room. Then Coopersmith said, Not the same Dupont lot number as those two bombs last year?
Its very likely, said Sam. Since that missing lot numbers the only reported large dynamite theft weve had up here in years.
But the Spectre bombings were solved a year ago, said Liddell. And we know Vincent Spectres dead. So whos making these bombs?
We may be dealing with a Spectre apprentice. Someone who not only picked up the masters technique, but also has access to the masters dynamite supply. Which, I point out, we never located.
You havent confirmed the dynamites from the same stolen lot number, said Liddell. Maybe this has no connection at all with the Spectre bombings.
Im afraid we have other evidence, said Sam. And youre not going to like it. He glanced at Ernie Takeda. Go ahead, Ernie.
Takeda, never comfortable with public speaking, kept his gaze focused on the lab report in front of him. Based on materials we gathered at the site, he said, we can make a preliminary guess as to the makeup of the device. We believe the electrical action fuse was set off by an electronic delay circuit. This in turn ignited the dynamite via Prima detonating cord. The sticks were bundled together with two-inch-wide green electrical tape. Takeda cleared his throat and finally looked up. Its the identical delay circuit that the late Vincent Spectre used in his bombings last year.
Liddell looked at Sam. The same circuitry, the same dynamite lot? What the hells going on?
Obviously, said Gillis, Vincent Spectre passed on a few of his skills before he died. Now weve got a second generation bomber on our hands.
What we still have to piece together, said Sam, is the psychological profile of this newcomer. Spectres bombings were coldbloodedly financial. He was hired to do the jobs and he did them, bam, bam, bam. Efficient. Effective. This new bomber has to set a pattern.
What youre saying, said Liddell, is that you expect him to hit again.
Sam nodded wearily. Unfortunately, thats exactly what Im saying.
There was a knock on the door. A patrolwoman stuck her head into the conference room. Excuse me, but theres a call for Navarro and Gillis.
Ill take it, said Gillis. He rose heavily to his feet and went to the conference wall phone.
Liddell was still focused on Sam. So this is all that Portlands finest can come up with? We wait for another bombing so that we can establish a pattern? And then maybe, just maybe, well have an idea of what the hell were doing?
A bombing, Mr. Liddell, said Sam calmly, is an act of cowardice. Its violence in the absence of the perpetrator. I repeat the wordabsence. We have no ID, no fingerprints, no witnesses to the planting, no
Chief, cut in Gillis. He hung up the phone. Theyve just reported another one.
What? said Coopersmith.
Sam had already shot to his feet and was moving for the door.
What was it this time? called Liddell. Another warehouse?
No, said Gillis. A church.
THE COPS ALREADY had the area cordoned off by the time Sam and Gillis arrived at the Good Shepherd Church. A crowd was gathered up and down the street. Three patrol cars, two fire trucks and an ambulance were parked haphazardly along Forest Avenue. The bomb disposal truck and its boiler-shaped carrier in the flatbed stood idly near the churchs front entrance or what was left of the front entrance. The door had been blown clear off its hinges and had come to rest at the bottom of the front steps. Broken glass was everywhere. The wind scattered torn pages of hymn books like dead leaves along the sidewalk. Gillis swore. This was a big one.
As they approached the police line, the officer in charge turned to them with a look of relief. Navarro! Glad you could make it to the party.
Any casualties? asked Sam.
None, as far as we know. The church was unoccupied at the time. Pure luck. There was a wedding scheduled for two, but it was cancelled at the last minute.
Whose wedding?
Some doctors. The brides sitting over there in the patrol car. She and the minister witnessed the blast from the parking lot.
Ill talk to her later, said Sam. Dont let her leave. Or the minister, either. Im going to check the building for a second device.
Better you than me.
Sam donned body armor, made of overlapping steel plates encased in nylon. He also carried a protective mask, to be worn in case a second bomb was identified. A bomb tech, similarly garbed, stood by the front door awaiting orders to enter the building. Gillis would wait outside near the truck; his role this time around was to fetch tools and get the bomb carrier ready.
Okay, Sam said to the technician. Lets go.
They stepped through the gaping front entrance.
The first thing Sam noticed was the smell strong and faintly sweet. Dynamite, he thought. He recognized the odor of its aftermath. The force of the blast had caused the pews at the rear to topple backward. At the front, near the altar, the pews had been reduced to splinters. All the stained glass panels were broken, and where the windows faced south, hazy sunlight shone in through the empty frames.