Remember Tuesday Morning Part 3

"Go to the meeting. Nine o'clock at Chumash Park. First picnic table off the parking lot." He cleared his throat. "Gotta go."

Alex wanted more. "You got other ideas, Owl, or just OCE?"

"Too many questions. Don't miss the meeting." There was a click and then silence.

He cursed under his breath and tapped the End Call bar. His communication with someone deep in the organization at the REA had started two weeks ago. On his day off, Alex had pulled an overtime shift at the men's jail - something he was always looking for. The work gave Bo a day of downtime at home, and it helped Alex keep his ear to the ground. Pretty much the whole day was spent talking with other deputies, gleaning information about new gangs or wanted felons.

But that shift, Alex hung around a nineteen-year-old custody a.s.sistant, a skinny kid with dreams of being a deputy. The kid had a lot to say about one of his inmates - a guy who identified himself as a member of the REA. Apparently, the inmate had been talking, spilling his guts on everything the group was about. Alex wasn't surprised. One of the commonalities of ecoterrorists was that they were openly unrepentant for their actions. The more militant members saw themselves as righteous soldiers in a cause to save the earth, and often they didn't mind talking about their ideas.

"I listened." The custody a.s.sistant lowered his voice. They were sitting at a desk, but he clearly didn't want any of the inmates to hear him. "I think the con thought I was on his side, ready to sign up."

"I have a feeling you won't be a C.A. for long," Alex's heart beat faster. He hoped the compliment would make the kid talk. "So tell me about it ... what did the guy say?"

When the C.A. realized Alex's interest in the inmate, the kid shared everything he knew. Probably trying to impress Alex. When he left that day, Alex had a phone number and a code word - Green Night. He didn't expect much to come from the tip. He doubted it was even valid. But that afternoon he made the call and had his first brief conversation with Owl, as the REA guy called himself. After their second conversation, Alex was convinced the tip was legitimate. He told Owl his name was Danny, and he explained that he had a compelling desire to join REA. "I hate watching people rip through the world's resources like they're never going to run out," he told Owl.

Whatever else he said, Alex must've been convincing. Owl started talking, and before long he mentioned the Oak Canyon Estates. The information about the OCE had slipped, as far as Alex could tell. But it confirmed what Alex had feared all along.

The custom home development was next on the list for the environmental terrorists. Alex set his phone down on the console and stared at the empty stretch of freeway ahead of him. He reached back and scratched Bo's ear. "We're gonna get 'em, right, Bo?"

The dog whined his approval and nuzzled Alex's hand.

"You tell 'em. No one sets a fire on our shift." Alex sped up.

Environmental terrorists were not your typical street thugs, and they defied the definition of any other gang. They were educated and articulate, with an average income close to six figures. REA members didn't wear turbans or bandanas or heavy chains. They didn't shave their heads or tattoo their gang insignia on their arms. Instead, they drove hybrid or electric cars, rode their bikes to work, and kept mulch piles in their backyards. They shopped at Whole Foods, recycled everything from cereal boxes to plastic wrap, and wouldn't touch an apple unless it was organic. By day they held jobs at banks and advertising firms, tech corporations and telecommunication companies.

In other words, in a city like Los Angeles, they were absolutely mainstream, their agendas invisible and insidious. Most of them had started out as environmentalists, honorable people intent on being responsible and teaching responsibility in regards to the world's resources. Something everyone should be mindful of. But the members of the REA had allowed their devotion to the planet to become an obsession. A sick obsession.

Alex tried to picture the group meeting in clandestine locations, plotting the destruction of millions of dollars of other people's property and possessions. Not even concerned for the human life that might get in the way. He felt the familiar pain, the fact that he'd been unable to stop the al Qaeda terrorists from killing his father. But he could stop these terrorists. His father's memory was worth that much.

That anyone could be so crazed as to think that torching SUV's and burning down custom homes could ever help the environment. The idea was ludicrous. Alex tried to imagine what would happen if the members of the REA waited until a stiff Santa Ana wind and then set fire to a development like the one at Oak Canyon Estates. The mountains surrounding Las Virgenes Canyon would explode into flames, and, yes, lives could be lost.

Firefighters and civilians. Alex shuddered to think just how many.

Once he was in his own truck, he didn't head south the way he would've if he were going home. Instead, he took the freeway a couple exits the other direction and turned off at Lindero Canyon Road. He knew where the REA headquarters were, another tip from the custody a.s.sistant. Alex had been up here three times already, and again the tip checked out. The house was definitely a meeting place for the group.

