Vanished by Kathryn Mackel Read Free Book Online Page B

explain why there hadn't been a response yet. In a citywide
disaster, the Flats was the last place the cops would come.
    What if the attack was even more widespread? Maybe Boston
or even all of the Northeast. But ground zero had to be the
Circle-the whole world knew the two train lines crossed there.
Stupid Quanta had bragged they were terrorist-proof. Hadn't
they ever seen Titanic?
    Mom was probably freaked. Hopefully she'd see on television that the damage was confined to the Circle and assume
he was safe at McDonald's. People were probably hanging out
there now, like they did after 9/11. Looking for water or a soda,
just wanting to be near others, even people they didn't know.
    Where were the news copters? They were always first on any
scene. Ben rolled over on the roof and looked up at the sky.
The smoke hung like a gray curtain, fluttering like tinsel on
    a Christmas tree. He jammed his fists into his eyes to clear his
vision. An illusion, that was it-created by a new kind of bomb.

    Which meant Ben had really messed up this time. He felt
marked, as if a giant arrow hung over his head, flashing a neon
sign that read: Here's the sucker who carried the bomb.
    Think, loser. It's the only thing you're good at. Think.
    Jasmine said Cannon had hooked her up with Luther. If
Ben could get a description-or, better yet, find out where
the guy hung out-he might be able to clue the cops where to
nab this Luther. And convince them that he hadn't meant for
this to happen.
    If Cannon even knew. He wasn't the sharpest skate on the ice.
A fringe player in the Flats, his talent was in connecting people
up. He ran schemes, bullied his brother, dissed his mother. But
he had always been good to Ben, covering him with his word so
the street wouldn't eat him alive.
    Ben opened his cell and speed-dialed Cannon. Stupid
phone-not even a no service screen. That didn't make sense.
He was fully charged and in close range of the nearest tower,
the steeple of Grace Community Church. He could see it
from this vantage point, even make out the dish behind the
clock tower.
    What if someone had taken out the satellites?
    Was he blaming Osama bin Laden for something that
would require a world power to pull off? Too many nuclear
weapons from the old Soviet Union were still unaccounted
for. North Korea and Iran were both involved in high-level
weapons development. And where did those weapons of mass
destruction really go?
    Not enough information. And no way for a fifteen-year-old
fool from the Flats to stop it if some rogue power wanted to
blow up the best country in the world.
    Think locally, loser. One terrorist at a time.
    Visualize success, the therapist in fifth grade had told him.
After the old man-he would never be "Dad"-had punched
him out, Mom had wanted someone safe for him to talk to. But then she yanked him because she didn't agree with that
kind of behavioral therapy.

    What was the difference between a therapist teaching him
positive visualization and a Sunday school teacher telling him
the invisible and unprovable Holy Spirit would present his
prayers to God? People believed what they wanted to believe.
Didn't make it true.
    Mom admitted that she desperately believed the old man
would stop beating on her. Old man-weird term for a guy
who hadn't reached forty yet. But Ben would never call Gus
Murdoch his father, even though the jerk was responsible for
half of his DNA.
    Not that Gus would admit it. When he wasn't outright
cursing, he called Ben a half-breed. "You wouldn't catch me
dead watching Discovery Channel. Or reading all those books,"
he'd say and pop another brew.
    "Gus was my mistake," Mom always said. "Not yours,
Benedict. You're nothing like him, nothing at all. You're my
blessing."
    Would she say that if she found out he was the one who
carried the bomb? He'd already done the stupid thing today.
Now he'd do the right thing. Track down some information
from Cannon, pass it to