Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (37 page)

•      •      •

The G-5 screamed in protest as the speed brakes engaged and the plane slowed to a halt on Teterborro’s main runway. The pilot quickly taxied clear and headed for the hangar surrounded by security people. He parked just outside its open door and watched as a ground crewman moved forward with the tug to pull the plane the rest of the way into the hangar. The doors would be shut before anyone exited the aircraft and he saw several men in dark suits waiting against the wall. The airport was used to VIPs coming and going, but few government flights landed there. Measures had been taken to accommodate the plane on very short notice.

Jack hardly noticed the landing. He had been going over emergency preparedness plans with the Homeland Security people who had placed a conference call to the New York office while en route from DC.

“I’ll have my people and their birds and crews here in about two hours, Jack. What’s first on the list?” Greg asked.

“The UN is in assembly. They have some visiting speakers. I’d like you to check in with their security people and give them a head’s up. They may not take you seriously. They tend to be the suspicious type. But offer them any help you think they might need. You’ll have to be a diplomat on this one, Greg, can you do that?”

“You mean can I kiss ass and grovel? Not really, but for you I’ll try.”

“Thanks. Meet me at the New York office when you’re done, okay?”

“I’m on it.”

Jack turned to meet the approaching men in the suits. One he recognized immediately as Nick Matson, head of the New York office. A man many years his senior and some said the next director of the FBI. Jack would also have to be diplomatic if he expected the man’s cooperation. But he knew him from a case they had worked when Jack was still a new agent and they had developed a mutual respect. Jack stuck out a hand before Matson had a chance to.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Jack, it’s good to see you again. You really started a mess here.”

“I know, sir. If I hadn’t gotten this started in Africa, we’d all be home right now. With the Director in Israel it kind of fell to me.”

“Don’t worry about that, Jack. I got a call from the Attorney General yesterday and he says it was the President’s choice to put you in charge. That’s all I need to know, don’t worry about stepping on my head. Let’s just find this guy and get this done.”

Jack smiled at his old boss, a silent thank you for making an uncomfortable situation easy.

Matson dismissed it and got down to business. “Let me tell you what we’ve got so far. We have the word out and the hospitals are running their drills and they’ll last until 9 p.m. tonight. NYPD is calling in all the extra people they can and we’re blanketing the city with blue. We’re running checks on every hotel in the city, but that will take some time. We’ve beefed up the security at all the major attractions, but it’s New York City. There’s no way to cover it all. The pictures you sent were printed up and every cop has a copy in his hand. The fire department has rigged six of their trucks with the bleach/water disinfectant and they’ll be ready to do any decontamination we may need. We’ve spread them out around the city and they have people from the army’s NBC teams riding with them. We’re not 100% ready yet, but we should be close in a few hours.”

They paused as they all entered cars waiting outside the hangar. Inside they were able to speak clearly once the sound of jet engines was blocked out. The cars immediately left the airport and headed for the George Washington Bridge.

“That sounds great, sir. I appreciate the effort.”

“So, Jack, just what is it this guy has? Is what I’m hearing true?”

“Yes, maybe even worse.”

“Well okay then, let’s get to work.”

Beach pollution still worldwide problem.
July 9, 2009—USA Today
 

—THIRTY-TWO—

I
t was his third elevator ride of the day, but he had to keep up appearances. He had been circling around the financial district for a few hours, getting familiar with the traffic and any obstacles he might face. So far he had scouted out three routes that offered the best options of speed and cover. One had a construction site that he could duck into if need be. It also offered a place to change clothes.

The other occupants of the elevator ignored him. He was just another bike messenger with his backpack and front wheel. He kept the helmet and sunglasses on, but there was little need for it here. Most just fiddled with their cell phones or stared at the floor indicator. A bike messenger was clearly beneath them on the social scale. One of dozens they saw every day. Something he was counting on.

He noted the two officers standing on the corner as he left the building. They seemed to be just scanning the crowd as it flowed past. Looking for him? Maybe. One of them had a picture in his hand he kept referring to. Luckily his bike was locked to a pole in the other direction. He kept an eye on the cops in the reflection of the glass as he mounted the front wheel back onto the bike and unlocked it. They didn’t move, just stood in place and scanned the passing crowd, sipping on their coffee. They looked like they were prepared to be there for a long time.

The Deliveryman mounted the bike and pedaled away from the cops. He quickly entered the traffic and headed south toward Battery Park. He noted other pairs of cops on the street corners, also scanning the crowds with pictures in their hands. He couldn’t avoid riding right by two of them, but was ignored as he had been on the elevator. He blended in. He’d become part of the landscape. He smiled at his success, but also knew not to push it. He headed for the spot he had found earlier. Jack should be in place soon and it was time to get things rolling.

He hitched up the backpack and heard the reassuring sound of the vials clinking together. He jumped a curb and cut the corner in time to beat traffic. Soon he would be out of the city for good, but he had one last ride. He locked up the bike again outside a building not far from Battery Park. He then walked a block before hailing a cab.

“Where to, buddy?”

“Central Park. East side.”

•      •      •

Jack casually walked through the park at an even pace. The car had dropped him off a few hundred yards away and he was slowly making his way to the bench as instructed. They’d had a pair of agents sitting on it already for the last hour, casually reading the paper and talking while sipping cups of coffee. Looking like any other New York couple killing an afternoon in the park. There were no less than four cameras on them and others scanning the area. But the foot traffic and congestion on the street were heavy. There were a million places to hide and not be seen. The man had picked a good spot and they all knew it.