Of course, Alex had tried to pa.s.s the information along to his sergeant, but the man wasn't interested. "We can only apply the law where people have broken it, Brady," the man told him. He was older and strictly by the book. "There's plenty of law breakers out there to keep you busy."

That's why Alex had tried to explain the information to Clay and Joe at dinner last weekend. Clay was overseeing the department's efforts against the REA, and Alex had a feeling Clay already knew the whereabouts of the group's headquarters.

But then why weren't they working harder to find enough evidence to make the arrests?

Alex had seen Clay and Joe in the break room at the Monterey Park headquarters every day since their barbecue last weekend, but the couple times he'd tried to bring up the REA, he'd been shot down.

"Don't get hung up on this thing," Clay finally told him.

"Do we have to wait for a fire?" Alex had to control his tone. "Is that what this is about?"

"You know the drill, Brady. We have to wait for a threat, at least. Like I said, they're on our radar."

Alex's patience on the matter was wearing thin.

He worked his truck up Lindero to the place where it veered to the right. The house he'd been watching was at the top of a winding gravel road, well into the brittle brush and dry gra.s.s that made up the Southern California hillsides. This was Alex's fourth visit up here, and each time he wondered why a group of fire starters would make their headquarters in a house that stood right in the path of fire danger.

Maybe the REA didn't care if their headquarters burned down. Less evidence that way. Alex felt his determination double. There weren't enough days in a lifetime to round up all the terrorists who would ever threaten the United States, but Alex would spend his life locking up the ones he could. And that included the members of the REA. He turned off his lights, same as last week, and took his truck off-road to a spot behind a covering of ten-foot-high wild shrubs. The kind of ground cover that made this fire season so volatile.

From behind the brush, he could still see through a small clearing. He angled himself so he could scratch Bo's ears with one hand while he held the pair of high-powered binoculars in the other. His heart reacted to what he was looking at. They were meeting tonight, same as last week. Wednesday night, well after midnight. Last week Alex happened to call at this time and hear voices in the background. Instinct told him he'd hit upon the group's secret meeting time, and sure enough, here they were.

He scanned the b.u.mpers of the seven cars parked in front of the house. All of them had removed their license plates for the gathering - same as last week. Alex figured they probably stopped at separate spots on their way up, removed their plates, and didn't put them on again until they were headed back down the hill. He leaned against the headrest. This was a smart group, no question. They left no trail, donned none of the usual environmental b.u.mper stickers. They were middle- and upper-cla.s.s crazies who masqueraded as businessmen by day, terrorists by night.

He pulled out his phone again and clicked his way to the section of YouTube clips stored there. He'd bookmarked a dozen news videos about last year's brush fires later deemed to have been deliberately set, and now he called up one of the worst - a canyon fire started last year at a development in San Diego. Alex turned the volume down so Bo wouldn't wake up, and he let the clip play.

"Police believe the environmental terrorist group REA is responsible for the loss late last night of four model homes at a north San Diego hillside development," the announcer stated. The visual switched from the reporter to a wall of flames tearing through a series of homes. "Thankfully, the homes were empty at the time of the attack. A white flag was left in the front yard of one of the homes with spray-painted green letters that read REA." The shot switched to the jagged edges of a homemade flag fluttering in front of a raging inferno. The camera view changed again, and the screen showed four fire trucks on a dirt road with flames ten stories high on either side. "Firefighters narrowly escaped being caught in the ensuing brush fire," the announcer continued. Alex slid his finger across the video's progress line and watched that part again, and then a third time.

That must've been what it was like for his dad and the other emergency workers, trying to rescue people forty, sixty, eighty floors up in a building exploding with flames. He lifted his binoculars and stared at the tops of the few heads he could make out. If he'd had this type of bead on the al Qaeda terrorists before September 11, he would've called for the entire department to back him up, and together they would've brought down the group before a single plane could be hijacked. He felt the satisfaction of the imaginary scenario.

But then, before 9/11 he wouldn't have had any idea the destruction that could come from a meeting like the one taking place in the house up the hill. Life was one carefree day after another, and never for a single minute did he or anyone else think a morning would come when more than four hundred firefighters and police would go to work and never come home again.

He clicked off his phone and crossed his arms, holding down the memories fighting their way to the surface. When he could no longer keep them at bay, he stopped trying and let them come - wholly and completely, like ghosts from the past. On a night like this, the memories reminded him why he was fighting this war in the first place. But remembering, for Alex, wasn't something warm and comforting the way it was for some people.

