Undetectable (Great Minds Thriller) (3 page)

The Organizer nodded. He turned his attention back to the Planner. “Continue.”

“We’ll need a detailed breakdown of local law and emergency services,” the Planner said. He did not seem to have noticed the interruption, nor did he seem concerned that the man sitting across from him, a man whose knees were less than four inches from his own, was now laboring to breathe. There was too much blood. Gun Two was trying to swallow the thick fluid leaking down the back of his throat, but he was falling behind. Gasping now. Choking.

“Stations,” the Planner continued. “I’ll need to know where the nearest police and fire stations are, along with the standard beat patrol routes. Hospitals, too. Anything with a siren vehicle.”

Gun Two’s situation became critical. He lurched forward suddenly, his gag reflex taking command of his body as the blood moving down his throat interrupted the flow of oxygen to his lungs. He tried to sit back, but then he gagged even more violently, leaning forward and vomiting blood-streaked bile onto the floor of the van. He dropped down onto his knees, and now the top of his head was bumping up against the Planner’s shins. He choked once, vomited again, then took a deep, shuddering breath. He cleared his throat and spat, adding to the puddle on the floor.

The Organizer made no move to open the doors.

“We’ll need three more drivers,” the Planner said, “one for the pickup and two for the other two vans.” He cut the air with one hand to indicate he was finished, and the Organizer tapped a few last notes on his slate before returning it to his pocket.

Gun Two recovered. He got up, settled back into his seat, and took a long, much clearer-sounding breath. He seemed to be getting enough air. The silence returned, and the six men retreated into their own heads. One Organizer, one Planner, one Driver, and three Guns.

They knew their jobs.

They would be ready.

Big Danny

Kevin’s
first class was only forty minutes long. The boys paid attention, and Kevin marveled at their ability to transform from shouting, hyperactive kids into quiet, focused students. Then again, maybe this was just an act they put on for every teacher on the first day.

The threat of being thrown against a wall probably didn’t hurt.

At the end of the period, just as he was putting the homework assignment on the board, the classroom door opened. In walked a big man with glasses. He had a briefcase in one hand and a textbook in the other. He saw Kevin, and a wide grin spread over his face. “All set,” the man said. “Next room.”

Kevin stared at him, trying to decide how to respond. The man was young and strong; he was dressed very formally, in a tweed suit that had been expertly cut to accommodate his bulky dimensions. The combination of the glasses and the textbook and the tweed made him look like a teacher, but only barely. Kevin had the impression that this man might have been a shot-putter before he took up teaching. Or maybe a piano-mover.

“Thanks,” Kevin said, nodding as if everything were fine. “I think I’ve misplaced my schedule. Do you know how I’d find out what room I’m going to next?”

The man gave him a strange look. “Kevin?” he said slowly. “You okay?”

Christ,
another person who knows my name.

He held out his hand. “Your name one more time?”

The man came forward, the grin back on his face. “Daniel Fisher. Danny.” He spoke with sing-song sarcasm, and shook Kevin’s hand with elaborate formality. “
Mr
. Fisher, I should say,” he added, glancing at the class. “And you’re Mr. Brooks, yes?”

Kevin tried to return the smile. Tried to go along with the idea that they were only putting on a show for the students. A little introduction show. He wondered how long he had actually known this man. “They’re all yours,” Kevin said, nodding at the class.

Danny Fisher nodded, his grin as wide as ever. “Yes they are,” he said. Then he pointed at the little stack of papers on the desk. “As for the schedule, didn’t you say you were going to keep it with you for the first day?”

Kevin sighed with relief. He picked up the stack and found his schedule on the bottom. “Second period,” he said to himself. “503.”

“Right across the way,” Danny said, pointing with his chin. “I’ll be following you in there next period.”

Kevin nodded. He slipped the cell-phone into his pocket, stuffed the stack of papers between the pages of the teacher’s-edition Algebra book on his desk, and then checked around for anything else that might belong to him. Bag? Wallet?

Apparently not.

He headed for the door.

Danny gave him a cheerful little wave, and then he turned to the class. His grin evaporated. “
Now
,” Danny said, in a stern, booming voice, and twenty-five teenaged boys shrank back in their seats. “As you heard, I am Mr. Fisher. And I am not
nearly
as nice as Mr. Brooks. We’re going to be reading some
serious
literature in English class this year.”

Kevin
walked out the door and across the hall, and he found room 503. He went in and found twenty-five more eighth graders, the entire group seemingly identical to the first. Khakis and shirts and ties and blazers. As the door closed, he could still hear Danny Fisher putting the fear of God into his students. “Skip an assignment and I’ll turn into your worst
nightmare
,” he heard Danny say.

