Chapter X. Picking Up The Pieces

Mayor Vaughan waited in the back of 1618 drinking Long Island Iced Teas. The bartender should have cut her off two drinks ago but how do you cut off the most powerful woman in a city with a reputation for making business very hard on anyone who dares say no to the city's status quo of which the Mayor represented even if she wasn't old money herself?

Why couldn't this shit have happened to Robbie Perkins? She thought. He started this shit. I inherited this mess from him. And that bastard, Donald Vaughan, why didn't the bomber blow him up? "I want my little girl back," Nancy cried as she laid her head down on the table.

"We'll take her home," Chief Scott told the bartender. "I appreciate you calling me personally. This has been hard on everyone. I don't know how much more she can take."

"I don't know how much more any of us can take," the bartender replied.


There was no Wyndham Golf Tournament to be held. In the immediate aftermath of the explosion the PGA and Wyndham International both agreed it was unsafe to risk the lives of so many to play games in Greensboro. Tickets were refunded and reservations cancelled. The loss in economic impact to Greensboro, High Point, Jamestown and Guilford County was beyond measure.

 The explosion had taken place in the loading docks of the Grandover Resort. According to FBI investigators the bombs had been substituted for gallon cans of soups and sauces that were to be delivered to the kitchen. Napalm, a combination of diesel fuel and styrofoam chunks, had been placed into containers and fused. Then remotely detonated via wireless Internet devices.

Only 3 people were killed but the sticky Napalm had caused extensive damages to the building and many had to be treated for smoke inhalation. Even though the building was made of concrete and steel the 1,500-2,200° at which Napalm burns meant Grandover would be closed for many months just to make the necessary inspections to make sure the building was still sound. Then the repairs would begin.

It would seem as if Greensboro's glut of luxury hotel rooms which had plagued the City for years was immediately solved except that in the coming months, nothing and no one came to Greensboro for anything as the ACC, US Olympic Swim Committee and every conference right down to the Veterans of Foreign Wars found other cities in which to host their events. Even the Greensboro Grasshoppers were playing their home games in Winston-Salem.

The Gate City Bomber had proved himself capable of striking as hard as he wanted to strike. And despite the low death toll of the Grandover bombing everyone knew him to be the most serious threat to face the city ever. 


Detective Mark Steed poured over the evidence. All these many months and still he felt as if he was no closer to finding the bomber than he was before. Greensboro Police, FBI and Homeland Security had caught several people tossing molotov cocktails and setting off other sorts of bombs. One attempt at a suicide bombing inside Beth David Synagogue had been averted and several shootings had taken place that were racially or religiously motivated but none of them were actually connected to the Gate City Bomber in any way that anyone could put their fingers on. In the minds of most people, anyone who didn't share their own views was a potential terrorist.

And everyone knew the long standing Southern tradition of bombing African-American churches would soon rear its ugly head as outside agitators whose motives we would never comprehend seized upon the opportunity to add fuel to the fires.

Please continue reading  Chapter XI. So Greensboro