It was a pain almost more than he could bear.

SEVEN.

There was a place deep in the stony heart of Alex Brady where it would always be September 10, always that day before his dad left for work and never came back. Alex didn't go there often, but when the memories rushed at him the way they did now, he had no choice.

Holly Brooks lived down the street from him, and back in their elementary school days she was the yucky girl who tried to include herself with his group of friends on the way to cla.s.s each morning. Alex would never forget the day that changed. He came in from a middle school football scrimmage, and Holly and her older sister were sitting at the kitchen table with Alex's mother.

"How was practice?" His mom stood and poured him a gla.s.s of milk.

Alex stood there - his helmet in one hand, shoulder pads in the other. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, except that his legs no longer felt attached to the rest of his body, and he couldn't force himself to look anywhere but at Holly. When had she grown up? And how had her hair gotten so long?

His mother seemed to notice he wasn't acting himself, so she laughed a sort of chuckle intended to put everyone at ease. "Holly and Heather were locked out of their house. Their mother had a doctor's appointment and forgot to leave the key."

Holly smiled at him. "Your mom said we could stay here." Her voice was soft and melodious, and in that single moment Alex felt his world slide off its axis. He nodded at her, downed his milk, and headed for the shower.

Things didn't change right away. But after that he would catch himself walking a longer path to get from one cla.s.s to another just so he could say hi. By the time they were freshmen in high school, Holly was walking home with him every day. Her mom had a full-time career that fall and her older sister had a job after school, so Holly had nowhere to go but Alex's house.

That was the year when everyone else knew what neither of them was ready to admit. They were crazy about each other. Sometime that winter, Holly went to church with Alex's family for the first time, and that led to an all-night phone conversation that kept the two of them awake in their own beds, whispering to each other until the sun came up.

"So, what your pastor said about G.o.d being your friend? You really believe that?" Holly whispered.

"Of course." He stifled a laugh so his parents wouldn't hear him. "You can talk to Him anytime. Just like you talk to me."

The memories grated against his soul like splintered wood. Alex stretched his legs to the pa.s.senger side of his squad car. The irony of the long-ago conversation with Holly made him certain he'd never forget it. He hadn't talked to G.o.d since the September morning when rescue workers gave up the search for survivors. But before then, nothing could've rattled his faith. It was as rocksolid as the Twin Towers themselves.

Holly had questioned him some more, asked him about the Bible and how he could know without a doubt that what he was reading was true. It wasn't that Holly didn't believe in G.o.d. Her parents took the family to church on Christmas and Easter, and somewhere in the house there was a dusty old Bible handed down from Holly's great-grandfather. They believed like lots of people believed. That working in the background was a G.o.d who created everything. But believing never got more personal than that. Being with Alex, being his friend their freshman year, changed everything for both of them. Especially the way Holly thought about G.o.d.

That summer, the two of them went to a Young Life camp, and they grew even more serious about their beliefs. Late one night when campers were supposed to be in and cabin doors locked until morning, Alex met her out by the ma.s.sive maple tree near the back of the camp. The night was warm, and frogs carried on a noisy battle in the distance as they sat side-by-side staring at the stars and holding hands.

"Someday we'll fly to a foreign country a million miles away and be missionaries. So we can share everything we're learning about G.o.d," Holly's eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

"Let's make it a country with a beach and warm water." They both laughed, and the air around them remained innocent. There was no kissing then and not for the next few months. Not until his family had a New Year's Eve party their soph.o.m.ore year, and Alex found Holly looking at pictures in his family's living room.

"There you are." He brought her a gla.s.s of sparkling cider. "Come on, everyone's playing charades." He took a step toward the doorway. "You have to see my dad act out a chicken crossing the road. He's hilarious."

But she carefully picked up a framed photo of Alex's parents, arms around each other, laughing in some moment that belonged only to the two of them. "This is real, isn't it? The way they love each other?"

Her question caught him off guard. He looked from her to the photo and back again, confused. "Of course it's real." Only then did it hit him, the reason she was asking, the reason she never invited him to her house, but rather spent all her free time here. He closed the distance between them. "Your parents ... aren't like that?"

"No." Her smile was overtaken by the sadness in her eyes. She stared at the picture again. "Never." She hesitated, as if she wasn't sure how much to say. "They fight all the time, and my mom ... drinks a lot." She put the photo back on the shelf and turned to Alex. "It's nothing major, I guess. Just ..." she looked past him to the laughter in the next room. "... not like your parents."

