TWENTY-FOUR HOURS

"Ray, damn it," Philip Ramiro snapped. "You're supposed to be taking the calls tonight." He reached for the ringing phone on Ray's desk while Raymond Carrillo helped himself to his third cup of coffee that evening.

     "It won't hurt you to pick it up once in a while, Phil." Ray turned and grinned from across the small room. "Sir."

     "Pensacola police. Detective Ramiro speaking."

     There was a long pause, and then a very nervous female voice burst through the receiver. "You need to get everyone away from the Municipal Auditorium Pier."

     "And what's the emergency, ma'am?"

     "There's only one way off, right? You can cordon off the area and not allow anyone near it."

     "Who is this, please?" Phil cupped the phone and whispered as Ray reached the desk sipping his coffee. "Possible bomb threat."

     "I can't tell you my name." The woman's voice quivered. "And don't bother tracing the call, because I didn't use my cell. I'm calling from a pay phone … and I don't live in this part of town."

     Phil looked at the digital readout on the gray box next to the phone. "So, you don't live in Gulf Breeze? Where do you live?"

     The woman intensified the stress level in her voice. "Look … don't ask me how I know, but something terrible is going to happen there. You have to keep people away for twenty-four hours."

     Phil sat in Ray's chair, pulled out a pencil from the desk drawer, and scribbled something on a blank pad. "So, when is this disaster set to happen?"

     "I don't know for sure. Sometime in the next twenty-four hours. That's all I can say."

     "Do you have any idea what the device looks like?" Phil wrote down the caller's phone number.

     "Device? What device? There's no device." After a long pause the woman yelled into the phone. "Just get everyone clear. I'm not crazy. Just do it!"

     As Phil listened, a distinctive click exploded in his ear. He plunked the phone back on the hook, sat back in Ray's chair, and rolled his eyes. "Nut case."

     "Bomb threat?" Ray asked, sipping his coffee again.

     "She claims it's not a bomb; but then again, she sounds like a wacko." Phil jumped up. "We can't sit on it. Call the bomb squad. Tell them I'll meet them at the Municipal Auditorium Pier."



An hour later saw the area around the municipal pier cleared. It was fortunate that it was a Monday night and no events were taking place in the auditorium. After failing to come up with any explosive devices, the bomb squad roped off the area and the police posted guards.

     Close to ten o'clock that evening it started to rain. Phil returned to the station. When he sauntered into the office, Ray held out the phone toward him.

     "The lady insists on talking to you, Phil. She's called three times about the pier."

     Phil grabbed the phone. "Detective Ramiro."

     "Detective Ramiro." Phil could hear the unseen relief in the lady's facial expressions ripple in her voice. "Thank goodness. Did you do it? Will the people be safe?"

     "Look, lady, we searched every inch of that place and found nothing, but yes … we're going to do what you ask. We're keeping people away from it for twenty-four hours. Now, would you like to explain what the hell is going on?"

     "I'm so glad you believed me. I can hardly believe it myself, but you wait. Very soon … it will happen."

     Phil looked at the gray box again. "I see you're calling from Myrtle Grove this time. What's the matter, you don't like the beach?"

     A long pause pulsated along with Phil's increasing blood pressure. "It looks like a thunderstorm," the voice replied.

     Phil slapped his forehead. "I don't need a weather report. I need to know what's going on."

     "You know what happened at the junior college a few weeks ago? My daughter knew it was going to happen. I called about the pier, because I believe her now." When Phil heard the disturbing click again, he slammed the phone down. "Damn it all to hell!"

     Ray looked up from behind his desk and eased his coffee down. "Ever have a freaky caller like that before?"

     Phil turned and walked away from the desk. "You drink too much damn coffee."



A few hours later, the skies opened up on the city of Pensacola, Florida. The thunderstorm was very typical for summer, being the area of the country that received the second highest number of electrical storms.

     Just after midnight Ray came out of the bathroom zipping up his pants.

     "You're right, Phil. I drink too much coffee." He crossed the room.

     Phil shuffled through some papers on Ray's desk. "So, what do you think happened at the junior college last month?"

     Ray poured himself another cup of coffee. "Let's see … that was June. A lot of students graduated."

     "Was there any disaster?"

     "None that I know of."

     "She's off her coffee bean if you ask me." The phone rang. "Damn it, Ray. Every time the phone rings, you're off sucking up more coffee." He picked up the receiver. "Pensacola police. Detective Ramiro speaking."

     "Phil? Look, I've pulled my men away from the pier. There's been a lightning strike. The fire department is moving in."

     "How bad is the fire, Benny?"

     "Unfortunately the lightning waited for the rain to end before it struck, but it doesn't look like it's going to be too bad."

     "Okay. There's nothing else we can do. Mother Nature has stepped in. I guess we'll just have to assume there's no bomb on the premises. Tell the firemen to be alert just the same." Phil hung up as Ray stared at him waiting for some news. "Well, at least we found out the nut case can accurately predict the weather."



"I saw it, Mommy! I saw the glow!" Andra Nian said, as her mother drove their car up Palafox Street in downtown Pensacola.

     "Where, Andra?" Marsha asked.

     "It's that big glass building."

     "That new office building we just passed?"

     "Yes," the nine-year-old confirmed.

     "Was it like before?"

     "Not as bright, and it only lasted a second when we passed."

     "On the ground floor?"

     "Yes, Mommy."

     Holding the wheel steady, Marsha removed the cell phone from her purse and pressed the power button. "Shit! It's dead." Looking up at the rapidly graying sky, she pounded one hand down on the steering wheel. "And it's starting to rain."

     Continuing to drive north for a few blocks, Marsha pulled over to the curb near a pay phone. She jumped out and glanced back at the passenger seat.

     "You stay here, baby," she said as the rain came down harder. "Lock the doors. Mommy will be right back." Then she closed the car door and ran to the phone.

     The sky rumbled and flashed a warning, but she picked up the receiver and deposited her money anyway. Dialing the number, she waited for someone to pick up. She remembered the days when pay phones were in enclosed booths that protected more than just the phone from the rain. Now, she was going to get drenched from the waist down. A flash of Thor's icy-hot rod glowed punctuated quickly by the roar of the thunder god.

     "Pensacola police. Detective Ramiro speaking."

     Marsha took a giant gulp of air. "There's a new glass office building on the corner of Palafox and Zarragossa. You need to keep people away from it for the next twenty-four hours."