The Janus Reprisal (25 page)

M
ANHAR STOOD IN THE BACK
of the magnificent house on Long Island and watched as Dattar’s men started to outfit two large trucks with square trailers. First went in a long fireman’s hose, several reflective vests, steel poles, and canvas along with several three-foot-long metal wrenches. On the outside of the first vehicle two men were affixing a large decal that read MTA.

Manhar stopped one of Dattar’s men and pointed at the logo.

“What’s it mean?”

“Metropolitan Transportation Authority.”

“What’s that?”

“Runs the New York subway.” The man walked away and Manhar gave a low whistle. He’d heard that some wanted to attack the New York subway the way the terrorist organization in Japan had attacked Tokyo’s, but he would not have believed that Dattar had the guts to do it. Dattar went up several notches in Manhar’s esteem. At that moment Dattar waved him over.

“You’re blowing up the subway?” Manhar said.

“No. How’s Khalil tracking Nolan?”

“He’s had a man watching her every moment for the last month. He knows her schedule, favorite places, everything.”

Dattar’s face turned red. “Are you saying he’s had a month to take her out and he didn’t? Why?”

Manhar didn’t like the direction the conversation was turning. It was simple: Khalil hadn’t taken out Nolan because Dattar hadn’t yet paid him. But Manhar didn’t want to tell Dattar this bit of information. Dattar tended to kill the messenger. He tried to change the subject.

“You’re using sarin gas in the subway. Like in Japan?”

“No.
Why didn’t Khalil take out Nolan
?
”

Manhar saw no way around the question. Rajiid and the other men had stopped outfitting the truck and were all staring at Manhar.

“He claimed he was waiting to get paid.”

Dattar’s face worked and his breath came fast. Rajiid slid his eyes sideways, noticed that the men had halted, and barked an order. They began working again, and Manhar felt the tension subside.

“Get in the truck. You’re going on the mission with the others,” Dattar said.

Manhar did as he was told, but his stomach was twisting. He crawled in the rear of the truck and joined the others sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall. Rajiid appeared and started handing each man two small pills and a bottle of water. He handed them to Manhar.

“What’s this?” he said.

“A drug. It will make you strong.”

Manhar hesitated.

“Take them,” Rajiid said.

Manhar made an elaborate show of tossing the pills in his mouth. He shoved them under his tongue as he swallowed some water. Rajiid watched the entire maneuver before nodding and walking away. Manhar spit the still intact pills back into his hand and tossed them onto the steel bed. He wasn’t so foolish as to take any pills given to him by a viper such as Rajiid.

He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to know what Dattar had in mind with the false trucks. Manhar’s goal in coming here was only to arrange for Dattar to kill Khalil. With Khalil dead, Manhar would never have to look over his shoulder, wondering when retribution would come. What Manhar didn’t want to do was die like a jihadist on some elaborate suicide mission. He couldn’t imagine any scenario in which Dattar’s men could bomb, gas, or shoot up a New York City subway and survive the inevitable aftermath. He sat in the back of the truck and did his best to keep calm as they began the drive to the city. After ten minutes Manhar turned to the nearest man riding with him. He was able to see his face in the illumination from a high window. The light flickered each time they passed a light pole.

“Will we get away before the gas is released?” Manhar said.

“We’re not using gas.”

Manhar pointed to two small canisters. “That’s gas, I know it. I saw it used in Iraq.”

The man shook his head. “That’s only a backup. It’s not the main plan. And why do you care? Our families back home will be well compensated for our deaths and we will bask in greater glory.”

“Will the plan work?” Manhar said.

He heard the man chuckle in the dark. “Oh yes, it will work. In three hours most of Manhattan will begin to die. And no one will be able to stop it.”

“Will Dattar die too, then?”

“No, he will not. He must live, of course, to pay our families.”

“And us?”

“In the kingdom of the everlasting life.”

Manhar wanted to shake him. The only kingdom he wanted to experience was in Pakistan, with multiple women and a large house with many rooms. He needed to get away from Dattar’s crew before they put their mission in place. The only problem was, he needed to know which way to run, and to learn that, he needed to know what Dattar had in store for the city.