Alex tried to think of something to say, some way he could fix the situation for her. Maybe if her parents talked to his, or if their two families started going to church together. He opened his mouth to tell her what he was feeling, but before he could say anything, the moment pa.s.sed. Her sorrow lifted and she took his hand. "Let's go see your dad be a chicken."

They were hurrying from the room when they spotted a piece of mistletoe hanging from the doorframe overhead. Alex was never sure who stopped first, but suddenly there they were, standing under the mistletoe, giving each other a look that was half teasing, half scared to death. Alex made the first move. He put his hand on the side of her face and tenderly touched his lips to hers. Neither of them knew the first thing about kissing, so the moment was over as soon as it began.

But as they headed back to the living room, as they sat together on the sofa and watched his dad strut around the room making chicken noises, they shared a secret that belonged to them alone.

He tried to release the memory, but he wasn't completely successful. Behind his seat, Bo stretched and did a noisy yawn, and Alex turned to his K9 partner. He was moving his paws in his sleep - something he did often, especially on days when he hadn't gotten enough running, or when he was anxious for some work on the job. "I'm with you, Bo ..." he looked back at the house where the REA members were still gathered. "I'd love a little action right now."

But the men didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon, and the memories fighting for his attention weren't either. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the steering wheel. Things between him and Holly never really tipped into the physically complicated territory most kids found themselves in. The two of them hardly ever kissed, and when they did their kisses were quick, more like an act of friendship. Almost as if they knew from the beginning they couldn't have it both ways. They could choose a sweet love rooted in faith, or the steamy backseat affair their friends were all about. The former gave them a friendship much stronger than the transient relationships of their peers, and by the time they reached the summer before their senior year, the summer of 2001, Alex and Holly were inseparable.

By then her parents must've seen what Alex's family shared, or the fact that their youngest daughter preferred being at the house down the street rather than at home. Whatever it was, Holly's parents began coming to church each week with Alex's parents, and Holly's mother stopped drinking. The two families were together often.

Alex closed his eyes and whispered her name, the way he hadn't said it in years. "Holly, girl ... I hope you found someone better than me ..."

Suddenly, there he was in the Adirondacks hiking the trail around Elk Lake with his parents and Holly and her family. The July humidity hadn't been as bad as back on Staten Island, and the forecast of thunderstorms never materialized. It was the third Sat.u.r.day of the month, and Alex had that wonderful feeling summer would go on forever.

The parents were up ahead on the trail, and Holly's sister was with them. Alex slipped his fingers through Holly's and slowed his pace. "So ... seniors this year."

"Shhh." She giggled at him, her blue eyes dancing. "That's against the rules, silly."

"What rules?" He loved this about her, the way she kept their relationship fun and full of laughter.

"You can't talk about school when we're right in the middle of summer. Otherwise it'll disappear ..." she pulled away from him, her eyes bright with teasing, "like this!" She darted down a tree-covered hillside off the main trail, daring him to follow her.

"Hey!" He ran after her, but with so many trees he lost her almost right away. He was about to call her name when she jumped out at him from behind a huge trunk and grabbed his waist.

"Gotcha!" Her giggle was quiet, m.u.f.fled by the canopy of branches and trees. She shifted herself so she was in front of him, then put her finger to his lips. "No more talk about school."

"Okay." His heart was pounding, his breathing fast from the chase and the electricity between them. He searched her eyes, her face, and watched as the humor fell away and left behind a longing that had always been there, a longing so deep Alex wasn't sure he could draw his next breath without her. "Holly ..."

She could feel it too ... her smoky eyes told him that much. "We ... we need to get back on the trail."

"All I need," he drew her closer and kissed her, "is you." The headiness of that kiss, the intoxicating way it felt to have her in his arms alone in a place where only G.o.d could see them, left him no choice but to tell her how he was feeling. He let himself get lost in her eyes. "I love you, Holly."

"I know." Joy filled her face and she took the slightest step back, giving the pa.s.sion between them a chance to dissipate, allowing a way back to familiar ground. She giggled and turned around, running back up the hill toward the trail.

"Wait!" He ran after her and when he'd nearly caught her, she faced him again and he searched her eyes. "What do you mean ... you know?"

