was a snap of bones.
Her open eyes seemed to find the one she called out to for help.
And he, the other man in the shadows, full of fear and regret, wondered how he would live with the memory of her murder.
This Is Action News 10 in New Jersey…All of New Jersey All of the Time
“Good morning. I’m Michelle Tevotino. Thanks for joining us. With only a few weeks left until the elections, Action News 10 in New Jersey will host a live debate tonight between senatorial candidates Clinton Kendall and Pete Moreno. This is one of the most closely watched Senate races in the country.
“Liberal Democrat Kendall and conservative Republican Moreno couldn’t be further apart on the issues, from the war, stem-cell research, abortion, and same-sex marriage. The latest polls show Kendall with a slight lead over Moreno but still within the margin of error. The president and the war continue to hurt the Republican candidate, but he continues to have strong approval numbers across New Jersey’s Democrat-leaning electorate. A Moreno victory would be a major upset in the heavily Democratic state of New Jersey. Tune in tonight to Action News 10 in New Jersey at eight P.M. for what promises to be a very exciting exchange.
“In other news, a Keansburg, New Jersey, man, convicted in the shooting death of his girlfriend’s toy poodle, was told he could reduce his jail sentence by dressing like a dog. Daryl Covey was sentenced to thirty days, but Judge Warren Medina said time would be reduced if Covey wears a ‘K9 the Safety Pup’ costume and takes part in animal safety programs in elementary schools throughout New Jersey. Covey’s girlfriend, Tiffany Duvall, had to be led from the courtroom in handcuffs when she began screaming that Covey’s reduced sentence was not justice for the murder of her dog, Mr. Mimzy.
“Action News 10 in New Jersey has learned that Covey decided to accept the judge’s offer ‘because I love children,’ he said. The problem is he loves children too much.
“Action 10 News in New Jersey has learned that Covey is registered under Megan’s Law as a sex offender. Covey was overheard saying that the K9 the Safety Pup gig would ‘help me bag some twelve-year-old.’
“Covey claimed later that he was referring to twelve-year-old scotch.”
5
Travis Bodine felt like hearing the word of the gospel on this fine Sunday morning. And although it would never occur to him to actually attend church services, a God-fearing man knew that good Sunday morning preaching was never farther away than his old radio.
Travis slowly and carefully got up from his workbench and walked over to the shelf that held his autographed copies of The Anarchist Cookbook and The Poor Man’s James Bond. He pushed the books aside and turned on the radio. It crackled and popped, and then there was lots of static. Travis leaned in, trying to hear the voice coming through.
“Democrat Clinton Kendall and Republican challenger Pete Moreno are now in a neck-and-neck race to be New Jersey’s next senator. Polls show the candidates in a dead heat with each getting forty-nine percent of the vote…. In other news, the annual New Jersey bear hunt is stirring up controversy again….”
“Shit,” Travis said angrily, backing away from the radio’s corrupted speaker. He didn’t give a damn about the bears or the election. He knew there was no end to the corruption in New Jersey politics, so he didn’t give a damn who won the Senate race. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, Kendall and Moreno were both crooks.
Disgusted, Travis whacked the radio a few times, then fiddled with the dial until he heard the familiar voice of Brother Claude Dougherty. Travis smiled. He loved Brother Dougherty.
Dougherty ran his church services like a rock show. Sometimes Travis had seen Brother Dougherty, or “BD” as his congregation called him, on television. There were colored strobe lights flashing and electric guitar solos punctuating the hymns.
Travis could picture it now. Dougherty was a master showman.
He dug into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He knocked one out, clamped it between his lips, then fired it up, fervently inhaling the smoke along with Brother Dougherty’s fiery sermon.
“The world is full of latter-day sinners, my dear friends in Christ. Fornicators! Adulterers! Sodomites! We are on a one-way trip to eternal damnation, brothers and sisters. It is time for the righteous among us to stand up. Stand up and make a blood atonement! Stand up and choose salvation! It is our time. It is time to do the Lord’s work. The Lord cares more for one righteous man than for one million of the ungodly! Can I preach it like I feel it?
“Yes, Brother Claude, preach it!!
“I know the elections are near, my friends, and politics will force you to choose one side or the other. But on this Sunday, before we exercise our right, I will not stand here and endorse either candidate, but remember, before you are a Democrat or a Republican, you are a Christ-o-crat, or a member of the G.O.P.—God’s Only Party. You are not going to get into heaven. You have to be a righteous man first. Can I get an Amen?”
“Amen to that, Brother Claude,” Travis said softly as he walked back to his workbench.
Travis Bodine was one righteous man. He had done time in a federal penitentiary for not paying his income taxes and for beating the crap out of the IRS agent who discovered that he hadn’t.
When Travis was released, he found religion. He cleansed his soul. The next thing he did was learn everything he could about explosives and weapons.
Travis took to these skills easily, as if his talents were God-given. He swore on God’s holy name to kill anyone who ever tried to make him pay taxes again.
Apparently, the anger-management classes he had been forced to take as a condition of his probation hadn’t sunk in. He still preferred to handle his anger in his own unique and combustible way.
Travis knew that God was angry, too. There was evidence of His fury everywhere. That’s why He sent wars, suicide bombers, tsunamis, and hurricanes. Travis blamed the U.S. government for allowing the sinners to flourish under its protection.
“…Here in this sanctified place, and to those of you out there watching and listening to our broadcast, let us confess our sins so that we may obtain forgiveness by His infinite goodness and mercy. Let us kneel with penitent hearts and confess our sins. Let us hold on to His hand. Let us pray that He rids us of abortionists! That He rids us of homosexuals! That He rids us of parlors of death and dens of flesh and debasement!”
“And taxes!” Travis yelled to Brother Claude. “Don’t forget the taxes. May He rid us of taxes!”
Travis’s government had failed him. That’s why God sent him to get revenge.
So far, he had taken God’s revenge to two post offices and a federal construction site. Travis didn’t know why God had sent the tsunami, didn’t know what the people of Phi Phi Island had done to incur his wrath, but the place was filled with little brown-skinned people, so they must have been up to something.
Looking into the briefcase on his workbench, Travis made a final inspection of the C-4 plastic explosive inside it. He cut along the seams of a lead-lined photography bag used to protect newly shot film and fashioned it to fit over the mechanics of the wiring and detonator to avoid detection. Then he closed the false bottom and filled the rest of the briefcase with paper clips, pushpins, pencils, pens, a calculator, and other objects one would ordinarily find in a briefcase. He added as much as he could. It was all good for shrapnel after the bomb exploded.
Travis could have easily used a car or truck bomb parked in the bottom of the federal building, but he loved getting up close. Loved getting in the government’s face. The briefcase bombs were perfect for him. His weapon of choice. His signature sedition.
Sitting back, he mentally played out his next moves. The timing had to be perfect. He would take the bomb to the IRS building in Newark. The briefcase