Part 4
The woman at the front booth cried out and grabbed her son from beneath the table. A chair tipped as someone stood too fast. Near the kitchen, a cup broke.
Walter lifted both hands.
“Leave room in the aisles. Nobody runs. We’re going out without crowding that dog.”
Baines backed into the counter.
“You can’t know that. You haven’t even looked.”
“Neither have you,” Walter said.
He kept his attention on the customers. He told them to put their phones away near the suspected device, to leave their plates and bags if gathering them meant getting closer, to stop pushing chairs into the path.
Caleb felt Dwyer’s hand come off his arm.
The officer was staring at the bin. From where he stood, he could have touched it without taking a full step.
“You really mean—”
“Unlock the cuffs.”
Dwyer reached for his key. It slipped from his fingers and struck the tile. He bent so abruptly that Caleb turned sideways to keep him from bumping the container.
“Easy,” Caleb said.
Dwyer picked up the key and tried again. The first lock resisted while his hand shook. Then the cuff opened, followed by the other.
Caleb brought his hands forward and rubbed his wrists once.
“Go outside. Use the radio in your car, well away from the building. Request the state bomb squad. Report a military-dog alert on a suspected device inside an occupied restaurant. We need a wide perimeter.”
Dwyer swallowed and nodded.
“Go.”
The officer pushed through the entrance.
Caleb turned to Walter.
“Take the back half through the kitchen. There’s a rear exit. Don’t let anybody come around this side of the counter.”
Walter was already moving.
“All right. Everybody from this table back, you’re coming with me. Easy now. We’ve got room.”
Loretta set down the silverware and held the kitchen door open. Caleb saw her speak to someone inside, then guide the first family through.
He pointed to Baines.
“Prop both front doors. Use chairs. Once they’re open, get clear.”
The manager stared at him for a moment.
“Now.”
Baines dragged one chair to the entrance and then another. The legs rattled over the threshold. He wedged the doors open and hurried outside without looking back.
Caleb picked up Rook’s leash but left slack between his hand and the dog. He stood where he could guide the front tables around the far side of the counter, away from the container.
“Keep coming. Take your time. There’s nothing you need on the table.”
The little boy’s mother had one hand clamped over the back of his head. She was whispering a prayer against his hair as she passed. The man with the laptop carried nothing at all.
Rook didn’t leave his sit.
Caleb crouched a short distance from him while the last customers filed out.
“You’ve got it,” he said quietly. “Good work.”
The final pair moved through the propped doors. Caleb looked the length of the dining room, called toward the kitchen, and heard Loretta answer from the rear that everyone there was out.
Empty chairs sat at odd angles. A piece of toast lay butter-side down beneath a table. At the booth nearest the door, the toy truck had been left on the seat.
Caleb took one last look at the bin.
“Rook. With me.”
The dog rose at once.
They crossed the threshold together and moved clear of the entrance. Rook looked back toward the scent, but he remained beside Caleb as they waited for the specialists.
The state unit took time to arrive. Dwyer’s radio carried fragments of traffic while local officers pushed the gathering crowd farther from the building. Caleb kept himself available near a protected corner, answering questions without letting anyone drift back toward the doors.
Then heavier engines came off the highway.
State police vehicles spread across the lot. An equipment truck followed, its brakes releasing with a hiss. Troopers began enlarging the cordon, directing customers beyond their parked cars toward the pine trees at the edge of the property.
A man in dark tactical clothing approached Caleb, a helmet under one arm.
“Captain Sutter, state bomb squad. You’re the handler?”
“Yes.”
“Show me where.”
Caleb pointed through the open entrance.
“Gray container, on the right. A few feet past the doors. Positive indication a little under half an hour ago. He held it until I brought him out.”
“Anybody still in the building?”
“No. Front and rear cleared. The doors are secured open. Nobody’s touched the container.”
Sutter studied Rook for a moment, then looked back at Caleb.
“All right. Get behind the line. We’ll take it.”
Caleb didn’t argue. He led Rook farther into the lot while the team unloaded equipment.
Dwyer was sitting on his patrol car’s front bumper. His elbows rested on his knees, and his hands hung between them. He looked up as Caleb passed, but Caleb kept walking.
Beyond the tape, Walter stood among the frightened customers, telling a man to stop trying to get to his parked car. The mother had her boy on her hip. Loretta was passing paper napkins to a woman whose hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
A small tracked robot came down a ramp from the equipment truck. Its camera turned toward the open diner doors.
Caleb was directed to a sheltered position near the command station, where Sutter could reach him if questions arose. A monitor showed the robot’s view as it crossed the entrance mat.
The familiar room looked different from floor level. Chair legs filled the screen. A receipt fluttered in the draft from the doors.
Rook sat close to Caleb’s shin. Caleb rested his fingertips against the dog’s neck without taking his eyes off the monitor.
“Coming onto the container,” the operator reported.
Sutter leaned forward.
The camera view shifted. A remote arm worked carefully around the lid and the loose trash near the top.
Nobody at the command station spoke for several seconds.
Then the operator’s voice came through again, lower and tighter.
“Live device. Getting a read on the timer.”
The camera settled on several linked plastic pipes, wiring, and fragmentation material. Sutter put one hand on the table beside the monitor.
The operator checked the display.
“Under eight minutes…”
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