by Jim DeFelice
The bus system, on the other hand, was extensive; the possibilities led almost literally all over the island. So Fisher returned by necessity to his first theory: that the courier had made the call after walking from the area on foot.
“We’re not getting anywhere,” said Macklin after they walked around a bit more.
Fisher did what he always did when he couldn’t figure something out: He lit a cigarette.
Actually, he did that when he could figure something out too.
“It’s okay, Andy. You can’t break every case, and you can’t always be right. Staten Island’s just a red herring,” said Macklin.
Fisher took a long draw and wondered if Camel had altered its blend, or if cigarettes just tasted different on Staten Island.
“Even the best gumshoe comes up dry sometimes,” added Macklin. “Let’s head back.”
Fisher, starting to feel cold, agreed. They were waiting for the ferry when Macklin’s cell phone rang.
“Going to take us a while to get there,” Fisher heard Macklin say after he answered.
Then he added, “Oh.”
“What’s the deal?” asked Fisher.
“It was Kowalski. They tracked one of the calls to a warehouse and they want to put a team together to raid it.”
“Where is it?”
“Three blocks from the pizza parlor.”
Chapter
12
“The granite counter is a dead giveaway,” said Alice, swinging her hand across the room. “When you see it in an ad, it means the place is going for over three thousand a month. But it also tells you you’ll get other amenities, like the whirlpool, which isn’t always mentioned.”
“Like a code, huh?” asked Howe, following her as she walked through the large kitchen into a much larger dining room. She led him back out into the hallway, showing off the unit’s third bathroom. A chandelier strung with crystal beads hung down in the center at about eye level in front of the mirror. It was so bright that Howe had to look away when Alice turned the light on.
“They’d have to fix that,” she said.
“Make it less bright?”
“No, raise it. It’s down to make it easier for cleaning.”
“A lot of places have chandeliers in the bathroom?”
“It’s a half-bath,” she said, as if that were an explanation.
Howe gave a mumbled “Mmmph.”
“Five-five a month,” she said, leading him back to the living room.
“As in five thousand five hundred?” he asked.
She nodded. “They might come down a little.”
Howe and the real estate agent had spent the past three hours working their way up the price chain. While he had some rough ideas now of what things cost, in truth he was no closer to knowing what sort of place he wanted to live in.
Except that this wasn’t it.
“I don’t know about this place,” he said.
“Well, is the price range okay?”
It seemed outrageously high, but everything did. Using the base salary figures that Blitz and the others were throwing around, though, he could easily afford it. But did he want a place with a crystal chandelier in the bathroom?
“It’s not so much the price as—”
“It’s too ostentatious,” she said, finishing his sentence.
“Yeah. I’m not that formal. I’ve spent most of my time in the military, and, uh, not that I don’t appreciate nice houses or anything…” he said, flustered again. “What kind of place would you live in? This?”
“Here?” She laughed. “I couldn’t afford this.”
“Let’s say you could. Where would you live?”
“Tell you what, I’m hungry,” she said. “Let’s get something to eat and we’ll think about it some more.”
“Great,” said Howe.
They were just getting out of her car when Howe’s cell phone rang. He fumbled getting it out of his pocket, then thought maybe he shouldn’t answer; this wouldn’t be a good place to get into a discussion with a senator or one of the other influential people he’d called to sound out about the post. But habit and duty conspired to make him snap it open.
“Colonel, stand by for Dr. Blitz,” said Blitz’s assistant.
“I have to take this,” Howe told Alice.
“I’ll wait.”
“It’s kind of—”
“Your girlfriend?”
“No, I’m not—It’s business.”
She had a smirk on her face; Howe thought she hadn’t believed what he’d said about it not being a girlfriend. “I’ll be inside,” she told him. Howe watched her walk away as Blitz came on the line.
“Sorry it took so long to get back to you, Colonel. What’s up?”
“I’ve been talking to people about those UAVs I saw in Korea,” said Howe. “I think they’re significant.”
“UAVs? What, at the base?”
“In the hangar there. I mentioned them. And they should be in the reports. I was talking to Mark Dalton over at NADT, and to Howard McIntyre.”
“How is Mac?”
“I think he’s fine.”
“He’s a good man. We have to get him back to work.”
“I’d like to talk to the CIA about what I saw,” said Howe. “According to Dalton, the aircraft would be pretty potent. And we don’t seem to know about it.”
“Tell you what, Colonel. There’s an evaluation group at the Pentagon working with some of my staff and coordinating with the intelligence community. Why don’t you talk directly to them. My assistant will make the arrangements. Have you spoken to Senator Elwell yet?”
“About this?”
