The Terror (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 18) Read online

  The Terror

  by

  Jonas Saul

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Imagine Press Inc.

  ISBN: 978-1-927404-47-8

  The Terror

  Copyright © 2016 by Jonas Saul

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher, Imagine Press Inc.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Imagine Press Inc. does not have control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third party websites referred to in or on this book.

  Beginning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Two innocent people would die in twenty minutes and Sarah Roberts could do nothing about it. The ability to avert their deaths was beyond her control. After everything she had done to prepare for this moment, it was coming, and those lives would be taken.

  Sarah was well aware of her limitations and they disgusted her. Her job—Vivian’s job, really—was to see the future incident and do something about it. But sometimes changing fate wasn’t in the cards. Sometimes, the Roberts sisters were not supposed to save a life.

  Sarah hadn’t informed the dozens of emergency personnel assembled in the previous twenty-four hours that their efforts were hopeless. They had worked tirelessly to save the two people destined to die. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police were conducting a full-scale search of local buildings for the device Sarah had described. The bomb squad had been brought in from Vancouver—a four-hour drive—and had spent the past several hours evacuating buildings, working with city planners, and utilizing any tidbits of information Sarah could offer to locate and remove the threat. Neighboring cities had sent key personnel to Kelowna in the hope they could stop this.

  All this took place on Sarah’s word. Whether the authorities believed in the paranormal or not, it was abundantly clear that enough of them believed in Sarah. Or maybe they were just desperate. Kelowna had recently been hit by two bombs that killed five people. To date, the investigation had led nowhere. Police had found no connection between the people who had died. The bomb material used was similar—something homemade by an amateur—but that alone had turned into a dead end.

  This had prompted Officer Stephen Lee to call Parkman and ask if Sarah would come and lend a hand. They were hoping she could tell them if they should expect any more bombs in the city. And if so, where and when?

  That answer wasn’t always easy. Sarah had determined that another was coming, but she couldn’t tell where the bomb was at any given moment. It seemed to move from place to place. This was most peculiar. Why was it moving? Could someone be wearing the device? Vivian had assured her the device would detonate at the corner of Bernard and Ellis.

  Sarah checked her watch. Eighteen minutes left. Acts of terror had seized this summer vacation city during July, one of the busiest months of the year. Bernard Avenue, at the intersection with Ellis Street, in the heart of downtown Kelowna, had been blocked off. The usually bustling core, streaming with vacationers and locals alike on its recently widened sidewalk, was about to be marred by blood.

  Someone slapped Sarah’s arm, breaking her trance.

  She turned, scowling.

  “You good?” Parkman asked.

  Her face softened, then dissolved into a half smile. “Yeah. No. Not really.”

  The bank across the street was empty. The vape shops closed. On the opposite corner, retail stores had been vacated early, shoppers and staff told to go home for the day.

  “You’ve done a great job organizing this,” Parkman said. “Take pride that it’s only two people and not a dozen bystanders or more. Lives were saved today because you were here.”

  She had told Parkman, her trusted confidant, everything. He’d traveled with her to Kelowna to make sure she received a warm reception after what she had done on her previous visit to the city. Antagonizing a member of the RCMP until the man was murdered might be a wound several of his fellow officers weren’t prepared to heal quite yet—even if that cop was a horrible, law-breaking man who was killed by his cannibalistic wife. Certain people wouldn’t take too kindly to having Sarah Roberts working with the police now as some thought she was complicit in the murder of a cop.

  “If you weren’t here and that bomb went off in,” Parkman glanced at his cell phone, “eleven minutes, a lot of people would die.” His free hand landed softly on her shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing.”

  An officer in full tactical gear came out of a building across the road. Sarah watched him speak into his lapel mic, then trudge along the sidewalk to the next building. A few feet to her left, three officers talked to a city planner about the sewer system under the streets, but they were out of time to navigate them. There was nothing left for anyone to do.

