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Dawn hadn’t broken when Todd Donelson drove past the park and then turned on Main Street. Two blocks down, he parked his truck behind the bank building he came to every workday, and if everything worked according to plan, in two days he would unlock the doors just like every Monday morning. If not ... at least he would have avenged his father’s death.

He grabbed the backpack with the disassembled AR-15 and slipped it on. D-day.

Thirty minutes later he hung “Closed for Maintenance” signs at the top and bottom of the slide, then stretched a chain across the steps. That should keep any kids from trying to get inside the treehouse.

He stepped over the chain and climbed the steps. Once he shrugged out of the backpack, he laid it on the floor. He soon had “Keep Out” flaps strung across the openings, including the window.

Todd slid the window flap over just enough to see that nothing had been erected to block his view of the platform where Carter would speak. Then he unpacked the AR-15 and assembled it. While he wouldn’t be able to see the dam when it blew, he would have a clear shot at the man responsible for building it. And for killing his father.

Then he laid a burner cell phone on the floor beside him. He’d already programmed in the number to the phone that would detonate the bomb.

He checked his watch. Six a.m. Twelve hours before the dam blew.

Now all he had to do was wait.