by Jon F. Merz
Stahl frowned. Not only did it usually smell like a marzipan, but the Semtex derivatives usually didn't blow as clean as the more reliable C4. "I suppose we'll take what we can get."
"It shouldn't alter anything."
"You think it can still do the job, with the housing we've built?"
She nodded. "Oh sure. I'm not concerned. We can get to that later, though."
"Later? Later on I need to get to the target site and plant this thing."
Karen smiled. "Which you can't do on an empty stomach."
Food. How could she think about food at a time like this? He glanced up absentmindedly at the clock on the wall and his jaw almost dropped. "Christ, is that the real time?"
"Two o'clock. Yes."
"I can't believe we've been working for seven hours."
"Without food, too, I might remind you."
Stahl nodded, suddenly aware that his stomach had started growling. "I suppose you've got something in mind for lunch as well?"
"You like zucchini?"
"No."
"No?"
Stahl smiled. "Just kidding."
"I thought I'd have to run back out to the grocery store there for a minute. I never remember you being so witty in the past."
"Because I wasn't."
She nodded. "Back then it was all about the struggle, wasn't it?"
"For a time. Yes. Then it changed. It became more about how much money I could make hiring my services out to the highest bidder."
She sighed. "Oh, Ernst, we were all whores of the worst kind. I don't think any of us got beyond a point where the money didn't eventually seduce us all."
"We were hypocrites," said Stahl. "We claimed that the capitalists were responsible for destroying the world and wreaking havoc on peace. In reality, we were just as guilty. If not more so."
"The past is the past. We can't go back and change it." She came around the counter and hugged him. "Besides, at least we met."
"That was good. Yes."
"And after lunch you can show me how good it is that we met."
He looked at her and saw there was no way he'd get out of the house without making love to her. He smiled.
The schedule seemed flexible enough.
Why not?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Frank had spent the entire night wide-awake.
Naturally, having the lights on overhead helped. He thought about slapping a lawsuit on the Bureau for cruel and unusual punishment. Then he found himself wondering how many of those types of lawsuits actually turned out in favor of the plaintiff. He decided it wasn't worth pursuing.
They'd fed him three times. Each meal had been shoved into a microwave and cooked for about three minutes. The spaghetti he'd eaten at the last meal had been cold in some sections. It took a lot for him to swallow it down.
But he did. Frank didn't know when he'd get to eat again.
The single biggest reason he'd managed to stay awake, however, wasn't due to the lights. And it wasn't due to the bad food. It was because he kept expecting Bobby's team of special ops shooters to come gunning through the door flashing laser sights onto his forehead before they double-tapped him.
The number he'd called yesterday had a trace machine hooked up to it. Naturally, the Feds didn't know about it.
But Frank did.
The irony of using his would-be killers to get him out of this place almost made him smile. He would have enjoyed speculating on it a lot more if his own life wasn't on the line.
It simply came down to the fact that he had to get the hell out of there.
He checked his watch and saw it was climbing on four o'clock. The sun would be setting soon. Night would then slip over the city and wrap its cold embrace about it once more.
And Stahl would be that much closer to achieving his goal.
Frank had somehow thought this link would enable him to do more. Instead, the damned thing just seemed to give him flashes of vision into the other's world. But otherwise, it had no power to speak of. Certainly Frank couldn’t affect Stahl in any way - make him decide not to kill whomever he'd been sent here to kill.
What good was a psychic power if you couldn't control someone?
He sighed.
Gia had gone home for a few hours of sack time. He frowned. She'd certainly turned out to be a real Ice Queen. And Frank had really been played for a sucker. Used for an undercover operation to get her on the inside of the Patrisi family. He smirked. He almost didn't blame Patrisi for coming to him to kill Gia. In effect, it was almost like Patrisi was saying, you clean up the mess you brought in here.
Of course, Patrisi hadn't known that full facts of the case.
And now he never would, thanks to Frank.
That little point underscored the reason why Gia and her colleagues were so put-near ready to squeeze Frank for every ounce of information he had. They wanted something for all the time and effort they'd invested getting Gia situated so well.
Just when they were ready to snap up Patrisi, Frank walks into the picture and blows him away.
Moe had told him that timing was everything.
Frank hadn't given much thought to bad timing before.
Gia.
She was bad everything.
And as foolish as he felt about her playing him so easily, he still couldn't keep the dame out of his mind.
What's the matter with you?
First she uses you like some cheap hand rag and now you can't stop thinking about her? He shook his head. Maybe he was a bigger sucker than he thought.
What would his heroes do in a situation like this? For one thing, he reminded himself, they probably wouldn't be sitting in some Federal holding pen waiting for a squad of death dealers to show up.
But they would have fallen for a dame, he thought. Most of them usually did. One way or another they got out of the jam. And sometimes they either ended up with the dame who got them hooked in the first place.
Or someone better.