Jack paused at the corner of Center Drive and 59th street and scanned the crowd before turning right and moving toward the bench. The crowd moved with him and he matched their pace.

“I’m in sight of the bench,” he spoke into the microphone hidden in his collar. The earpiece, custom made for him by an FBI electronics wizard the night before, fit perfectly in his ear and out of sight unless one was standing right next to him.

“We got you, Jack,” he heard Greg reply loud and clear in his ear.

On cue, the couple folded their papers and rose from the bench just as Jack walked up and took their place. He set the backpack on the bench next to him to prevent company, but kept a loop of strap around his arm. It would be a really bad time for some thief to try and snatch it. Jack squirmed a little in his seat to keep the derringer in his pants from poking him somewhere he was fond of. The letter had specified that Jack wear shorts and a T-shirt to the meet. The shirt was tucked in and tight as instructed. This was to prevent him from being armed, with no place to hide a weapon. But they had managed to sew a pouch to hold Jack’s derringer in the crotch of his shorts at his insistence and it was all but invisible. It only gave him two shots of .410 number six shot, but Jack felt it was worth the risk. He also had a short metal spike in the sole of one running shoe, courtesy of Greg.

“Where did you get this?” Jack had asked.

“From a catalog,” was his reply. Jack had chosen not to inquire further.

Jack sat on the bench and sweated, scanning the crowd. He had another twenty minutes to wait until noon. He could feel the eyes on him as he waited. He felt like bait and didn’t like it.

Sydney’s voice in his ear made him jump a little. It was as if they were all in his head. But he could hear her over the sounds of the traffic and chatter of the people passing by, and that was more important.

“Jack, we have the decon crews in their trucks and the plan is to have them follow you from a distance, sort of keeping you in a bubble. If something should happen, they should be no more than a few blocks away.”

Jack just nodded his head and continued to scan the crowd. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to see but he couldn’t help but do it. He hated the waiting. All he could think about was what if they missed him? What if a vial was broken in the exchange? Had they planned for every contingency? Everyone had wargamed the scenario to death, but there was always the unknown, something they just hadn’t thought of. Jack racked his brain to think of what that might be. He watched a man on the next bench feed pigeons.

His thoughts were interrupted by the phone on his belt ringing. Ten minutes early.

“We hear it, Jack,” Sydney voiced.

Jack picked up the phone and pushed the answer button.

“Yes?”

“Afternoon, Jack. I like the outfit. First things first. How about you stand up and play the ballerina for me?”

“Okay.” Jack stood and holding the bag over his head, made a show of stretching his arms up and slowly turning around.

“Good, have a seat.”

Jack sat back down as instructed before speaking.

“We need to talk . . .”

“No, Jack. No talking on your part, just listen, and don’t fuck this up. Reach under your seat and grab what’s taped there.”

Jack felt under the bench and pulled out a plastic zip tie. It was an accountability seal, bright orange with a number on it. The kind one could break with their hands but was only good for one use.

“Good. Now I want you to apply the seal to the backpack and make sure it’s at the top where I can see it.”

Jack did as he was told. He would now have to break the seal in order to get back into the backpack.

“Done? Good. Now put on the backpack and don’t take it off till I tell you. Grab a cab and head toward Morningside and West 123rd. I’ll be calling.” The connection broke.

Jack stood up and walked to the curb, raising his arm. He only had to wait a few seconds before a cab pulled up. As he got in he heard Sydney’s voice in his ear.

“We’re moving with you, Jack.”

•      •      •

The Deliveryman watched through the binoculars as Jack entered the cab and it pulled away toward Central Park West. He would not be following. He stowed the binoculars and left the building by the service entrance. A quick walk down an alley brought him to the street. Instead of heading uptown, he headed the opposite way. After a block, he hailed a cab.

“Washington Square Park,” he told the driver. He checked his watch as they pulled away and consulted his notes. He should beat Jack by a few minutes. So far, so good.

He smiled as a fire truck flew past them in the opposite direction with their sirens blaring. The city was going to hear a lot of that today.

•      •      •

“Why the seal? I don’t get it,” Eric asked.

“It prevents Jack from pulling a gun or some other surprise out of the bag for one, and it also serves to confirm that it’s the same bag he wore to the park. He knows we’d have a hell of a time finding a duplicate and getting it to Jack. This guy is smart. He’s thought this through,” was Greg’s reply.

“So now what? We just follow along?”

“What choice do we have? We try to beat Jack to each location and be prepared. We keep moving the pumper trucks and keep them around Jack as best we can. The trackers are working. We know right where he is.”

They all watched the screen as the red dot moved slowly up Central Park West. The fire chief was on the radio, moving his trucks to keep Jack surrounded. The blue dots depicting them were moving faster and were already in a loose circle around him. One looked like it would be at the park in a few minutes.

Sydney let out a long sigh and realized she had been holding her breath.

“Talk to him, Sydney,” Greg told her.

She nodded and moved the mic closer before speaking. “Jack?”

“I hear you, Syd.”

“We’re right with you. We should have a fire crew there in just a minute. We’ll be a block away. Can you tell us anything?”

“The seal is just a regular seal you can buy anywhere. The number is 2707 if that helps. Even if you could get me a copy, I don’t think we should attempt it. Let’s just roll with what we’ve got right now. Greg?”

“I agree, Jack. I think we’re just getting started.”

“Me, too. Let’s just stick to the plan and be quick on our feet.”

“Got it. I need to make some calls.”

“Okay.”