  Sarah faced Parkman. “We’re out of time. Vivian’s asleep or some shit. I’m not hearing anything new from the other side.” His hand was still on her shoulder. She brought hers up and clamped onto his wrist, head tilted, eyes closed, listening. “I detect nothing,” she whispered. “Feel nothing. All I have is the bomb. Two people dead. It’s moving right now. Coming closer.” She opened her eyes and stared into Parkman’s face. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell them more—” Sarah stopped talking as a distant voice echoed in her head. She glanced at the sidewalk, not looking at anything in particular. She focused on that echo, listening to it, the hot summer sun beating on the back of her neck.

  “Sarah?” Parkman asked, his voice soft, calm.

  “One sec,” she snapped.

  The voice came again. Gibberish, saying nothing discernible. She shook her head as if to dislodge the voice, then glanced upwards.

  “What is it?” Parkman asked, any patience he might hav
e held melting away.

  “Thought I heard something.” She was thankful when Parkman didn’t ask for more.

  She released his wrist and faced the office building across the street. In the front window of the building on the second floor, a man stood watching her. Sarah stared back. Their eyes locked. He was well-dressed and appeared to be in his early fifties. He held up his right hand at shoulder height and moved it in an odd circular motion.

  “Parkman?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How much time left?”

  There was a pause, then, “Just over six minutes.”

  “Has everyone been evacuated from nearby buildings?”

  “Of course. They believe in what you can do, Sarah. They’re listening. Everyone’s in position and ready.”

  “Then why is there a man in that building over there with no body armor?”

  Parkman moved closer. “Where?” he asked. “What building?”

  Sarah pointed. “That one.”

  As she pointed, the man backed away and was lost from sight.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Parkman said, a hand above his eyes to shield the sun.

  “Parkman, we need Officer Lee to have someone clear that building.” The thought they would be too late sent a shiver through her. “Hurry. That building will sustain damage.”

  Parkman bolted away from her and joined the three officers and the city planner ten feet away, hastily explaining what Sarah saw. Officer Lee shouted into a radio for a team to evacuate the B.C. Health Services building immediately.

  Less than a minute later, two bomb squad team members covered in thick gear, disappeared through the front of the building.

  Sarah shielded her eyes and stared up at the window on the second floor again.

  The man in the black suit reappeared, his right hand moving just as before. He wasn’t waving. It was like he was trying to tell her something with his hand. She stepped closer, yellow police tape pressing into her thighs.

  What was he trying to say? She stared, his presence magnetic, drawing her to him.

  “Sarah?” Parkman shouted beside her.

  His voice was so sudden, she jumped.

  “What?”

  “It’s time to pull back. We’re down to a couple of minutes.”

  Sarah scanned the second-floor window. The man was gone. Something was wrong. The bomb was still mobile but it wasn’t here yet. Was someone carrying it? A suicide bomber in Kelowna? It seemed unlikely, but possible.

  Or was the man in the suit the bomber? Something didn’t match up with that. She was certain the man was not connected to what was about to happen. He had been trying to tell her something.

  Someone clutched her forearm.

  “Ma’am, you’re going to have to step back.”

  One of Lee’s officers gestured for her to follow him to where they would be concealed from the explosion. He’d been introduced to her earlier, but she forgot his name.

  Head down, Sarah followed the cop, her mind racing through possibilities, scenarios. Did she just send two bomb squad members into the building that would be destroyed, thereby killing them? If so, the RCMP wouldn’t just want her out of the city, they would blame her for their deaths.

  They reached the containment area with one minute to spare.

  A car horn blared in the distance.

  Sarah looked up. Her heart raced in her throat, pulsing in her ears. If she was going to save anyone, the time was now. There was something about that horn. Something that made sense to her intuitive side.

  “That’s it,” she whispered.

  “What’s it?” Parkman asked, stepping closer to her.

  Two uniformed officers eased in to listen.

  “The bomb,” she said, her voice hardened, deeper. “It’s here.”

  Sarah dropped low to avoid being grabbed by anyone, and ran back outside.

  Chapter 2

  John Hampton was not ready to settle down. The suburban life, the barbecue parties, and the social events weren’t in his nature. They never had been. At twenty-six years of age, he knew that, but his twenty-four-year-old girlfriend didn’t.

  “Look, Susan, I have nothing against your friends, but they’re your friends, not mine.”

