Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (36 page)

Pleased with his progress for the day, he found a bench to rest on while he waited for the day crew to leave the marina. Tomorrow was Friday and he hoped the traffic would be even heavier.

•      •      •

Jack stared at the pile of items on the desk and tried to think clearly. Everyone was giving him some space after the meeting they had all had. When the package had arrived that morning it had been carefully screened as all packages were. When the electronic device was detected, it was opened by someone from EOD as a further precaution and discovered to be just what the X-ray showed it to be—a cell phone. The items was quickly processed by Sydney’s people before being forwarded to Jack. On seeing the photos, Jack had called a meeting and raised hell. The man they had been looking for had made it all the way from Florida to DC without being detected and had even followed Jack around and gotten photos! Some of them right across the street from the Hoover Building! The speech was short, but everyone got the message. Now Jack sat alone and seethed as the others were afraid to approach him just yet.

Except for one. Larry walked into the conference room and sat down with a stack of files and a can of Coke. The chair creaked under his considerable bulk. He leafed through a few pages before looking up to see Jack watching him. He returned his eyes to the page before he spoke.

“Ever tell you how I got my first commendation?” Before Jack could reply he went on. “I was working in the St. Louis office and we had busted a small drug running operation. Three redneck brothers moving some coke and meth back and forth to Kansas City. Anyway, we raid their place out in BFE and take them all down. We only had one van so we cuffed them all together and stuffed them in the back. My partner drove the van and I followed him all the way back to town. We stopped at this gas station to fill up, one of those chain stations in front of an old motel. My partner fills the tank and I wait in the car with the van in front of me.

“I’m playing with the radio or something and I hear this yell. I look up to see the three rednecks pile out of the back of the van and take off running. My partner forgot to lock the damn door. Anyway, I hop out of the car and take off after them. Please keep in mind that I was younger then and in slightly better shape than I am now. So they disappear around the corner of the motel and I go charging after them. They’re all younger, but they’re cuffed together, so I think I got a chance to catch them. This motel was the kind with the doors on the outside and an awning going all the way around, right? So I round the corner and what do I see? One redneck is dragging the other two with both hands and trying to get across the lot. The other two are out cold. I draw down on the one and he gives up. The other two are limp as rags.

“Seems these idiots were so intent on getting away that they forgot they were cuffed together. The two small ones chose opposite sides of an awning pole to run around and when they got jerked to a stop they butted heads and knocked each other cold. The big one gets up off the ground and just starts dragging ’em till I showed up.

“So I’m standing there with my gun on them and my mouth hanging open and here comes a crowd of people. Well, the big one starts screaming police brutality and tells everyone that I beat the other two unconscious. My partner shows up then and takes in the scene and before I can tell him otherwise, he believes the big idiot. Well redneck number three wakes up so we have the two of them carry the one in the middle back to the van. We call an ambulance and they come and check ’em out. Eventually we get back to St. Louis and get them processed in. Well, the next day I go on vacation, right? When I get back I get called on the carpet and they give me a piece of tin. Seems my partner put me in for it so the mistake of the door lock would get overlooked. I didn’t want to get him in trouble, so I just bit my tongue. But if you ask anybody from the St. Louis office they’ll tell you the story of how I took on three redneck drug dealers and knocked two of them out cold.”

Jack fought hard not to smile. He managed to keep his composure and ask a question. “Is there a moral in this story for me somewhere?”

“Mistakes are going to be made, Jack. We just have to roll with them.”

Jack played with his pen for a moment. Larry was right and he knew it. The tension was gone.

“I know, and I don’t believe carelessness has to exist in order for a mistake to be made. I just gave that speech to assure that there wouldn’t be any.”

Larry smiled. “Well, if it helps any, I’d say you got the message across.”

Jack smiled back and toyed with the pen some more.

“Those boys must have been running pretty fast?”

Larry nodded. “Matching shiners. Made for some great mug shots!”

They were both still laughing when Sydney stepped into the doorway.

•      •      •

“Okay, we’ve cataloged everything and dusted it all. I picked up a few prints but no hits on any of them. Most likely they’re from the producers. The cell phone is pre-paid and was purchased in Miami the day our boy arrived in-country along with another. We’ve obtained extra batteries for it so you can keep it on you until he calls. The backpack is clean and one of thousands made and marketed everywhere. There’s no way to trace it, but we did confirm it was sold in the same store. The letter is from an HP printer. We should be able to match it if we ever find it. The pictures . . . the pictures were all printed last night at the Kinko’s in Georgetown. He was here in the last twenty-four hours. That’s all I can really tell you.”

They all absorbed Sydney’s news in silence. Somehow the man had gotten out of Florida and into DC without being seen by any of the measures they had taken. It was as if he had leapfrogged over them and simply landed in their backyard.

“Why did he do this?” Eric asked, holding up a photo of Jack. “I don’t understand what he hopes to accomplish by taking the pictures?”

“It’s a message to me, Eric,” Jack answered. ”In the letter he’s picked me to do the exchange. The pictures say don’t try to double cross me, I can get to you.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Murphy.

“Simple.” Jack reached out for the phone lying on the table and held it up. “We wait.”