He sighed. Someone better. Right. That was a laugh. Frank hadn't had any women in his life since Gia. He hadn't wanted any. Not even Mrs. Morello's constant offers from across the hall could entice him.
How could they when Gia had offered so much.
Heartache.
Betrayal.
Bitchiness.
He really needed Moe here to smack some sense into him. He looked at the closest wall and briefly considered running his head into it. He thought better of it, though.
Especially when the concussion wave slammed into the building.
A bomb?
No. They wouldn't have used that. It would be a shaped charge to blow the main doors off. They'd follow up with flash-bangs to disorient the guards so they could storm the place and kill them as they searched for Frank.
So, he thought, it happens at last.
Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to run and hide. Not that there was any place to go.
Besides, after Bobby's team had gone through so much trouble to find him, why disappoint?
He turned his seat around and faced the door.
Sporadic gunfire erupted. The walls muffled a lot of it, but Frank could hear shouting. Cries. Reports. Moans. Another explosion somewhere far off.
Then silence.
He waited.
Moe had taught him a lot about remaining calm. He'd shown him various breathing techniques for relaxing and bringing a raging heartbeat back under control. Moe had once even showed him a few vital points on the human body that could regulate breathing and pulse if need be.
Naturally, the first time Frank had been in the shit, they'd all gone out the window.
But, as he sat there waiting, he simply focused on one point by the door and breathed.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Footsteps.
He could almost see them now. There'd be at least four of them. Probably a
rmed with suppressed fully automatic weapons. Maybe some of them would be former SEALs or Delta Force. Maybe they'd be old Rangers who thought themselves on the same level at the more elite specops soldiers.
Either way, they'd be killers.
Frank rested his hands on the table in front of him.
Present no threat to them when they enter.
None at all.
What's to stop them from shooting me right away?
Bobby.
Frank couldn't be sure. He probably shouldn't have risked it. But he was too far out on his own with no other recourse than to do the exact opposite of what his gut told him.
And for some reason, he didn't expect this team to kill him.
At least, not yet.
Bobby would want a piece of the action. He'd want to pull the trigger.
He exhaled again. Thank god for the immature.
The footsteps stopped.
It was time to see if his gamble would pay off.
If Frank was right or wrong.
He'd know within a split second of them coming through the door.
He'd either die or live.
One or the other.
The door opened.
And Frank waited for the answer.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
"So, that's it then."
Stahl looked down at the device sitting on the worktable and smiled. It looked good. There was no way to tell what the nature of the box was simply by looking at it. Karen had impressed him even more after tamping down the plastic explosive inside the bomb by putting such an impressive weld around the outside edge of it that it almost appeared seamless.
"There's just one thing," said Karen. Her voice, though soft, still cut through the relative stillness of the room.
"What?"
"In order to detonate it, you'll have to be close on the target."
Stahl frowned. "How close is that?"
She shrugged. "Where will you be?"
Stahl looked at her. Hell, he'd trusted her this far with no problems. He sighed. "All right, you win."
She looked up. "Win?"
"It's going to be Cambridge."
Her face contorted. "Are you kidding me?"
"That's why I didn't want to tell you. It's no good having something like this go off in your own backyard."
"Having you here probably isn't good for me, either."
He smiled. "I could leave."
"And risk your son's life?"
Stahl frowned. "Maybe there's another way."
Karen didn't look convinced. "If there was, you wouldn't have come this far."
She was right. He glanced back at the device. The problem was he didn't even want to use the stupid thing. Why couldn't he have simply picked a time and place and just shot the poor bastard? Why the insistence on explosives?
She picked up the transmitter sitting nearby. "Cambridge has a lot of radio traffic. That's one key reason why you'll have to be so close."
"Couldn't we simply find a better frequency?"
"Sure, but not with the materials we had to work with. I go out and buy some special transmitter and receiver for anything other than standard band, it'd draw attention to us."
"Can't have that."
"No." She laid the transmitter back down. "So, you have to be close. Even with this transmitter's ability to withstand some degree of interference." She eyed him. "What part of Cambridge?"
"Outside Harvard Square."
She exhaled. "You weren't joking about being in my backyard."
"The upside is that you'll be beyond suspicion anyway."
"You're assuming I'm planning on sticking around."
Stahl frowned. "You probably should. At least for a little while. A teacher going missing probably isn't the best thing to do right after something like this."
"If I don't leave, someone might uncover my past. And then how worse off would I be?"
"How close do I have to be to detonate it?"
She sighed. "Within a thousand feet of the building to ensure an accurate command signal."
He nodded. Being close on the target was the last place he wanted to be. He'd hoped he might have done it riding past the building in a car. Now he'd have to be out.
In the open.
Exposed.
I hope the Feds are keeping Frank busy, he thought. Because if he got out it could really complicate things.
"All right," he said finally. "A thousand feet."
"You're going to place it right now?"