“No, about NADT. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Listen, I’m going to see Elwell tonight. I’ll make sure he calls you tomorrow. Thanks.”
Blitz snapped off the line.
Chapter
13
“You’re just a guest, Fisher,” said Kowalski. “If we want your advice, we’ll ask for it.”
“I’m just saying that the thing to do would be to wait and watch for a while, see who shows up,” said Fisher. “We don’t have any other leads.”
“We will once we’re inside,” said Kowalski.
“Maybe. Or maybe the place is rigged to blow up when someone walks in the front door.”
“See, that’s where we do things differently than the FBI,” said Kowalski. “We’re blowing a hole through the sidewall.”
“That’s different,” said Fisher.
“We don’t screw around.”
“Kowalski’s right, Andy,” said Macklin. “We can’t afford to sit on this. We have to find out what’s inside.”
“I’m not saying sit on it.” Fisher wouldn’t have liked to admit it, but he was a bit miffed at being called a guest. He prided himself on the fact that he hadn’t been invited to anything since his best friend’s bar mitzvah twenty years ago. “If you want to go in, go through that second-story window up there. Then you can check the place out, make sure there’s no explosives, and get in through the doors.”
“Take too much time,” said Kowalski.
“You already know from the radar it’s empty,” said Fisher. The DIA people had brought in a radar unit that scanned the interior of the building. In addition, they used an infrared viewer and found nothing except for two cats. “And sneaking in would give you the option of setting up a sting.”
“We can still set up a sting,” said Kowalski. “And besides, the DIA doesn’t sneak in anywhere. Neither does Homeland Defense. Right, Macklin?”
Macklin looked at Fisher, then back at Kowalski. “I guess you’re right.”
Sneaking in would have been difficult in any event, as the task force safety officer insisted that the first team in wear full protective gear, in case they actually found something. Fisher thought he detected a certain healthy skepticism in the officer’s remarks, something he hadn’t seen much of from the
rest of the task force.
The special tactics people borrowed from New York City took out the door on the loading dock by shooting out the hinges with solid lead shot. Fisher had actually never seen this done and was kind of curious about it, but the protocol called for him to stay far away until the warehouse was actually secured unless he was willing to wear a hazmat suit himself. Since that would have made it difficult to smoke, he passed on the opportunity, contenting himself with watching the team from the video feed in the van. The door seemed to pop off the building, and the men disappeared inside. Ten minutes later it was all clear. Fisher got out of the van and walked the half-block to the place, arriving as the garage-style overhead door at the front of the building was rolled upward.
“There,” said one of the men, pointing to a row of large canisters against the side wall. “That looks like it.”
The tanks were the sort used to hold seltzer water in large soda fountain setups. Fisher walked over and started to inspect one; Macklin, who was wearing a respirator, grabbed him.
“Preliminary hit says they’re filled with liquid sarin,” said Macklin. “A lot worse than that coffee you’re always drinking.”
“Not necessarily,” said Fisher, but he backed away anyway.
Chapter
14
“This is my dream place.”
Alice opened the door and stepped through the landing. Howe followed. The living room to the left was open to the second story, with large windows covering two walls. The woodwork was stained a dark walnut that matched the inlaid pattern in the oak. He followed inside the kitchen—another granite counter—which looked into a breakfast nook and a family room. A large fireplace sat at the far end.
The wine they’d had over dinner, not to mention the conversation, had left him in a mellow mood. Howe followed her through the house: It was a house, not a condominium, and it was for sale, not rent. Her voice echoed through the empty room like faint music, luring him onward.
And her perfume. That, too, was light, almost a suggestion of a scent rather than the smell itself. A flower tickled by the wind.
God, Howe told himself, let’s not go overboard. She’s just showing me apartments.
And houses. One house. Her dream house.
There were four bedrooms upstairs.
“Master bedroom, kids’ room, guest room,” said Alice. “Assuming there’s kids.”
“A lot of rooms.”
Jesus, what a dumb thing to say.
“What do you think? Isn’t it great?” she said when they reached the downstairs landing.
“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t trust his tongue anymore.
“Want to know the price?”
Howe shrugged. “It’s kind of big.”
“He’ll come down, I know.”
He shrugged again.
“One point two.”
“How much?”
“A million two hundred thousand. But he’ll come down. He built it on spec.” She flicked her hair back from her shoulder. “I don’t represent him, so I can tell you this. I know he’d come down a lot.”
“A million dollars. God.”
“Payments would be about what the condo was. Less, depending on the down payment.”
“I don’t know if I have a down payment.”
Alice made a face. “Your company could always loan you the money.”
Howe didn’t answer, though he realized she was probably right.
