88 Killer (38 page)

Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen

Museum of Tolerance, Brooklyn

March 15, 11.32 a.m.

T
he truck had been packed with explosives. Nothing ornate or fancy. Ammonium nitrate sitting loose in a flat box. Three bangers stuck in there and a can of fuel. All according to the instructions he’d been given. Carney had also thrown in a few bags of old nails he had no more use for.

The truck bomb had worked better than he’d expected. The fuse must’ve been just right. He’d had exactly the right amount of time to walk up to the second floor, set off a small incendiary device, start screaming, ‘Fire!’ all over the place, and then watch as the chaos ensued. All of them running as if to freedom, only to feel the heat of a bomb blast and a barrage of red-hot nails flaying their skin.

In the chaos, he shot out the two cameras on the second floor and then he shut the door to the exhibition room behind him. Those who hadn’t managed to escape stood there in front of him. Mindless sheep, unable to think or realize what was happening. He blocked the doorway. The crowd stopped.

‘What are you doing, man?’

‘There’s a fire in the stairwell. Smoke’s real bad. It’ll kill you.’

‘What do we do?’

‘There’s another stairway. Follow me.’

There were about twelve of them. Men, women, children. They turned from the exit and followed Carney down a corridor and into another exhibition room. When they were all in the room, Carney shut the door and pulled out Josef.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Making a point that needs making. Now all of you, sit the fuck down.’

The twelve hostages started to scream and panic. Carney shouted but the panic had set in. He pulled a man out of the crowd of wailing, crying people and pushed his Luger hard into the man’s cheek.

‘Shut the fuck up.’

Carney shot one round into the floor, then returned the gun to the man’s face.

‘What’s your name, Jew?’

‘Jeb Rosenbaum,’ the man said. Slowly, the group fell silent.

‘I’ll kill the children first, if you scream again.’

Jeb held his head in his hands. He was crying. Carney turned to him. ‘What are you crying for, Jeb? You’re the lucky one.’

He took Jeb by the elbow and pushed him against the opposite wall.

‘Why are you doing this? What do you want?’

‘I want people to know.’

‘What?’

‘Kneel.’

‘Please don’t kill me. I’ve got three children.’

‘It’s the breeders that are the worst. Fucking kneel!’ shouted Carney.

Jeb knelt and Carney took out a knife from his boot leg. He stood in front of him and stared.

‘You know what a scapegoat is, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean . . .’

‘Yes, you do. It’s the innocent goat sent away bearing the sins of its people.’

‘I don’t understand you.’

‘You will. Don’t you worry about that.’ Carney produced a roll of barbed wire from his backpack. He threw it down. ‘I’m going to wire you up, Jeb.’

The twelve stopped and stared. Carney stared back. He stepped up to the man and held up his gun. ‘You are not human. You are no longer human, you understand?’

Carney moved in with the barbed wire. He took Jeb and wrapped the wire three times around his neck.

Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen

Museum of Tolerance, Brooklyn

March 15, 11.37 a.m.

H
arper sat with his back against the wooden door to the exhibition room. Inside, he’d seen Jack Carney clutching a Luger and pointing it at a group of hostages. He counted twelve: one of them was half-wrapped in barbed wire.

Harper looked through the big keyhole again. Carney was armed. His face and clothes were coated in a film of soot from the incendiary device. Harper watched in silence as Carney taped an explosive device around one of the hostages. Harper felt his breath shorten as he listened to the hostages pleading. They were terrified. Carney would be in no mood for negotiation. Harper could sense the tension in his voice. It was a bad sign. Carney clearly had a plan and he was going to stick to it.

Harper spoke low into his shortwave. ‘How long till SWAT get here?’

‘Three to four minutes. Keep it nice and quiet up there.’

‘I don’t think this guy intends to live. That makes him very dangerous.’

‘I’ll pass it on, Harper. Just sit tight.’

Harper tried to breathe deeply. Three to four minutes to get to the location. A minute to get out of the SWAT truck and a minute to get up to the second floor. Inside, a couple of the younger hostages were sobbing. In the background, further off, was the sound of crying and shouting. A scuffle, then silence. There was too much silence.

Harper looked again. Right in front of him was a man. He was about forty years old; three sticks of dynamite were now taped around his waist beside the detonation device. His face was blank. He had goose bumps all over his body.

Harper heard the killer walk up and down the room.

‘I just want the world to see you as you are. Rich bastard, aren’t you? I want you to crawl out of this place. I want to hear you bleat like a goat.’

Then what? Harper considered the plan. He looked at his watch. Time was too tight to call. If he waited for the SWAT team to get there, something might have happened, but if the killer was planning on getting his hostage to crawl out of the museum, he’d have a chance. Harper heard Carney’s voice barking commands.

‘Okay, all of you now get down on all fours.’

Harper leaned in and watched the killer orchestrating his delusions. Then he called into Command.

‘We’ve got a situation developing. He’s wiring the main hostage with explosive devices.’

‘They want to know the exact layout of the rooms, you got that information?’

‘Sure. But how long till we got some backup here?’

‘They’re caught in the fucking chaos. They’ve left the truck but they’ll be maybe another five minutes.’

