Chapter 139

Herod’s phone rang at 3:17 AM. The cheap motel room was dark except for the blue light of his burner phone cutting through the blackness. He squinted at the screen. Unknown number. His finger hovered over the decline button, but something made him answer.

“Hello?”

“They found everything.” The voice on the other end was hushed, stressed. Derek Martinez, his contact at the FBI. “Your business card in the wreckage. Your fingerprints on the detonator parts. Plans for the bombings in your apartment.”

Herod sat up, suddenly wide awake. “What plans? I never kept anything in the apartment.”

“Well, someone did. Blueprints of the substations. Notebooks with blast calculations. A journal talking about your hatred for Victoria Kane.”

“That’s impossible. I never wrote any journal.” Herod’s mouth went dry. “What else?”

“Your emails. Detailing everything. The FBI has enough to lock you away forever.” Martinez paused. “I’m risking everything telling you this. My