Escape (56 page)

"Hey, quit shoving!"

"Screw you, Zak; I can't see a damn thing!"

"Well, neither can I, dumbass."

"Up yours."

"Yours first."

The twins felt their way along the wall of the old coal tunnel. It wasn't much more than a small mine shaft carved out of the stone of Manhattan Island, rough walled with a ceiling low enough that they had to hold a hand in front of their faces to prevent themselves from hitting their heads.

They'd grown bored with listening to their mother and Uncle Eric talking about the good old days in Queens and had been only too happy to accompany their grandfather to the restroom.

"Aren't you boys coming in?" the old man had asked at the restroom door.

"Um, no, we don't have to go anymore," Zak replied.

"What? You go in your pants?"

"No, just walking did it, I guess," Giancarlo added.

"Hmmm ... wouldn't be because you boys are planning on checking out that old coal tunnel?" their grandfather asked, giving them "the eye."

"Maybe just a little," Zak admitted.

"Well, make sure it's a little and then skedaddle back to your mom," Mariano ordered. "And don't get dirty, or your mom will kill me."

"What about you?"

"Knowing my prostate, this could take a while," the old man said. "I'll be along when I'm able. I'll meet you back in the visitor's gallery."

"You got it!" They raced off for the supply room, almost running into a janitor who was moving a filing cabinet onto a dolly.

"Hey you kids, you ain't supposed to be down here."

The twins stopped in surprise. The janitor had something wrong with his complexion; he was a black man, but it looked like the brown had been peeled from his face.

"Sorry sir, we were sent to get some supplies," said Zak, who was quicker at subterfuge.

"Uh, yeah ... for the stockbrokers," Giancarlo added.

The janitor looked at his watch. "Okay, but get them and then get the hell out of here. I'm supposed to be cleaning that room, and I can't have kids messing up my floor."

"Sure, no problem," Giancarlo said. "We'll be in and out in a jiff."

"In a jiff?" Zak asked as they ran off. "What kind of dorky expression is that?"

"Dad says it all the time."

"Dad's a dinosaur, or haven't you noticed?"

The boys reached the supply room and the grated door that covered the tunnel entrance. "Look, the lock's jacked up," Zak pointed out.

Someone had sawed through one side of the rusted lock that held the gate closed. And recently enough that the metal filings were still on the ground below the lock.

Zak twisted the lock. "Hey, it'll come off," he said. "I'll bet somebody was sneaking down here so they could 'do it' in the tunnel where the camera couldn't watch."

"You don't know," Giancarlo replied skeptically, but curious nonetheless. "Let's go in."

Giancarlo looked around nervously. "Maybe we should be getting back. Grandpa's probably done and we'll catch hell if he gets back before we do."

"We'll just do what we always do and say we got lost. Come on, just a little ways." He slipped the lock off and tugged on the door. It swung open.

"I don't know, Zak. We could get in a lot of trouble with the stock exchange guys. You know we're supposed to stick close to Uncle Eric. He'll get in trouble too."

"Don't be a wimp. Where's your sense of adventure?" He went inside, followed by his reluctant brother. "Cool," he said, peering into the dark. "I bet these tunnels go all over the place. We could get into all kinds of buildings."

"You mean all kinds of trouble."

Just then they heard the sound of footsteps and voices coming from the hall outside the supply room. There wasn't time to get out of the tunnel, replace the lock, and pretend to be picking up supplies. Zak grabbed the door, tugging it shut, and pulled his brother farther back into the tunnel out of the light.

Two big men in dark suits and dark sunglasses entered the supply room. They quickly looked around, and satisfied that no one else was present, they walked over to a shelf and climbed up on a small stepladder to reach several large boxes on the top shelf marked "SEC—DO NOT OPEN."

As the twins watched from the shadows, the men placed the boxes on the ground and opened them. They began pulling out submachine guns and handguns.

"Uh, oh," Zak whispered. "Something's up."

"No shit, Sherlock. We need to warn Mom!"

"How you going to do that? Walk up to those guys and say, 'I want my mommy'?"

"What should we do?"

Zak looked down the dark tunnel. "Uncle Eric said these connect to other buildings..."

