[Lady Justice 41] - Lady Justice and Terror on the Tracks

by Robert Thornhill

  At that moment, the governor, followed by a line of dignitaries, approached. They were headed for the train. It was decision time.

  As the captain raised his hand, he whispered, “I hope I don’t regret this.”

  “Governor, before you board, I hope you won’t mind waiting a few minutes so we can check on some things.”

  “What kind of things? We’re on a schedule, you know.”

  “Of course. It’s a security issue. I hope it won’t take too long.”

  “Very well, but hurry.”

  The captain made some calls, and within fifteen minutes, a K-9 officer with his bomb-sniffing partner was inspecting the train.

  When the dog reached the car that would be carrying the governor, he stiffened. “We’ve got something,” the K-9 officer called out. “You’d better get the bomb squad in here, pronto.”

  In a matter of minutes, a member of the bomb squad in his protective gear was at the scene.

  After an agonizing fifteen minutes, he emerged carrying the box that Dad had seen.

  “There was enough C-4 in here to blow the train right off the track,” he said, slipping the box into a protective casing. “Good thing you found it.”

  The captain breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God that’s over. Walt, I need to talk to your dad and Bernice.”

  I found Dad and Bernice in the waiting area where everyone was being held.

  The captain shook Dad’s hand. “Thank you, John. Your quick action saved a lot of lives today.”

  “Glad to help,” Dad said, proudly. “I couldn’t let those bastards blow up the Missouri River Runner!”

  The captain looked at me quizzically.

  “That’s the train.”

  The captain nodded. “Oh, sure. John, do you think you and Bernice could identify the two men you saw?”

  Dad looked at Bernice and they both shrugged. “Yes, I think we can.”

  “Good. Let’s go to the precinct and have you look through some mug books.”

  At the precinct, the captain introduced us to a young officer.

  “This is Officer Rodney Jenkins. He will help you with the mug books. Jenkins, this is Walt Williams, Ox’s partner for five years.”

  Jenkins grabbed my hand. “Walt Williams! I’ve heard stories about the Dynamic Duo. You’re kind of an urban legend.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” I replied, feigning modesty.

  “Oh, I believe it,” Jenkins replied. “I think there’s still pictures of you in drag on the bulletin board.”

  “Swell.”

  “Anyway,” Jenkins continued, “let’s go into the interview room and I’ll get some mug books.”

  Once we were seated, Jenkins said, “I think you told the captain that the suspects were foreigners.”

  “Sure were,” Bernice replied. “A-rabs!”

  “Damn straight,” Dad added. “Just like Ahab the Arab. The sheik of the burning sand.”

  Jenkins rolled his eyes and looked to me for help.

  “Ahab the Arab. It’s a song by Ray Stevens from back in the sixties. You’re too young. Please understand. They’re both in their nineties. I think what they’re saying is that the men are from somewhere in the Middle East.”

  “Oh, okay then. I’ll go get a book.”

  When he returned, he laid the book in front of Dad and Bernice. “Just take your time and let me know if you recognize anyone.”

  Dad opened the book. “There, that’s one of them,” he said, pointing.

  “And him!” Bernice said, pointing to another photo.

  “No, wait,” Dad said. “I take it back. It’s this guy.”

  “Me, too,” Bernice said. “It was this guy.”

  I could see that Jenkins was getting frustrated. “Take your time. We have to be sure.”

  Bernice shook her head. “I don’t know. All these A-rab guys look alike.”

  Jenkins, an African-American, rolled his eyes. “Like I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “Shoot,” Dad said, “they’re probably both with Fatima of the Seven Veils.”

  Poor Jenkins thought that was another clue. “Fatima?”

  “Yeah, that’s Ahab the Arab’s girlfriend.”

  Jenkins stood and closed the book. “I think we’re done here.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Yasir Patel sat in stony silence.

  Finally, he spoke. “You have failed again! Explain!”

