Targets of Revenge (49 page)

When they reached the twenty-fifth floor they stopped and stood still, listening.

Nothing. No indication the police were coming for them from below, at least not yet. No sounds of any of the six young men from the Bronx using the stairs above them.

“When are those idiots going to move out?” Jorge whispered.

Alejandro shrugged. “Maybe they took the other staircase. Or the elevators.”

Jorge nodded. That was not their problem now.

They started off again.

The high, narrow stairwell was silent from top to bottom except for their soft steps as they ran. They were only a dozen or so flights from entry to the theater as they made the turn on the twenty-first floor.

Their eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, but even so it took a moment for them to make out the figure squatting in the corner against the wall. The Venezuelans had their weapons at the ready, but they never had the chance to react.

Sandor’s training was in special ops, not law enforcement.

The sound of gunfire exploded as Sandor fired shot after shot into their chests. Alejandro managed to squeeze off two wild rounds that ricocheted off the concrete walls as he stumbled forward. Jorge sent
one shot above Sandor’s head before falling facedown and sliding to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

After the earsplitting reverberations the stairwell fell silent again. Ferriello had raced up the steps, where he found Sandor standing over the taller of the two men. Alejandro had tumbled all the way to the landing, his gun having clattered to the floor. He had been shot three times but was still breathing.

“Only these two,” Ferriello said.

Sandor nodded. “Check the other one,” he said as he replaced the magazine in his PPK.

“Dead,” Ferriello confirmed.

Sandor knelt beside Alejandro. “You hear that? Your pal is dead, so now you have a choice. You tell me what I want to know and I can get you medical help. Otherwise I’ll let you die here too. Your call.”

In addition to the gunshot wounds, the large man seemed to have broken several bones in the fall down the staircase. He could hardly move, but he did manage to curse at Sandor in both Spanish and English.

Sandor nodded patiently. “I’ve seen you before you know. Adina’s retreat, down near Barranquitas.”

The man’s moribund eyes could not hide his surprise. “That was you?”

“The one and only. Nice little operation you had there.”

“He is going to kill you,
maricon
.”

“Let’s worry about me later. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the one dying right now, so how about it? You want to live, you’ve got to answer some questions. Like where’s the anthrax and where are they going with it?”

Alejandro managed a nasty smile, then in a raspy voice told Sandor where he could shove his questions.

“We know all about the six boys from that mosque in the Bronx, and we know about the cases you brought here. This hotel is surrounded so none of them are getting away. Why not do yourself a favor and cooperate. Then I’ll call in a medical team and this won’t have to be the last night of your life.”

Alejandro stared at him without responding and Sandor could see the man was not long for it.

“Okay, let’s start with an easier question. What is Adina doing with all those cars? Why would he need all those cars to spread anthrax?”

Once again the man’s eyes revealed his surprise, although his energy was waning fast. He lifted his arm, took hold of Sandor’s shirt, and pulled him close. With his voice barely a whisper, he said, “You don’t know, but you’ll find out.” He twisted his mouth into one last smile. “Just wait a few hours. You’ll find out.”

Then his grasp weakened, his hand fell away, and he was dead.

F
ERRIELLO TOOK THE
radio from Sandor, switched it on, and reported their situation.

“We heard the gunshots,” came the response, “the staircase is like an echo chamber. The situation is already getting out of hand in the hotel and the theater on that side. People running all over the place,” he was told.

“The two officers on forty-five?”

“Both dead. We have men up there now, that floor has been locked down.”

“What about the six hostiles with the cases?”

“No sign of them yet.”

“What about the rear stairs?” Ferriello asked.

“The entry on forty-five is also secure. We have a four-man team heading up from the lobby. There may be some movement above. Our men are proceeding with caution.”

Sandor took the radio. “Have a team get up here, we’re just above the twenty-first floor. Secure this stairwell. We’ll grab an elevator and head to forty-five and then come back down the other side.”

“Copy that.”

“Be sure your men shoot to kill. If any of this anthrax is released, the air ducts are going to turn this entire building into a gas chamber.”

Without awaiting a response Sandor led Ferriello through the door and into the corridor of the twenty-first floor, where people were peeking out from their rooms to see what all the noise was about.
Sandor did not hesitate. “Get back inside,” he hollered, then fired a shot into the ceiling to punctuate the order. One door after another slammed shut.

Sandor punched the elevator’s
UP
button and waited.

“What’s the plan?” Ferriello nodded

“We start at forty-five, check the suite, then go looking for these bastards.”

Ferriello nodded.

“Look on the bright side,” Sandor told him as the doors slid open and they stepped into the elevator, “running downstairs is a lot easier than running up.”

————

Alejandro had suggested that the six men from the Bronx split up, but for now they remained together, huddled on a landing on the forty-third floor in the north stairwell. They had not heard the shooting on the other side of the hotel and had no way of knowing the fate of the two Venezuelans. The oldest among them, who acted as the group’s leader, was a Lebanese who had abandoned his given name and now called himself Abdullah—servant of Allah. Abdullah drew them together in a tight huddle and spoke softly.

“We must move in three groups now. It will give us the best chance of completing our mission.” The others nodded. “Once we are safely away from the hotel we can all separate and head to the places of our destiny.” Again, the other five silently agreed.

There were still a few hours before the scheduled attacks. One of them asked if it made sense to try to force their way into another room to wait it out right there. The hotel was enormous. There had to be a place to hide. Perhaps Alejandro was right, perhaps the manhunt would be directed at the two men who had murdered the police officers, not at them.

Abdullah shook his head. “No, it is too risky to involve others. Someone might hear us or see us and make a call. No, you four will remain with us for a few more floors, then you will enter the corridor here and take the elevator down to the basement. Split into two groups and take different elevators. Do not stop at the lobby. You will
certainly find a way out from the lower level. You will come with me,” he told the sixth man. “We will continue down the stairs.”