“What is the plan, then?”

“I don’t know. We will be told what to do by Nihal when we arrive.”

Manhar didn’t believe him. “You don’t know? Then how can you be so sure it will work?”

“Nihal told me it will. I believe him.”

Manhar sat in the back of the truck and began plotting his escape.

Dattar rode in the lead car and ran through the plan a final time with Rajiid.

“You have the bacteria?”

“We have the coolers in place,” Rajiid said.

“And the guns?”

Rajiid nodded. “Ready. If there are any disturbances, or a too curious police officer, the men know what to do.”

“Killing an officer is to be a last resort. Try to talk your way out first. We just need enough time to place the bacteria.” When Rajiid didn’t reply, Dattar began checking the pistol he kept in a holster at his waist.

“Will you kill Nolan?” Rajiid said.

“Yes. After she tells me where the rest of the money is located.”

“And Smith?”

“Him too.”

“He is savvy, so you’ve always told me.”

“He is nothing against me,” Dattar said. “And besides, I will have Khalil with me.”

“And Howell?”

“Khalil must have already killed him. I’ve heard nothing.”

Rajiid pressed his lips together.

Dattar was no longer worried. After learning that Nolan wanted to meet to “end this thing,” as she’d put it in the message, he’d called Khalil back. He’d pretended to be calmer, and cajoled Khalil into joining him. “Together we’re stronger than alone,” he’d said. Khalil had agreed.

Dattar had already contacted his informer at the CIA to ensure that the plan went his way and only his way.

Dattar sat back and watched the lights on the expressway whiz by.

Smith stood at a street corner back at the CIA safe house on the Upper West Side and watched as a van embossed with the logo of a well-known cable company pulled alongside the curb. The driver’s window lowered and Howell stuck his head out.

“Climb in back and see what we’ve got.” Smith swung open the rear panel doors and was greeted by clouds of smoke and Beckmann, who sat on a short stool in the middle of a neatly arranged row of wires and technological equipment, puffing on a cigarette. A television system, complete with multiple screens and several computer towers, was packed into the interior. The air was stale from the cigarettes as well as the fumes of several PCs running at once.

“Quite an operation,” Smith said. “Are you sure it’s safe to smoke in there? I can practically feel the electromagnetic waves. One spark and something’s going to blow up.”

“Without a cigarette that something’s going to be me,” Beckmann said. “What organization can produce a setup like this on such short notice?” Beckmann indicated the machinery all around him. “It would take me several days and a stack of paperwork to complete before I could obtain it at the CIA. And the FBI doesn’t even have equipment this new.”

Smith had called Klein first, for procurement, then Marty, for assembly. In fact, the interior held the stamp of Marty all over it, from its perfectly arranged PC consoles to the wires encased in color-coded cable organizers. Not a thing was out of place and each item hummed with precision. Smith had asked Marty to man the vehicle as well, but he’d refused, preferring to continue his search for the mole at the CIA.

“No one else can hunt this man the way I can. The CIA’s systems are proving ridiculously difficult to crack,” Marty had said. The gleam in his eye made it clear to Smith that Marty was actually enjoying the challenge. Engaging in a stakeout couldn’t compete.

Smith handed Beckmann a long-nosed rifle. Beckmann put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth while he inspected the weapon.

“Nice. What is it?”

“A dart gun. It’s for big game, but the theory is the same for humans. We need him alive to tell us what it is he’s planning on doing.” Beckmann transferred the gun to one hand while he resumed smoking.

“I’d rather just shoot the bastard.”

Smith nodded. “Me too.”

“Howell has one of these as well?”

“And a regular sniper rifle. He’s going to get into position now. Good luck.”

Beckmann saluted Smith and grabbed a panel to close it. Smith swung the other and secured them both. As he did, he checked them. Each had what appeared to be a secondary logo in the form of a black circle with spirals, but in reality they were two-way mirrors engineered to allow a man from the inside to see out. A flick of a lever and they would slide out of the way, giving Beckmann enough space to aim and shoot without opening the back doors.