  Mostafa hung his head. “We did exactly as instructed, Yasir. We approached the train from the blind side during the time that no one was supposed to be on the loading dock. The old man wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  “What old man?”

  “The same old man who threw the switch that foiled our first plan. He was on the dock with an old woman. I told him we were from the catering company, but he didn’t believe me. The next thing we knew, a police dog was sniffing around the train.”

  “Unbelievable!” Yasir sputtered, fuming. “One old man! How can this be?”

  Neither Mostafa or Ahmad had an answer.

  “No matter,” Yasir said, reigning in his anger. “There is no way he can interfere with our next plan.”

  “Tell us,” Mostafa pleaded. “We will not let you down this time.”

  Yasir booted up the computer. “Come. Look.”

  The photo on the screen was a gigantic fireball.

  “This is a fertilizer plant in Texas. Fifty-four thousand pounds of anhydrous ammonia ignited, killing dozens. It decimated a four-block area around the factory and the shock waves were felt fifty miles away. Witnesses compared the explosion to that of a nuclear bomb.

  “Tanker trains carry this gas. Each tanker car carries 80 tons of anhydrous ammonia, three times the amount that caused the explosion in Texas. THREE TIMES! And there are dozens of tankers in a single train.

  “A well-placed bomb would cause an explosion that would rock the very foundation of the city. Other tankers would rupture. Once released from its container into the air, the gas expands rapidly, forming a large cloud that acts like a heavier-than-air gas for a period of time.

  “The gas has a very strong affinity for water. It requires large quantities of water to neutralize its caustic effects on moist areas of the body. When anhydrous ammonia contacts water, it forms ammonium hydroxide. Living tissue is dehydrated quickly and the cells destroyed on contact. Anhydrous ammonia attacks any moist part of the body: eyes, ears, nose, throat, lungs, any moist skin. Skin that is chemically burned by the ammonia actually is killed and is not capable of healing or replacing itself. Damaged tissue must be removed surgically.”

  Mostafa shuddered. “Ughhh, that is horrible!”

  “Indeed it is,” Yasir replied, “and that’s what we have in store for our American friends. There is a string of tanker cars carrying anhydrous ammonia sitting in the rail yard waiting to be connected to a manifest train heading east.

  “Your task will be to plant a cell phone bomb on one of the tanker cars. I will be monitoring the cars from a safe distance. Once the train approaches Union Station, I will call the number that will ultimately destroy most of downtown Kansas City.

  “Make sure you are far away from the blast or your skin will be burned to a crisp!”

  I was at my desk paying some bills when the phone rang.

  The caller I.D. flashed, Wally Greenberg.

  “Hello, Walt?”

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “Harley. Harley Wiggins.”

  “Oh, Harley, you caught me by surprise. My caller I.D. said Wally something-or-other.”

  “Sorry about that. I don’t got no phone, so I borrowed this one from a guy I know.”

  “Not a problem. What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to tell you somethin’ I thought you outta’ know. Me and Delbert was goin’ through a dumpster down by the train yard when we spotted them.”

  “Spotted who?”

  “Two foreign guys. They were sneakin’ around. T
hey was carryin’ some kind of box. We watched ‘em sneak over to a string of tanker cars and they disappeared. When we saw ‘em again, they didn’t have the box no more.”

  “Did you call 911 or tell the people at the Terminal Railway office?”

  “No, sir, we didn’t.”

  “Why, in heaven’s name, are you telling me?”

  “Because to them railroad people, we’re just a bunch of scumbag squatters. They wouldn’t pay us no mind, but you --- you listen. I figgered you’d know what to do.”

  From Harley’s description, it sounded like these might be Dad and Bernice’s A-rabs --- but maybe not. They could just be more homeless folks scavenging for something to sell. It was worth a look.

  I sighed. “Okay, I’ll come by the camp and you can show me where you saw the two guys.”

  “We’ll be watchin’ for you.”

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the homeless camp. As promised, Harley and his brother were waiting for me.