————

When Sandor and Ferriello stepped off the elevator on the forty-fifth floor they were greeted by an FBI agent wielding an assault rifle. After displaying their IDs, they were escorted down the hall to the door of the suite where two uniformed NYPD officers were standing guard. The hallway was crowded with law enforcement personnel along with staff from the medical examiner’s office who were attending to the two fallen policemen.

Sandor was told that both officers were already dead when the medics arrived.

Inside the suite they found a forensic team scouring the place. The captain in charge of the investigative detail reported that there was not much there. All the men and all of the cases were gone. Nothing in the place had been used—not the beds, the minibar, not even the bathroom. The only thing left behind were six clear pieces of plastic that had been tossed in a wastebasket in the sitting area.

“Let me have a look,” Sandor said.

Already bagged and tagged as evidence, they were held up for him to see. Each strip was several inches long and roughly three inches wide.

“What do you make of them?” Ferriello asked the head technician.

“They each have a residue of some kind of bonding agent. Appears to be fairly strong. We’ll test them to see what type, but my best guess is that they were the backing to some sort of adhesive strip. No telling what was on the other side, of course.”

Sandor shook his head. “How about a lightweight device, rigged with some sort of plastic explosive?”

“Anything is possible. As I say, it appears to be a strong compound. How did you make that leap?”

Sandor did not respond to the question. Instead he thanked the captain and told Ferriello it was time for them to move. As they hurried out of the suite and down the corridor, Ferriello repeated the investigator’s question.

“Think about it. Adina got these cases of anthrax past detection in Wilmington. Clear, odorless powder encased in plastic. Sad to say, but not all that difficult to conceal on a private jet. Six detonators would have posed a different risk, might have set off some alarms or shown up on some detection devices. The couriers from the Bronx probably brought the detonators.”

“Which they attached to the cases right here.”

“Seems that way.”

“Which means we’re dealing with cases loaded with anthrax that are set to explode.”

“That’s how I see it.”

They reached the entrance to the far stairwell. “What about all the cars then? That guy back there said we would know in just a couple of hours.”

“That’s the piece I can’t figure out. If they’re going to ignite six packages of anthrax, why would they need all those vehicles? They have enough anthrax to kill tens of thousands of people, depending on where they detonate those things.”

“Maybe that’s the key,” Ferriello suggested. “Maybe the cars have something to do with where they intend to set them off.”

“Maybe,” Sandor agreed. “If we find the cases we won’t have to deal with that problem.”

————

When the six men from the Bronx reached the thirty-seventh floor, Abdullah decided they had gone far enough. They opened the fire door and had a look into the hallway. It was deserted. They entered the corridor, quietly pulled the door shut behind them, and gathered around once more to listen to their leader’s determined voice.

“We cannot wait, there is no way to complete our mission if we do not get free from this place now.”

“Can we use our phones?”

“Who would we call?”

“The imam. For advice.”

Abdullah shook his head and gave him a somber look. “Would it be fair to ask for advice from someone who knows even less than we
do of this situation? No, it would not. We have delayed long enough for those men to get away. Hopefully the police are following them. It is time for the four of you to get on the elevators and find your way out of here. The longer we wait the more dangerous it will become. And remember, my friends, we have the means of escape in our own hands.” He held up his case for emphasis. “We must be prepared to do whatever must be done.”

————

Just before they entered the south stairwell, Sandor took the radio from Ferriello.

“All hands please listen up. We are seeking six hostiles. Each is carrying a hard-shell bag containing biological weapons we believe to be anthrax. The cases appear to be fitted with detonators. Repeat, the containers these six men are carrying are fitted with devices that might be ignited at any time. Upon encounter do not hesitate. Do not give them any opportunity to detonate. Shoot to kill, but be careful not to fire at the cases.” He handed Ferriello the radio, saying, “Leave it on this time,” then pulled the door open and started down the stairs.

There was no sound within the stairwell as Sandor and Ferriello descended. They had already passed the thirty-seventh floor when the two-way crackled to life.

“Now hear this, we have located the six men carrying the cases. Security cameras in the elevators show two each in the two elevators. They just got on at the thirty-seventh floor heading to the lobby. One elevator is two floors ahead of the other.”

Sandor grabbed the radio again. “Sandor here. Do not let them go directly to the lobby. Repeat, stop the elevators on each floor if you have to, but do not open the doors, just do whatever you can to slow them down. Bring a shooting team to the twentieth floor, we’ll meet you there.”

Someone immediately acknowledged.

“What about the other two hostiles?” Sandor asked.

“Two returned to the south stairwell,” came the reply.

Sandor switched off the radio so he and Ferriello could listen for
any activity in the stairwell below. When they heard nothing they took off at a breakneck pace until they reached the door marked “20,” pushed through it, and hurried into the corridor. Four men in FBI jackets had just arrived from the north side of the building and were in place.

“Fire as soon as you have the shot,” Sandor said as he ran toward them. “We cannot afford any of these devices to be detonated. Am I clear?”

“We have those orders,” one of the men confirmed.

“And don’t hit any of the damned cases.”

For a moment they were all silent, listening as the first elevator approached. Then it came to a stop before them.

When the doors slid open none of the agents hesitated, unleashing a fusillade that tore through the two terrorists where they stood. As the cases fell harmlessly to the floor in a haze of smoke and blood, Sandor rushed in to pull them away, fearing one of these men might yet have that final ounce of life necessary to hit the triggering mechanism. As he suspected, Sandor found the detonators taped to the bottom of each case.

Moments later the second elevator arrived and the gruesome scene was repeated with the same lethal ferocity.

That left two men and two IEDs filled with anthrax.