‘I could take a shot.’

‘This is an order, Detective. Do not, I repeat,
do not
attempt a rescue.’

‘Okay. I’ll hold off.’

Inside the room, the terrified hostages were on their hands and knees. When the device blew, the explosion would savage them all.

Harper watched Carney stand back.

‘Look at you go. Terrified to die, my little goats?’ Carney wiped his mouth. Spit was forming on his lips. He looked tired. The adrenalin must have hit him in fits and starts – rising up and then falling like a wave.

Carney approached Jeb Rosenbaum.

‘You want to know what’s going to happen? You’re going to crawl out into the street.’

Carney laughed.

Jeb dared not look up. Carney took out a small black device that looked like a cell phone. He held it up.

‘You know what? I’m going to see how far you all get to. I shall let you go, just so long as you don’t squeal. But if they touch you, I press this number; it dials, connects to the little receiver next to that dynamite and what it will do, Jeb, what it will do . . . is explode.’

Jeb started to shake.

‘The idea is that it will rip your head clean off. Your head will go flying into the crowds. It’s up to you. You keep them off you, you’ll live. For a time. I want the TV crews to see you Jews as you should be seen.’

Harper listened and turned to the security guard. ‘If he gets that hostage into the street, that fucks up the whole idea of a rescue. Any other way into that room?’

The security guard pointed to the stairs. ‘You can get into it from the other side.’

Harper nodded. ‘Keep watching through the keyhole. Soon as you see me on the far side, knock three times on the door. He’ll look up and I’ll . . . well, I’ll do something.’ Harper stood and shot up the stairs.

The security guard waited in terrified silence. He didn’t hear someone coming up the stairs until she was right there. He turned and saw a blond-haired woman. ‘Who are you?’

‘Denise Levene. I’m with Harper. Where’s Dr Goldenberg?’

The security guard shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Harper’s gone round the other side.’

‘What’s his plan?’ asked Denise.

‘I don’t think he has one.’

Inside the foyer of the museum, Aaron Goldenberg stared down at the dead and injured. The cops had taken the worst to the ambulances. He saw one of his security guards lying on his back, a bloody bandage pressed to his shoulder. He approached the man and knelt at his side.

‘What happened, Bill?’ he said.

‘Dr Goldenberg. God, Dr Goldenberg. A bomb, that’s what happened.’

‘I know there was a bomb. The alarm went off in here. Why?’

‘They think he’s in here, the 88 Killer. The cops just went up. I’d like to go up with them. Some lady is looking for you, too. I sent her up to the exhibition room.’

‘The 88 Killer?’ said Dr Goldenberg.

‘Detective took the other guard. They went upstairs. Exhibition Room.’

Aaron Goldenberg let the pain emerge. He could think of just one thing. He reached down to the security guard’s side and opened the plastic holster.

‘What are you doing, sir?’

‘Shh,’ said Aaron. ‘He’s got my daughter.’ He pulled the gun out and held it in his hand. He looked at it. ‘How do I work it?’

‘You can’t do it, Dr Goldenberg. You got to leave it to the police.’

‘I have – for seventeen days. Now
I’ve
got to do something. He’s here. Where’s the safety?’

The guard nodded to the side of the gun. Aaron pushed down the small button. ‘This ready now?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the guard.

Aaron touched his cheek. ‘I took it without your knowledge. And thank you, Bill.’

Aaron Goldenberg stood, held the handgun by his side and walked across to the stairs.

Two floors up, Carney circled his hostages and continued to speak in a slow drawl. ‘The problem with you guys is that you think you have a right to own the fucking world. Everyone’s got to feel sorry for you. Who feels sorry for guys like me? Guys who want the world back, guys getting destroyed by your conspiracies.’

‘I don’t understand what that has to do with me.’

Carney looked up. ‘It’s because . . .’

Carney stopped a moment, the little black phone in his hand. His mind seemed to miss a beat, as if the usual connection wasn’t available and he didn’t know what else to say.

The hostage went on: ‘You know no one’s to blame here. We’re all just trying to make a living like you.’

The words dragged Carney back to life.

‘Like me? You don’t fucking know what being like me
is
. You people . . . you’ve bled us fucking dry. This is America.’

‘I’m American.’

‘That right? You can be American when it suits but you only care about your own kind.’

Aaron Goldenberg walked up the stairs through broken glass. His heart had been walking through broken glass for days.

The 88 Killer. The man who had his daughter, Abby – who had her imprisoned somewhere – was in his building. He reached the first floor and then started up to the second. He wanted his daughter. He wanted revenge. The purpose focused him.

‘Abby,’ he said to himself. ‘Abby, Abby, Abby.’ In his heart, he felt she was dead. That was all he’d learned to expect, that there was only worse to come – a broken, beaten corpse, his daughter’s magnificent life reduced to nothing. Tears were streaming down his face, a burning agony in his chest. He had never known feelings like these. Suicides and murders hadn’t ever come within his world, but now his purpose was clear. He could not live without his daughter. He
would
not live without her. Not another day.

He would not walk alone on earth without love. And the killer would not walk on the earth another day either. Let this be the end.