  “This way,” Harley said, conspiratorially.

  I followed them through the camp to one of the railyards a few blocks away.

  “There,” he said, “that’s where we saw ‘em”

  About a hundred yards away, I saw a string of tanker cars.

  “You two stay here” I said. “I’ll go take a look.”

  Then I thought better of it. If the terrorists had indeed planted a bomb, they might be watching and they most definitely would have guns.

  I spotted a line of trees on the other side of the tankers.

  “Is there any way to get behind those trees so I won’t be seen?”

  “Shore is,” Harley replied. “Follow me.”

  We skirted the yard and Harley led me to a gap in the tree line.

  “Jus’ go through here an’ follow the trees back up them cars.”

  It was rough going through the brush, but I figured a few scrapes and scratches was better than a bullet.

  After fighting my way through the tree line, I started inspecting each tanker. There were at least a dozen already hooked together, probably waiting to be attached to a train.

  I found nothing on the first three, but when I stepped onto the coupling of the fourth car, there it was. It appeared to be some kind of bomb with a cell phone trigger.

  “Oh, crap!” I muttered.

  I pulled my cell phone and dialed. “Put me through to Captain Short, and hurry! This is an emergency!”

  A moment later the captain came on the line. “Captain Short.”

  “Captain, this is Walt and we have a problem.”

  I told him where I was and what I had found.

  “You’d better get the bomb squad out here before this thing blows.”

  “Already on it,” the captain replied. “Did you say it’s on some tanker cars?”

  “Yes, there’s a whole string of them.”

  “Are there any markings on the tankers?”

  I took a closer look. “Yes, there are several sets of numbers and --- yes --- the words “anhydrous ammonia” are stenciled on the side.”

  “Good Lord!” he moaned. “If that bomb goes off, Kansas City will be nothing but a wasteland, and hundreds --- no --- thousands will be killed.”

  Just then, there was a loud ‘CLANG!” and the tanker jerked so violently I was nearly thrown off my feet.

  “Oh, crap!” I said, picking up my phone. “I think these tankers have just been attached to a train!”

  There was another jerk, and the tankers started moving forward.

  “Captain! We’re moving! The train is moving!”

  “Hang on,” the captain said. “I’ll call the Terminal Railway dispatcher and have him stop the train.”

  That sounded like a good idea, but then a thought occurred to me.

  “Captain, wait! If this thing has a cell phone trigger, that means that somebody is watching and waiting until the right time to make the call that will blow us all to kingdom come. If he sees the train stop, he might suspect that the bomb has been found, then go ahead and make the call. Better to blow up here than not at all.”

  “Good thinking. I’d be willing to bet that he’s waiting until the train passes Union Station to make the call. That location would cause the most damage. I’ll call dispatch and tell him to have the engineer keep the train going, but as slowly as possible. That will give you enough time to disarm the bomb.”

  “ME! You want ME to disarm the bomb? I don’t know anything about bombs.”

  “Walt, it has to be you. There’s no way the bomb squad can get to you before you reach Union Station, no matter how slow the train goes.

  “Here’s what I want you to do. Take a picture of the bomb with your cell phone and send it to me. By the time you get it to me, I’ll have someone from the bomb squad here to walk you through it. Walt, you can do this.”

  My heart was pounding. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

  To say that I’m technically challenged is an understatement. Until just recently, all I ever carried was a flip phone. I figured I didn’t need all the bells and whistles. All I wanted to do was make a call. Maggie and Kevin bugged me until I got a new one.

  My hands were shaking and the train was jostling, but after several aborted attempts I finally got a photo. Sending it was another thing altogether.

  By the time I got the photo off to the captain, I saw the World War I Memorial, right across from Union Station, coming into view.

  The captain came on the line. “Walt, Bud Carlson is here with me. He’s going to walk you through this.”

  Oh, just great! I thought. Bud, Lefty, Carlson! They call him Lefty because two of his fingers were blown off by a bomb blast.