  Susan, in the seat beside him, crossed her arms. “The point of having them come over to our new place is so that they can become your friends, too.” She stared out the window to her right.

  This was her routine. At the beginning of every fight, she performed her ritual. Close down. Lock out. Let no one in. John had met Susan’s mother and knew it was something she had taught her.

  John rubbed the inside of his palms on the steering wheel as he tightened his grip to calm the rising anger, trying to formulate a response. Susan had seemed on edge lately, blowing a gasket for no reason. His father always told him to avoid arguing with his better half. “They always end up winning,” his dad would say. “Pick your battles, then stand up for what you believe in.” It just seemed that he was picking too many battles lately, which led him to dangerous territory. Maybe he wasn’t the right man for Susan.

  Or maybe she wasn’t the right woman for him?

  It’d been a week since they’d moved in together and today was no different from any other day of being around each other constantly. If this week was any indication of where they were headed, the destination was quite bleak indeed.

  “Susan, it’s okay if we have different friends.” John snuck a peek at her, then looked back at the road as they approached a red light. He waited another breath, then added, “Isn’t it?”

  “You know it is,” she snapped, without turning to face him. “But Nancy and Jim have been in my life since we were kids. I just thought you’d be willing—”

  “Willing?” he cut her off. It was his turn to be angry. She always forced her will upon him. First it was where the garbage container in the kitchen had to be put. Then what drawer the cutlery had to be placed in. He always had it beside the stove to grab easily when cooking. Susan even took the painting of the Greek house out of the kitchen and placed it in storage until she could find a suitable wall to rehang it on. Susan had become a controlling bitch and he was tired of it. Pick his battles or not, this was one he wasn’t willing to walk away from.

  “You know what, Susan, fuck it,” he said in a loud voice as the light changed to green and he hit the accelerator harder than he wanted. “Bring Jim and Nancy over. See if I care. I’ll try to be nice, but you already know that Jim and I won’t get along.”

  He signaled to turn left onto Ellis Street and waited at the light, hands clenched even tighter on the wheel, eyes locked straight ahead. Susan breathed in and out audibly, like she was trying to keep tears at bay.

  Tears of manipulation, he thought. Fuck her. I’m done. This isn’t a relationship. This is a constant battle.

  They were supposed to pick up Nancy and Jim downtown, then take them to their new place. He almost laughed at the thought.

  “Maybe moving in together was a mistake,” Susan whispered, her voice monotone, clipped. It didn’t match the rapid breathing, seething little girl beside him.

  The verbal sucker punch staggered John’s own breathing and he looked at her. A mistake? Really? She disgusted him now. Small and fragile, hunched down in the passenger seat of his minivan, shooting her mouth off to cut him emotionally. He wanted her out of his van. He wanted her out of his life. But how? It would take months. They’d just taken up residence together. Moved all their stuff into one place. Consolidated their finances. That had been her plan. Lock him down in every way, then act out however she chose.

  A mistake? Well, fuck you.

  John Hampton wouldn’t be played like that.

  A car horn honked somewhere.

  John blinked and looked forward. The light was green. Cars on the other side were being rerouted for some reason. He was clear to turn left.

  John mashed the pedal down. The van shot forward. He crossed through the intersection and aimed
for the curb on the right, pulled up alongside it, then jammed on the brakes.

  “Get out!” he shouted. Blood rushed to his face, heating his cheeks. “Get out of my van. Now! I’m done with you.”

  Susan recoiled against the door at the sudden burst of anger, but didn’t reach for the door.

  “A mistake,” he mocked her voice, albeit a whinier version. “Yeah,” he bobbed his head, the words hoarse and loud, “a real fucking mistake.” He shot his arm out and pointed at the sidewalk. “Get the fuck out!”

  If it was possible, Susan shrunk lower in her seat and shook her head. She wasn’t getting out. She was refusing his command in his own vehicle. At least the van was his. They hadn’t shared that yet.

  How dare she try to fuck with me?

  “Fine,” he shouted at the top of his lungs. He slapped the horn, then held it for several seconds. “Stay the fuck right where you are, then. We’ll get into trouble together.”