He knew what he had to do.

Inside the exhibition room, Carney stood up. ‘They’re here. Time to take you all for a walk.’

He took the cell phone and brought up the number of the receiver hanging around Jeb’s neck.

‘Time to go, goat-boy. Crawl forward.’

Carney moved to the door and pulled it wide open.

The security guard and Denise Levene stared in horror at the hostages on their hands and knees.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ Carney demanded.

‘Security.’

Carney laughed. ‘Fuck you.’ He pulled out his gun and shot the security guard without a thought. The gunshot reverberated throughout the building. Denise felt a wave of shock and nausea. She stepped backwards.

Carney stood at the entrance to the exhibition room. ‘Ah, Dr Levene – you made it.’

‘I understand you, Jack,’ she said, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. ‘You need help. We can get you help. This isn’t the end of the line. There’s a way out here.’

‘What do you mean? This is it. The media is all run by Jews. No one tells the truth, that’s why I’ve got to splash the truth all over the front page.’

‘Is that why you’re doing this, for attention?’

‘American soldiers die every day, we report that, but every day, Americans here in America are being destroyed by the Jews running the country.’

‘How?’

Carney walked across to the stairwell and leaned over. There was a solitary man walking up the stairs, but Carney could see all the way down into the foyer.

‘I represent true American interests,’ he shouted. Down in the foyer, horrified people stared up at the killer, paralyzed with fear. ‘I am fighting to free America from the insidious influence of the Jew and his kind. These here are the Jewish scapegoats. These poor Jews are going to die for the sins of their brothers and sisters. They are going to be sacrificed.’

He turned to Denise. ‘In my hand here, you can see the detonator. One move and I blow them, and the rest of us, sky-high. If my thumb presses dial, this little goat will erupt, splattering his offal all over you. So back right off, Dr Levene, and watch the show.’

Carney pulled back. ‘Keep walking, goats,’ he commanded. Jeb and the other eleven hostages started crawling towards the stairs.

Harper was at the far door of the exhibition room when he heard Carney talking and shouting. He then heard a woman’s voice and realized that it was Denise. He could see the poor hostages, all stripped and tied with wire. Carney had lost his mind. He was going to go out in a blaze of hatred. There was no time to wait.

Harper saw the detonator in Carney’s hand. Any trigger and Carney could blow them all to pieces. The security guard raised the thumb on his fist and raised his eyebrow. It was enough. Harper got it. The explosion was a single movement of his thumb.

Down below, on the marble floor, Harper could hear the sound of boots. Lots of boots. The cops were coming up the stairs. At this point, that was bad news. Carney would blow them all up.

Harper pushed off his shoes and started to move across the floor of the exhibition room, his Glock held out ready to take a headshot. Denise saw him move. She understood. ‘Hey, Carney, you know what Lucy said in the ambulance?’

Carney turned. ‘What did she say?’

‘She said she thinks you’re right.’

‘What?’

‘She doesn’t understand why you took her. She’s not a Jew.’

‘Because she knows I am,’ he said. ‘I made that mistake in school, I made that mistake with Lucy. You tell someone you’re a Jew and they shit all over you.’

‘Damn right, they do,’ said Denise.

Harper was five feet from Carney. His gun was aimed at his head. Carney caught one of the hostages glancing behind him and Harper saw him tense. A boxer knows muscles – and Harper had boxed for years. He knew what muscles did when they sensed danger, when they were about to move. And Harper saw Carney’s right arm and shoulder flinch ever so slightly. The hand crease, the finger move.

Carney had just about begun to turn his head. Harper had the start on him and lowered his gun. He had to get the cell phone, but couldn’t afford a struggle. In a struggle, everyone was dead. Even with a headshot, the thumb could press the button.

Harper moved in tight and pulled the trigger. The nozzle of his Glock was thirty centimeters from Carney’s elbow and the bullet ripped the joint to pieces. Carney’s body froze. Enough time for Harper’s right hand to grab Carney and pull his thumb from the detonator.

The two of them slumped to the floor. Harper’s left hand reached out towards Carney’s right hand. Carney’s arm was limp but his hand was still hard-gripped around the cell phone.

Denise Levene watched in stunned awe. She didn’t move. Her mouth just opened wide.

The room went silent. They were all waiting for the blast. Harper’s right hand was firmly around Carney’s thumb. Harper’s left hand slowly prized the cell phone, finger by finger, from Carney’s grip.

Harper suddenly realized he needed to breathe. He’d been holding his breath the whole time he’d walked across the room. Maybe two whole minutes. He breathed in deeply, took Carney’s other hand and crushed it with his boot until the Luger dropped. Harper grabbed it and rolled away from Carney with the gun. He held up the cell phone.

He looked at Jeb. ‘It’s okay. Keep calm. I got it. Denise, untie these people.’

Harper checked Carney and cuffed him. They could deal with him later. Denise and Harper moved across to the hostages. Behind them, Aaron Goldenberg reached the top of the stairs. He could see Jack Carney lying on the ground. All he could feel was anger and pain. He wanted this man dead. He stopped and stood over Carney. ‘You know who I am?’