  “Walt, this is Bud. This one is a piece of cake. You can do it. Basically, what you have is a detonator wired to a block of C-4. The cell phone is the trigger. When the phone’s number is called, the activated phone completes the circuit and ignites the detonator. There are two wires, a red one and a blue one, attached to the cell phone. All you have to do is cut one of those wires. That way, even if the phone is called, the circuit is broken. Understand?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Red? Blue? It doesn’t matter which?”

  “Cut the red wire, and hurry!”

  I pulled out my trusty pocket knife, grabbed the red wire, and cut.

  I had just put the knife back in my pocket when the cell phone came to life. I held my breath, hoping Lefty hadn’t steered me wrong.

  Nothing.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Somewhere out there, a terrorist was going to be really pissed.

  CHAPTER 10

  Once the bomb was deactivated, the train pulled to a stop. Within minutes, the bomb squad was on the scene securing the explosive device.

  Somehow the press had gotten word about the near-disaster, and to my dismay, a gaggle of reporters and photographers were waiting when I left the train.

  I’ve never liked the lime light. During our years on the force, Ox and I had done our best to stay in the background. When quizzed about a case, our reply would always be, “No comment,” or “That’s a question for the department’s media consultant.”

  Camera bulbs flashed and microphones were shoved in my face. Everyone wanted to know about the old dude who saved the city. Understandably, my usual “No comment” wasn’t well received.

  Thankfully, the captain intervened, saying the department would be issuing a statement later that day. Surrounded by cops, I was ushered to the precinct to make a formal statement of my harrowing adventure.

  When I finally arrived home, I was met by a welcoming party. Everyone in the building had seen the story on the news and had gathered to make sure I was okay.

  Dad rushed forward. “Walt! You should see the chatter in the Santa Fe Junction chat room. You’re a hero!”

  “I’m no hero, Dad. I was just in the right place at the right time. Anybody could have done what I did.”

  “That’s a bunch of hooey! Don’t be so modest.”r />
  Bernice tugged on my sleeve. “It was those A-rabs, wasn’t it?”

  “Could be. The police are looking into it.”

  “Hey, John” Jerry said. “I’ve got a riddle you can tell your friends in the chat room. Railroad crossing, look out for the cars. Can you spell that without any R’s?”

  I could see that Dad was struggling. “Nope, can’t do it.”

  “Sure you can,” Jerry replied, gleefully. “T-H-A-T!”

  It was then that I noticed that Maggie wasn’t among my greeters.

  “It’s been a long day,” I said. “I should get upstairs.”

  As I was climbing the stairs, I heard Jerry regaling his captive audience. “Do you know what they call a 60-year-old with a bomb? A suicide boomer!”

  When I opened the door, Maggie was standing there. I could see that she’d been crying.

  She threw her arms around me. “Walt, you could have been killed!”

  “But I wasn’t. I’m fine.”

  She brushed a tear away. “I thought when you retired from the force, the days of putting your life in danger were over. I was worried sick.”

  “I’m so sorry. I certainly didn’t ask for this. Believe me. Somehow this stuff --- just happens. I can’t explain it.”

  She took me by the hand. “You’re forgiven --- this time. Just don’t let it happen again.”

  I wanted to promise that it wouldn’t, but I just wasn’t sure I could keep that promise no matter how hard I tried.

  “I swear!” Mostafa pleaded. “We did exactly as you instructed. We were very careful. There was no one around those tanker cars to see us. The only people we saw all day were at a homeless camp and all of them were huddled around their fires trying to keep warm.”

  Yasir slammed the newspaper on the counter. “Then how do you explain how this man found our bomb? THIS MAN! AGAIN!” he said pointing to the picture.

  “I have no idea, Yasir. All we know is that he wasn’t there when we planted the bomb.”

  Yasir gritted his teeth. “Two old men in their dotage have foiled our plans three times. We can’t let that happen again!”