"It's close enough by that I could. Yes."
"You want some company?"
"No." He smiled. "No offense, of course. It's just that I like to be alone when I do this type of thing."
She shrugged. "How about if I make dinner? It'll be ready for when you get back."
He checked his watch. Six o'clock. Outside it would already be nice and dark. The day shift would have left the building for the night. The rest of the place would have a bit of security, but that wasn't anything he'd be much concerned with. Especially after the dry-run last night.
"All right. But make sure you can reheat it in case I get held up or something like that." He hefted his backpack. "I need to use your bathroom for a few minutes."
"Stomach trouble?"
"The make up. I have to change into someone else."
"Where's the real guy you're impersonating?"
Stahl cocked an eyebrow. "Enjoying a bit of time off."
"Where's you stash him?"
"I didn't kill him. I just tied him up. He's in a storage shed over by Central Square with plenty of food and water. Once I'm done, I'll let him go."
"You sure that's wise?"
"I'm not going to kill him. No need. It's not his fault he was the easiest member of the janitorial crew for me to impersonate. Nor was it his fault that he was due to start work at the target building tonight for the first time."
Karen frowned. "You're getting soft, Ernst."
He shook his head. "Not soft. I'm just damned tired of all this killing."
He disappeared into the bathroom and thirty minutes later emerged. He slid into his coat, grabbed the device and left.
Outside, the cold January winds snapped against his face, stinging his skin. Overhead, storm clouds threatened some sort of precipitation. Judging by the way the air tasted, Stahl guessed snow. Although the temperatures lately had been above freezing and that meant another bout of cold nasty rain.
He strode down Brattle Street, heading toward the backside of Harvard Square. Karen only lived a half mile away from Ground Zero. Stahl could make the time in less than five minutes if he wanted, but he deliberately maneuvered his way around, zigzagging back and forth a few times. His old instincts insisted he obey them, regardless of how secure he might have felt.
As he walked, he felt the first kiss of snow brush his skin. It reminded him of the way Karen kissed sometimes. He smiled in the cold air.
He was grateful for her help. He wasn't sure how much of this he would have been able to accomplish without her aid.
Was he getting too old for this kind of thing?
Undoubtedly.
He shook his head, loosening some of the more insistent snowflakes. Back home, Alois loved this kind of weather. And this time of evening. They would go out for walks when it got like this. Around them, people would rush for the warmth of their cars or homes.
Alois would run and dance ahead of Stahl, twisting in the wind. Grateful to be able to taste the fresh cold air.
And Stahl would inevitably chase after him, grabbing him up in a bear hug and wrapping his big arms around his son, trying his best to not to squeeze his son until the little guy popped.
But the thought did little to cheer him. Or even steady his resolve.
Something about this didn't feel right.
Something bothered him.
That he should kill the doctor who had manufactured SARS and a newer deadlier disease didn't concern Stahl much. The way he saw it, the doctor
deserved it.
Unfortunately, by killing him, Stahl would erase any chance the rest of the world would have of combating whatever biological concoction the good doctor had brewed up in the desert laboratory.
What if someday someone else had a son like Alois who was suffering from the disease Stahl had allowed to survive and wreak havoc?
How would he feel?
He frowned. I can't think of that. I can't let that sway me.
This is all for Alois.
But how would Alois feel if he knew what his father was doing? Stahl sighed. Of course, his son would be upset and mortified about other people dying so he could live. Alois was always terribly concerned with the welfare of others.
Had that rubbed off on Stahl?
Ahead of him, he saw the target building. A light coating of snow draped itself over the mantel of doorways and windows. Stahl walked up to the entrance and pulled the door open.
A huge wave of heat smacked into him. The cold air behind him retreated under the onslaught.
A security guard looked up from a magazine. "'Evening."
Stahl smiled. "Boy, it's cold out there."
The guard nodded. "Can I help you?"
Stahl pulled his jacket zipper down and flashed the patch on his coveralls. "Cleanco. I'm the new guy on the crew tonight."
"Didn't I see you around here last night."
"Sure did." Stahl grinned. "Figured I'd come by and make sure I knew how to find the place for tonight. Don't want to be late and all."
The guard frowned. "They go through guys faster than any cleaning company we've ever had. You got your paperwork with you?"
Stahl nodded and pulled out the sheaf of papers from his pocket. The guard examined them and then handed them back. "Okay. McKenna's the super tonight. He's on the second floor getting the conference room ready for tomorrow."
"Big event?"
The guard nodded. "Some medical thing. But it's pulling in the top doctors from across the country. A few foreigners as well."
"Really?"
"You'd better get up there. McKenna likes his crew on time."
Stahl nodded. "Thanks."
Upstairs, he walked into the conference room. It was more like an auditorium than a simple room. Gently sloping red velvet stadium seats apexed at the bottom with a podium and audio/visual projection machine.