"... and may be blocked off."

"He said he heard this one leads to Trinity Church, and there might be a way out there. That's only about a block."

"In the dark!"

"You got a better idea?"

Giancarlo was silent for a moment. "No. Let's go, Mom needs our help." They stumbled along in the tunnel, splashing through unseen puddles, stepping over places where the roof had partially caved in. After what was probably about ten minutes, though it seemed much longer, Zak stopped. "Is that a light?"

"I think so. Maybe it's the way into the church."

The boys moved ahead as fast as they could. Suddenly, a dark figure appeared between them and the source of the light.
"Qui
est la?"

"The Coal Tunnel Ghost!" Zak yelled.

Giancarlo screamed.

Tran scratched at the incision under his arm where the miniature sensor had been inserted by one of Jaxon's men, apparently also a doctor, while they were waiting on the Star of
Vladivostok.
According to the agent who handled the team's high-tech gear, this was the latest such device and could actually monitor his body temperature and pulse while transmitting his whereabouts to a GPS satellite.

"All the data—body functions and location—are then transmitted to our ground station and from there to my Blackberry," Jaxon told him. "We'll be able to tell where you are to within a few yards."

"Why not stick it in him instead?" Tran groused, nodding at Jojola, who sat grinning off to the side. "He's the one getting lost all the time."

"If you two get separated, we need to know where 'the caller' is building his bomb. Besides, what if they decide he's expendable and send him on some suicide mission?"

"Ah, you're just trying to make me feel better," Tran complained. He looked at the agent who was feeding some information into Jaxon's Blackberry device. "Doesn't it need a battery? I'm not going to get electrocuted, am I?"

The agent shook his head. "Nope. It's powered electromechanically through muscle movement, and there's not enough juice in it to hurt a flea."

"So you've had lots of success with this, eh?" Jojola asked.

"Well, in a manner of speaking."

Tran's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

"There's been lots of success tracking these," Jaxon explained. "But it's all been with dogs and cats. This technology was developed to help people find lost pets."

"How appropriate," Jojola laughed. "I don't suppose there's some handheld gizmo I could have to zap him if he misbehaves?"

"Very funny," Tran snapped. "If this doesn't work you're up shit creek, too."

"But I'll be with my buddy."

"Yeah, some buddy."

Tran had no idea if the device was working inside the MetroTech building, He'd thought the presence of the panhandler outside of the mosque was a good sign. They'd been told to watch out for bums who addressed them as "fellow travelers" and if possible to give them any messages they could. But the tattered madman didn't look like any federal agent he'd ever known; he could only hope that his message would get through and that Lucy or somebody would be able to read the Vietnamese.

"Is there a problem with your arm?"

The woman's voice startled him. Over the past few hours, Nadya Malovo had been watching him carefully as he placed the explosive charges to destroy the floor above them.

"No, just an itch." Tran looked over her shoulder to where Jojola was staring at the back of her head with murder in his eye.
Easy, my friend,
he thought.

The night before, after Miriam's murder, they'd had a moment alone and Tran had asked why they had not acted. "Maybe if we'd killed Malovo and some of the others, it would have disrupted the plan enough," he whispered to his friend. "It was hard to watch that girl be butchered like that and do nothing."

"Believe me, I never wanted to kill somebody so bad in my life," Jojola answered. "But... and I know this sounds strange to you ... but she told me, or her spirit guide did, to let her go. It was hard, but I know she was right. This is bigger than Malovo, and if I'd killed her, we would have all died and they would have still found a way to go through with the plan. But when the time is right, I'm going to cut that bitch so bad she'll arrive in the next world still screaming."

Tran wondered how long Jojola would have to wait for his revenge. "I don't even know what I'm blowing up," he complained to Malovo. "You didn't need me. You could have trained anyone for this."

"Not someone with your experience working from 'the inside' to destroy everything above," Malovo replied. "This is a special building. If the charges are not set correctly, the blast will not accomplish what must be done. And it must be destroyed at the exact moment. Not sooner, not later. Which is why your 'pager detonator' will be perfect; your martyrdom will arrive by telephone, by your own hand when I give you the signal. Besides, isn't it true that part of the reason you are here is that you are dying and wanted to strike one last blow against the Americans?"