Smith strode across the street and up the stairs to the safe house apartment. They’d picked the exchange location after some discussion. They needed a spot that allowed them to cover the position from above as well as below. The safe house had the added advantage of being empty of neighbors; the CIA owned the entire building. The “For Sale” sign was a ruse by the CIA to allow the nearby apartments to remain empty without raising suspicion. Howell had canvassed the street thoroughly before they re-entered the apartment, and they figured it was as safe as it was going to be for the few hours that they needed it. Smith hoped to be long gone by the time the CIA mole discovered they had returned to the original safe house that he and Nolan had used. Howell was in the kitchen inspecting the sniper rifle.

“He all set?”

Smith nodded. “As good as he’ll ever be.” Smith picked up a vest as well as the wire transmitter that Nolan would wear for the meet. “She upstairs?”

“Yes. She said she’ll wait for you.”

Smith headed to the master bedroom. He found Nolan in the bathroom wearing only jeans and the bra while she inspected her wounds using a hand-held mirror to view her reflection.

“I didn’t want to get dressed until you arranged for the wire,” she said. He held it up for her to see. “That’s small.”

“Has to be if it’s going to be concealed. It’s wireless, and should easily transmit to Beckmann and me in the van. Anything happens, we’re right here.”

“What’s the other?”

He held up a vest. “Bulletproof. Nice and slim, isn’t it?”

Nolan nodded. “Looks nothing like the kind the police march around in.”

“It’s a dense weave of silk and other fibers. Don’t let the thin profile fool you, it will stop a bullet as well as Kevlar.”

“From Ms. Russell at the CIA?”

Smith shook his head. “From a friend.” Klein had arranged for the vest.

He clipped the tiny microphone to the edge of her bra strap and ran the wire to the transmitter no larger than a deck of cards and attached that to her waistband. He held the vest open while she put her arms through the armholes. He stopped a moment and caught her looking at him intently.

“Don’t look so grim. He won’t kill me until he has access to the money.”

“So you say.”

“So I
know
. How did you get to this stage in life and not realize that it’s all about money?” There was a puzzled look in her eye. For a moment he felt the gulf between his experiences and those of the average person get even larger. He’d long ago lost confidence in the idea that money could solve the evils of the world.

“Because I’ve seen many whose ambitions revolve around power and righteousness and just plain craziness. You think it’s about money because you live on a small island and are surrounded by people in the pursuit of it. But Dattar and others like him don’t think the way you do. If he shows the first sign of killing you in a rage or before you’ve given up all of the accounts, I want you to say the code word and I’ll take him out.” Her face took on its usual set look.

“You can’t. Howell told me the truth.”

Smith frowned. “What did Howell tell you?”

“That if it came down to me or Dattar, your orders were to let me die. Dattar can’t be killed until he reveals his plan. Howell said that your superiors were clear on this.”

Smith wasn’t sure how to respond. He
was
given orders: One may have to be sacrificed to save many. He, Klein, and Howell agreed in a private conversation that the stakes were too high. Dattar had to be stopped before he used his weapon. While Smith knew this to be true, an image of them together from the night before flashed through his mind, and all his instincts recoiled against the idea of letting Dattar harm her.

“I don’t usually make love to a woman and then feed her to a dog like Dattar.” He focused on securing the straps on the vest. He could feel her eyes on him as he did and he didn’t raise his own until he was done.

“I stole his money and by doing so brought this on myself. I’ve told you time and again that I’ll take care of myself. What happened last night doesn’t change that.”

He felt himself getting angry with her. That she thought him so mercenary.

“I don’t use civilians as shields, no matter what my orders.”

She held his gaze a moment and then reached up and brought her lips to his in a soft kiss.

“Don’t worry. I’m right. This one’s about money. I’ll be fine.” Smith wished he could believe it, but in his experience everything and anything could go wrong. His only hope was that whatever occurred, it wouldn’t be something catastrophic. He picked up her sweater and helped lower it over her head, taking care not to touch her injuries.

“I’ll be happy when we have Dattar.”

Nolan nodded. “Let’s go.”