Kevin walked to the front of his new room. “I’m Mr. Brooks,” he said, trying to remind himself to go a little easier this time on any trouble-makers. “This is Algebra 1.”

He glanced at the clock at the back of the room.

This one seemed to be working normally.

You’re supposed to be doing something.

Get ready
.

He shook his head involuntarily, like a horse shaking off a fly. He clenched his teeth together. Then he turned quickly to the whiteboard, trying to make it look as if he had been searching for a marker.

We’ll figure everything out in a few hours
, he thought.
Give me a minute. I’ve got things to do
.

This seemed to work. The panicky voice in his head fell silent once more. He started his Algebra lecture again, from the beginning.

“Notebooks out,” he said.

It’s Impossible

At precisely 10 AM, the rear doors of the white Ford e250 super-duty van opened slowly. The Organizer, a tall, fit man wearing all-black fatigues, climbed carefully out of the back, followed by a shorter, stockier man, also wearing black fatigues. The Driver. Both men moved with the controlled, cautious manner of those who cannot be sure how their limbs will respond after an extended period of sitting. The Driver shut the doors behind him. The Organizer’s mouth opened and his nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath; he tasted the garage air, rubber and oil and aerosolized diesel, all so sweet after the vomit-tainted atmosphere of the van. The Driver walked to the front of the vehicle and climbed in.

The Organizer gave the side of the van a little knock with one fist, and it pulled out of the parking space, drove past him, and disappeared up the ramp leading to the exit. After taking another minute to let the feeling return to his legs, the Organizer pulled a cell phone from one of his pockets. He glanced at the signal readout, and then he began walking up the same curved ramp the van had taken. Toward the surface.

When he was near ground level, he lifted the phone to his ear.

“Good morning,” he said after a moment, still walking. He was almost at the garage entrance now, and there were other cars driving past him, heading out. “Yes, Sir. We’ll be set. On schedule.”

Another pause.

“We’ll need to bring on three more Drivers,” the Organizer said. “And several more Guns.” He stopped at the exit to the garage and leaned his back against the side of the building there. He was facing east, and he could see the river on the far side of F.D.R. Drive. Then Roosevelt island past that. The sun was rising high in the sky, its light beating down onto the green of the island. “Correct,” he said, and now he straightened up. His voice took on a tone of added precision. “
Every
employee. We’ll know every threat within 48 hours.”

A longer pause now. And a frown.

“Not possible,” the Organizer said. “But don’t worry, we have a mole in the main training center, so we’d know if they had someone new coming down the pipe.” He started walking again, heading north, uptown. “Exactly. We’ll have everyone marked. They could try to start someone from scratch, but that would be useless, and – ”

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, listening closely.

“No, because it’s impossible,” the Organizer said. He was trying not to sound dismissive. “Well, for the simplest reason. Target comes out into the open in
ten
days, yes?” He smiled and resumed walking. He shook his head and stared up at the sky, a cloudless September blue.

“Because you
can’t
,” he said. “There’s no way to train anyone that fast.”

Bullshit

Danny appeared at Kevin’s door at the end of the second period. As promised.

“Mr. Brooks,” he said, still in that overly formal tone. The grin was back on his face.

“Mr. Fisher.” Kevin collected his few possessions, then turned back to Danny. “There’s nothing on my schedule for this block,” he said.

“Lounge on the third floor,” Danny explained briskly. And then he gave him another look. “You really are out of it,” he said under his breath. “Sure you’re okay?”

Kevin nodded. “No sweat,” he said, and walked quickly out of the room. He found the stairwell in the hall, and once he had made it to the third floor he found a door without any numbers on it. Clearly, this was not a room where students were meant to go. He knocked once and walked in slowly.

The teachers’ lounge was a very
tight
space. There was a snack table in the middle surrounded by
three armchairs,
as well as a small refrigerator in the far corner. Brown carpeting covered the floor. Two of
the
chairs were already occupied
, and
t
he men sitting there looked toward the door as Kevin entered
.
O
ne of them gave a little grunt of forbearance. “Mother of God,” he said. “
Another
new guy?” This man was overweight, sloppily dressed, and tired-looking. His tie hung low and loose on his shirt, and his gray hair lay in thin strands across the top of his head.

“Oh, shut up, Ronny,” said the other teacher. He stood up quickly. “Make an effort,” he added. This man was young and very thin, and he was reaching out now, simultaneously waving Kevin over and trying to shake hands. “Come on and have a seat. I’m Jean Lengard. Biology. This is Ronny.”