"Yes, of course." Tran sensed a trap. "But what's so important on the floor above that I could not have achieved a more notable martyrdom, maybe destroying an entire building and killing thousands?"

Malovo sighed. These Islamic terrorists could be so tedious. It was all about bombs and body counts and making newspaper headlines. No well-thought-out, long-range plans.
Which is why my employers and Newbury's people will eventually exterminate them like a nest of poisonous snakes
—
dangerous if handled incorrectly, but easy enough to separate and kill with the proper mindset.
For now, Azahari Mujahid apparently needed a pep talk.

"On the floor above us is a very important computer system," she said. "Along with another such system, which The Sheik will take care of, they are the key to destroying the American economy. What you do here today will be greater than leveling all of the buildings in New York City. If you did that, they would rebuild. This, they will never recover from."

"Mujahid" appeared satisfied with the answer. "I understand. With Allah's blessings, it will be done."

"Are you almost finished?" Malovo asked.

"Yes." He'd hoped to be able to make it look good enough to fool Malovo but sabotage the setup in some way so that it would not work when the time came. But she apparently knew enough about bombs that she noted when he "made a mistake" and improperly wired the pager into the explosives. She'd watched him even more carefully after that.

"It is finished," he said and held up a cell phone. "When I receive your call, I will dial the number for the pager."

"And achieve your martyrdom."

"Yes, the gates of Paradise have opened," Tran said, looking at Jojola. "And tonight we will dine with the Prophet."

Malovo turned to leave. She and two of her men would wait in the security office on the top floor. Then, after the bomb went off, they would descend to make sure it had accomplished its purpose.

"You two," she said, pointing to the two more dependable members of the Al-Aqsa Brigade, "are to stand guard here at the detonator. From this point on, nobody but me is to approach it. Nobody."

Malovo looked at Tran to see if he'd complain. He said nothing, however, and went to have a seat at one of the cubicles across from the detonator, placing his cell phone on the desk.

The double agent looked around at the remaining six men who would stay behind. "Remember your oaths. You have given your lives into the hands of Allah. Fail him now and spend eternity in hell. Repel anyone who tries to take your martyrdom from you.
Allah-u-Akbar!"

"Allah-u-Akbar! "
the young men shouted.
"Allah-u-Akbar
"

After Malovo left, Tran spoke to Jojola in a low voice. "So the question is, do we try to take weapons and shoot it out now, or do we wait and hope for reinforcements?"

Malovo had not seen fit to give them guns. "You're here to make a bomb," she'd said. "My men will do any necessary fighting."

All they had was Jojola's knife, which he'd insisted on keeping with him. "If we go now, we probably won't win," Tran said. "Plus we have these other people to worry about." As the folks with the securities trading firm had arrived for work that morning, they had been captured, relieved of their cell phones, and escorted to a back room. One of the mujahideen had manned the reception desk, telling all callers that they were having technical difficulties with the telephone service and to try back that afternoon.

"And we'd tip off the other half of these guys that something's gone wrong with their plan," Jojola added. "I think we have to wait and hope Jaxon gets to the other guys and that somebody comes to find their lost pet." Tran scowled at the joke. "If you weren't such a lousy chess player at a dollar a game, I wouldn't have anything to do with you."

"Ah come on, Tran. You'd miss me if I were gone."

"Well, unless we figure something out, I might find out if that's true sooner than you or I wish."

Anybody else might have mistaken the red stain on the floor at the bottom of the stairs as a spilled lunch. But Marlene also spotted the blood spray pattern on the wall and knew it had been caused by a high-velocity projectile passing through a body. Worried, she wondered where Lucy, the twins, and her father were.

She surmised from the bits of brain matter and bone mixed in with the gore on the wall that the victim had been shot in the head and, with a guilty sigh of relief, that the victim must have been too tall to have been one of her boys. She reached into her purse and brought out her makeup compact, which she flipped open, using the mirror to look around the corner without exposing herself. There was no one in the hallways, just a trail of blood leading to the doors of the cafeteria.