"Because ..." Her hair framed her tanned face, and she'd never looked more beautiful. "... I've loved you since that day in middle school at your parents' kitchen table." She tilted her head, only partly serious. "Same as you." She was off again, back onto the trail where they were in view of the others, safe from the power of their feelings.

But before the camping trip ended a few days later, Alex and Holly walked to the lakesh.o.r.e one night and sat together on a tree stump, watching the moon on the water. Alex avoided kissing her, because out there ... well, out there if he started he wasn't sure he could stop. Instead they talked about a Bible verse from Jeremiah 29, and how G.o.d knew the plans He had for His people.

"You know what I hope?" Holly's voice mixed with the breeze off the lake and washed over him in a way he could still remember.

"What?" He couldn't take his eyes off her. "What wonderful thing do you hope for, Holly Brooks?"

She smiled. "I hope G.o.d's plans for me always include you."

"They will." His answer was as quick as it was certain. "Because I meant what I said a few days ago." He touched the side of her cheek, wanting her to see the seriousness in his eyes. "I love you, Holly."

For a long time neither of them looked away, and with indelible ink the moment wrote itself across Alex's heart. Finally Holly touched her fingers to his, her eyes seeing deep inside him. "I love you too. So don't ever leave me, okay?"

"I won't." He pulled her close, and she rested her head against his chest. Alex was never sure how long they stayed there that night. The fact was, in some ways no matter how much he tried to let go of her memory, she was still there. Sitting beside him in the moonlight in the Adirondacks, knowing they would never leave each other for anything.

Alex took a deep breath and again willed the memories to leave. He squinted at the house ahead of him. Still no movement, so maybe tonight wasn't the night to catch them in the act. But that didn't discourage him. As long as he knew their meeting place, he'd be back, and their meeting would break and he'd follow them down the hill until they put their plates back on, or maybe he'd come on a day that wasn't Wednesday and the house would be empty and he could look around, maybe stumble onto something that gave him probable cause to search the place.

He turned the key in the engine, kept his lights off, and slowly pulled out of his hiding place in the bushes. Bo stirred in the back, and Alex heard him scramble to a sitting position.

"It's okay, Bo ... we're going home." Alex waited until he was halfway down the winding road before he turned on his headlights and picked up speed.

The thing that bothered him most about Holly was that he'd hurt her. Even after his dad died in the terrorist attacks, the last thing he'd wanted was to harm her in any way. He tried to explain it to her, that when the terrorists had killed his dad, they'd killed something inside of him too. He couldn't love like he'd loved before.

He wanted to live his life as a memorial to his father, and that left no room for relationships. Holly didn't believe him at first. She figured all Alex needed was to work through his anger and loss, and they could be fine again, the way they'd been before. But she was wrong. The part that laughed and loved and trusted G.o.d wasn't broken inside Alex; it was gone. Forever gone. And he could never subject Holly to a lifetime with someone who was no longer capable of those kinds of feelings.

He reached the on-ramp and sped up as he entered the Ventura Freeway again, this time south toward his townhouse. He hadn't talked to her in many years, and that could only be good for Holly. By now she would've met someone kind and trustworthy, someone with the faith he'd walked away from. He tightened his hold on the steering wheel. Yes, she was probably married and starting a family, smack in the middle of a life she perfectly deserved.

His precious Holly.

Because it wasn't that he no longer cared about her, and that's the part he never could get her to understand. No one would ever take Holly's place in his heart. He would die for her right now if it meant a.s.suring her happiness, giving her the life she had dreamed of having all those years ago on that moonlit night by the lake. No matter how he tried to explain himself, Holly couldn't see that his care for her was what forced him to leave, what drove him to load up his car and move as far away from New York as possible. She didn't understand that releasing her was maybe his greatest and final act of love, because it nearly killed him to do it. But in the end he had no choice. The part inside him that could've made Holly happy the rest of his life was no longer there. It was dead.

In its place was a gritty, larger-than-life determination to take out the evil around him. If G.o.d was going to stand by and watch while four hundred firefighters and police officers lost their lives on 9/11, then Alex would use every waking hour he had making sure it wouldn't happen again. He would do the job himself. He wouldn't fight the fires; he would protect the firefighters. He would protect the whole city, for that matter. Taking down one bad guy after another was his single focus. Alex Brady and Bo against the world; that was his life now, and it left no room for anyone else. Not his mother, who had remarried some guy Alex didn't even know, not his friends back in New York or the G.o.d he used to trust. And especially not Holly.

Even if her memory haunted him as long as he lived.

EIGHT.