Sunlight poured through the open door, illuminating the dusty room. Particles floated in the light, swirling and drifting. Bernardo, looking barely twenty, had a stocky build typical of mixed Indigenous and European heritage, with an athletic frame covered in cryptic tattoos from his cheeks to his forehead.
Wearing only a tank top in the chilly ten-degree weather, he glared defiantly at the two officers in front of him, pressing a knife firmly against his throat.
"Drop the knife and get down on your knees!" Danny Reagan shouted, aiming his stainless steel Smith & Wesson M39 steadily at Bernardo's head.
Jack couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu—two officers aiming at a suspect threatening his own life with a knife.
"Hey, Bernardo, take it easy. If you cut any deeper at that angle, you'll spend the rest of your life in bed, fed through a tube."
Bernardo, who had been preparing to go out in a blaze of glory, hesitated and moved the blade a few inches higher. Not exactly a bright guy, Jack thought. He handed his shotgun to Danny, shrugged off his bulletproof vest, and rolled up his sleeves.
"You sure about this? I could take him," Danny offered, unsure of Jack's hand-to-hand skills.
"No problem. Ten of this guy wouldn't be an issue," Jack replied, his words light but with an insult that stung.
Angered, Bernardo lowered the knife, took a few deep breaths, and charged, thrusting the blade toward Jack's abdomen.
Jack sidestepped and dodged the blade easily, his right hand darting out like a viper, grabbing Bernardo's wrist in a crushing grip. With a quick squeeze of his thumb and forefinger, Jack applied pressure.
The knife clattered to the floor as Bernardo let out a scream, feeling as if his wrist had been caught in a vise. He dropped to one knee, gasping in pain.
Jack tightened his grip on Bernardo's wrist, forcing his arm into a painful twist. Bernardo crawled forward on his knees, ultimately finding himself with one arm twisted behind his back, pinned in a humiliating position.
"Enough! Stop! Just kill me already!" Bernardo gasped, his face pressing into the dusty floor as he struggled to breathe.
"Now, are you ready to talk to us about those bombs?" Jack asked, his tone casual as he released Bernardo's wrist. He pressed a foot into Bernardo's spine, applying just enough pressure to make him feel the strain in his bones.
"Kill me! I'm not saying a word. You might as well kill me!" Tears and saliva mixed with the dust on the floor, giving his tattooed face an oddly pathetic look.
Jack glanced at him, recognizing him as the typical gang muscle. He doubted Bernardo was smart enough to handle the intricacies of bomb-making on his own. When the FBI had run his name, they'd learned he was a Salvadoran who'd grown up in New York, dropping out at age 12 to join a gang.
A near-illiterate with no military training turning into a bomb expert seemed as likely to Jack as the current president being a spy from Seris.
Just as he considered breaking a few of Bernardo's bones to see how tough he really was, an NYPD officer poked his head out from an adjoining room, calling out, "Looks like we hit the jackpot. This is his bomb workshop."
Damn, thought Jack, as his theory fell apart. He cuffed Bernardo and handed him over to the officer, then followed Danny into the adjacent room.
Inside, they found a cluttered workbench covered with a scale, magnifying glass, wires, and old cell phones rigged as detonators.
"These are M26 grenade fuses. Could he have actually built those bombs?" Danny Reagan murmured, careful not to disturb the setup as he scanned the bench with his flashlight.
"Is that blood?" Jack asked, directing Danny's flashlight toward a pair of pliers stained with red.
"Looks like it," Danny confirmed after a closer inspection.
"Hold on a sec!" Jack hurried outside, calling to the officer about to escort Bernardo to the police car.
"Let me check his hands. Both of them."
Bernardo, his defiance returning, shot a rebellious look at the officer but froze when he saw Jack's sharp, dangerous gaze. Reluctantly, he turned around.
"Wow, that grip of yours could win you some serious arm-wrestling matches," Danny commented, whistling at the black-and-blue imprints on Bernardo's wrist.
Jack carefully inspected each of Bernardo's fingers before letting out a sigh of relief. No injuries. "Well, at least we can rule out the president as a spy. This guy definitely had an accomplice."
---
Twenty minutes later, in the same NYPD interrogation room where Jack had previously torn down the surveillance camera, only Jack remained to question Bernardo.
"My bosses want this case solved fast, so let's not waste time. Who built those bombs? If you talk, I might even get you a better cell," Jack said impatiently, drumming his fingers on the table. It was already noon, and although the case was progressing quickly, the bomb-maker was still at large, with the potential for more attacks.
"I won't say a word. Lock me up, please." Bernardo sat slumped, his arm hanging limp, snot and tears smeared across his face.
"Jack, come out for a minute." Danny Reagan knocked on the door, signaling Jack to step outside.
Jack left his hand on Bernardo's shoulder, re-setting his dislocated joint with a quick, painful snap. "Think it over while I'm gone."
"Something's happened," Danny muttered grimly. "Wilmer's dead. He was found in the detention center, gutted. The guards haven't even found his heart yet."
"Doesn't NYPD check gang affiliations before putting inmates in holding? You don't mix MS-13 guys with anyone else!" Jack's frustration was evident. He'd intended his threats to Wilmer as a scare tactic, but reality had intervened harshly.