Amazon deforestation speeds up.
August 4, 2009—AFP
 

—THIRTY-ONE—

T
he early morning meeting had degenerated somewhat but instead of stopping it, Jack let it happen. Jack loved a good team and the discussion among these professionals was both informative and passionate. It told him what they felt most strongly about as well as what they thought they were all doing wrong. The volume was steadily increasing and Jack was about to step in, when they all fell silent.

The phone sitting on the table was ringing.

Jack jumped from his chair and snatched it up. He gestured frantically to the man outside the glass and he donned his headphones and tapped keys on the computer in front of him before giving Jack the go-ahead nod. Jack looked around the room to see everyone frozen in place and silent. He answered the phone on the fourth ring.

“Randall.”

“Good morning, Jack, and everyone else listening. I’ll be brief. There’s a bench in Central Park across from the Essex Motel. You need to be sitting on it with the phone and the backpack today at noon. Wait for my call. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The connection ended.

Jack looked out the glass at the technician. The man just frowned and shook his head. The call was just too short. Jack dismissed it. It didn’t matter anyway. He knew where the man was now anyway.

The room stayed silent as everyone waited for Jack to speak. When he did, it was a mouthful.

“I want HRT, the NBC team, and the homeland security response team all in New York City, ASAP. Call Andrews and warm up the jet. Notify the New York office and get me all the assets they can free up. Give the NYPD and the fire department a head’s up and tell every borough that they’re having a bio-warfare drill in real time today. I want every guy on duty to be suited up and all decon and containment procedures tested. I want the rapid response units to fill all their tanks with bleach and to be ready by 1100. Get me helicopters, every one you can find and fill them with tracking equipment. I want at least two tracking devices embedded in this backpack with some serious battery life. Tell TSA to upgrade to level four security at all the area airports and get air traffic control to clear all low flying traffic from the area until otherwise notified. We leave in one hour, people, make it happen.”

Everyone scrambled to comply and soon every phone line in the room had someone on it. Jack mentally reviewed the checklist, trying to see if he had missed anything. Sydney tugged on his sleeve.

“What about the hospitals? What do we tell them?”

Jack nodded at her question. “What do you think?”

“We have to warn them. We can tell them it’s a drill or something for now.”

“Find out who handles that with Homeland Security and pull the real time drill scenario on all of them. Tell them they’re being tested and graded on their response. That should be good for now. At least they’ll be leaning forward in their foxholes if we have to change it to an actual response.”

“Okay, where do you want me for all of this?”

“You ride with Greg and his guys. Bring your toys and get some armor. Be careful.”

“You’re sure?”

“I know Greg won’t like it, but I want you close.”

“All right.”

•      •      •

The Deliveryman closed the phone and took a deep breath. Today was the day. He would either come away clean or end up in a federal prison. He went over his plan again in his mind, seeing the streets as he had the day before. He had spent a restless night on the boat, going over the maps and notes he had taken. He’d made contingency plans for everything he could think of, and even had a plan to abort the operation if he thought the odds of escape were too long. He could always wait and try this again in another city.

But that would be harder. He didn’t know any other city like he knew New York. Other cities might provide the crowds and traffic he needed, but he wouldn’t be able to work from memory like he could here, and that could mean all the difference.

He turned the phone off and removed the battery before pocketing it and placing it with the others in his backpack. Once they were stored, he donned his sunglasses and got up off the park bench. The same bench he had described to Jack a few moments ago. He threw a leg over the bike and set out west on 59th Street. He would go over the route one more time before parking the bike. His new bike messenger outfit fit snugly on his body and he blended in with the traffic. He latched on to the back of a truck and coasted along under its power for half a block, watching for car doors that might suddenly open in front of him. It was his biggest fear while riding, the door. But he hoped to never have that problem again after today.

•      •      •

Walter Putnam was also starting his day. After the long climb up to his seat he paused for a rest and took in the view as the sun came up over the city. It was one of the perks of his job and he enjoyed it every day. Some of the richer inhabitants of Manhattan may have had a higher or more comfortable view, but he doubted it was better than his.

Walter was an ironworker, a member of the Local 361 and one of the best crane operators they had ever had. He’d started at the age of nineteen, like his father and his father before him. He remembered stories of the buildings they had built and had visited every one of them throughout the city. His father had been especially proud to help build the World Trade Center and Walter had often looked skyward to see those twin towers. He had also been told the towers would outlast him, but that had not been the case. Sitting in his crane, Walter had watched the towers fall just two months after his father’s death from cancer. It was just as well, they all thought, as the sight would have killed him. Walter and the other ironworkers had labored for months alongside the firemen to clear the debris and recover what bodies they could. And now he returned every day to erect the new World Trade Center. He liked to think his father and grandfather were watching, and he hoped they were proud.

Today would be a busy day of laying more concrete. The foundations for the new buildings were going in and some of the locations were not reachable by boom or truck, so they would load hoppers of concrete which Walter would transport to the men waiting in the rebar jungle. They would have to work quickly. The cement was a special formula and was mixed offsite before being trucked in. It had to be poured within a certain time or it was no longer usable. A lot of money was being spent today and Walter and his crane were a big part of the process. He fired up his machine and took it through a test run, his hands moving the two joysticks with practiced skill. His sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing and he did a radio check with his safety officers before lowering the hook to accept the hopper and its dumping apparatus. Once it had performed as required and the men on the ground confirmed it, they were ready. He looked down the street to see the first wave of cement trucks approaching. He sipped his coffee before securing it in the cup holder. Time to go to work.