Now understanding Bernardo's refusal to talk, Jack returned to the interrogation room with Danny.
"I know what's holding you back. Let's make a deal. If you tell us who made the bombs and who's behind all this, I'll arrange for you to be transferred to the most secure prison in Colorado," Jack offered.
Bernardo gave a despairing laugh. "It won't matter where I go. Any prison, any solitary cell, they'll find me. I'm a dead man."
Jack shrugged, not bothering to argue. "Maybe, but do you really think staying silent will keep you safe?"
Seeing Bernardo's confusion, Jack sighed and clarified.
"You know two FBI agents died in that apartment explosion, right? Do you think we'll let you sit safely in a cell for the rest of your life? Prison would be a holiday compared to what's coming for you if you don't talk."
Bernardo looked up, visibly rattled by Jack's words.
Jack tapped the table and continued. "If you cooperate, I'll make sure you're placed in a secure ward with older inmates, mostly sixty-somethings, in solitary most of the time. But if you say no…"
Danny took over, playing along. "Then NYPD will make sure you're sent to the most chaotic prison in New York, packed with 18th Street gang members. They'll be thrilled to see your tattooed face."
Bernardo's expression shifted from green to pale white as he weighed his options.
After a long pause, Jack and Danny exchanged a knowing glance. Danny suddenly stood up, preparing to leave. "So, that's your decision, huh? Fine by us—"
"No, wait. I'll talk! The bomb-maker is Brick, the community sports center manager. His mother runs a small restaurant in Clinton. The one who planned everything is Robert Lawrence. That's all I know, I swear. Please, I don't want to die."
---
"Damn, it's the vet! I was even thinking of buying him a drink," Danny cursed under his breath.
He quickly submitted an arrest warrant for Brick, along with a search warrant for his home and his mother's restaurant. Once the Emergency Service Unit (ESU) was dispatched, Danny finally exhaled in relief.
The raid on Bernardo's hideout had cut corners, lacking an official search warrant. Had they not found anything, both NYPD and the FBI would have faced potential backlash.
Jack had volunteered to be the first through the door with the shotgun, not because DOJ lawyers would be easy to deal with, but because Danny and the NYPD had shown their commitment on the street. Jack knew it was time for the FBI to shoulder some of the risk.
With orders dispatched, Danny was on his phone coordinating with various units, while Jack updated Jubal Valentine at the operations center.
Bernardo's confession had revealed two new players. Besides Brick, who handled the bombs, Robert Lawrence—the man orchestrating it all—was the true prize and likely the toughest to catch.
Jack scrolled through Lawrence's dossier, frowning as he read. This wasn't just some gang member. Last year, the FBI had nearly linked Lawrence to a foiled bombing at the YSL church in Riverview. The explosive had been TATP, a volatile substance that failed to detonate due to a mixing error.
Seeing Jack's reaction, Danny glanced over, sensing the significance of what he'd found.
"You know him? What's his story?" Jack asked.
"He's a regular on political talk shows. Every time they need some inflammatory rhetoric, they drag him out. In short, he's a loudmouth bigot," Danny said, his face twisting in distaste.
"A white supremacist?" Jack ventured.
"Worse. He panders to every delusion they want to hear. In rhetoric, he's more extreme than the worst of them. The man openly preaches that unless you're one of the so-called 'Blue Blood Aristocrats,' you're either a slave or expendable. Non-white folks? Not even worth mentioning."
Jack finally understood. The term "Blue Blood Aristocrats" was more than mere elitism. It referred to the ultra-exclusive WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) identity, symbolizing America's so-called "purest" heritage. This level of elitism went beyond class divisions, placing a select group of white Americans as America's rightful rulers, above even other whites.
"So, he's one of these 'Blue Bloods'?" Jack asked, recalling Dana Mosier's subtle warning. He wondered if eliminating someone as influential as Lawrence would come with unexpected complications.
"Pretty much a glorified shoeshine boy for the actual elite," Danny replied with a sneer. "He's hardly the top of the hierarchy."
"Think he might be protected by some serious backers?" Jack mused, sensing the layers of potential danger if Lawrence had connections within the elite, as some believed.
Danny rolled his eyes. "The real 'Blue Bloods' probably see him as a disposable mouthpiece, something to stir the pot when they need it."
Jack chuckled, catching Danny's meaning. "Got it. Never heard a word of that."
---
A few minutes later, while keeping up with his team's search efforts, Jack exchanged updates with Jubal Valentine, who confirmed that Brick's arrest was progressing smoothly. But he also warned Jack to keep an eye on Robert Lawrence. Apparently, the FBI had been close to linking Lawrence to another incident, and there were concerns about his growing influence among radical circles.
"Lawrence's movement is polarizing, and with his background, he's slippery," Jubal explained, sharing insights from the FBI's profiling team. "He's always just one step away from outright terrorism, enough to stir others into action but not enough to land himself behind bars."
With Brick in custody and the net closing in on Lawrence, Jack felt a sense of progress. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that the real challenge was only just beginning.
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