“Oh, I know, it’s my dream not yours,” she said, waving her hand at him. “I have to get back.”
“Date?”
“Oh, God, no. I always stop by and see my dad on Wednesdays. Should we set up another appointment?”
“I’d like to.”
“Tomorrow at four?”
“Tomorrow at four. Sounds good. Your office?”
“My office.”
On the way back to the real estate parking lot where he’d left his car, Howe decided he wanted to kiss her. But somehow he couldn’t find the right chance. He smiled, waved, and got into his car to drive back to his motel.
The light on Howe’s phone blinked steadily as he came in, indicating he had a message. The motel’s voice mail system was tricky to use, and Howe finally had to call down to the desk for help. The call was from a man who said he had some questions about something Howe had told a mutual friend. The man spoke so quickly on the phone that Howe had trouble making out the phone number he left, and couldn’t entirely decipher his name; it sounded like “Woeful.”
It was past nine o’clock. Howe thought he’d try the number anyway; maybe if the caller had an answering machine or voice mail he’d get at least an idea what this was about.
“Wu,” said the voice on the other end of the line, picking up right after the first ring.
“This is Bill Howe.”
“Colonel Howe, thank you for calling me back. Where are you now?”
Howe hesitated but then told him he was in his hotel.
“There’s a diner about two miles down the highway if you take a right out of your driveway,” said Wu. “Can you meet me there in half an hour?”
“What’s this about?” said Howe.
“I’ll have to talk to you in person.”
“Does this have to do with NADT?”
“I have to talk to you in person,” repeated Wu.
Howe thought back to his tour of the NADT scientific sections earlier that day, trying to connect the man’s voice and name with a face. But there had been too many people he either didn’t know at all or had met only once or twice.
“Half hour. Sure.”
Wu hung up before Howe could ask how he would recognize him.
Chapter
15
It turned out to be surprisingly difficult for Tyler to arrange transportation across the Korean border. Inspection teams simply weren’t afforded the priority that supplies and humanitarian aid were; what’s more, the group’s connection to the Pentagon seemed to work against it. When Tyler found four spaces on a Navy helicopter that had to stop nearby, he practically jumped up in glee, even though it would mean leaving behind half the team and all of the people they were taking for security. Tyler hustled to the airfield with Colonel Yorn, Somers, and a CIA paramilitary officer named Jake Dempsey. They just barely made the helicopter, and had to squeeze in amid extra medical supplies the corpsmen were transporting. Things were so tight that the pilot told them they were five pounds under their permitted takeoff weight.
“Good thing I didn’t have much breakfast,” said Somers.
The flight took several hours and was punctuated by a stop near the DMZ to refuel. No one spoke the whole way, and expressions grew more somber as they flew. Tyler had experienced this during combat: Even the most hardened veteran and shameless wiseass tended to focus on the job ahead as zero hour drew near. But to him, this was an easy gig; he hadn’t even considered the possibility that they might be fired at.
And yet, that was a real danger. From birth, North Koreans had been taught to hate Americans, and while their army and government had collapsed, their hatred surely percolated just under the surface. Two American soldiers with M16s and grenade launchers patrolled near the runway as the helicopter put down. Seeing them reminded Tyler that they were deep in enemy territory and heavily outnumbered.
A pair of Hummers waited to take them to the forward headquarters of the division hosting them. Tyler got into one with Somers, listening as the historian talked with the driver and escort. Both men started out taciturn but within a few minutes Somers’s easygoing style had them relaxed and, if not quite loquacious, at least speaking in sentences and paragraphs rather than single words.
“They’re curious,” said the corporal behind the wheel. “I get the feeling they think we have two heads and they’re looking to see where we’re hiding the other.”
Tyler watched Somers as he carried on similar conversations with the staff at the headquarters and then later at their billet, a villa that had app
arently been vacated by a high-ranking government official during the coup. While Tyler had initially wondered whether to take the older man along, he saw now it had been a good move. In just a few hours the historian had probably done the work of a dozen toiling analysts and poll takers, eliciting candid, off-the-cuff remarks. The consensus among American service people was clear: The North Koreans would be willing to go along with things for the short term at least, so long as there were reasonable measures to both keep them safe from retribution and to feed them.
“Hungriest people I ever saw,” one of the lieutenants told them.
That seemed to be the bottom line, and Tyler made sure to repeat it several times during their conference call with Moore at the end of the day. After the call, he thought maybe that was his problem as well. A full meal, a bit of rest, and he’d be ready for whatever happened in the morning.
Chapter
16
Howe was on his second cup of coffee when the tall man stopped in front of his booth. His round, Asian face had been marked by a double scar along the right cheek, as if he’d been scratched there by a two-fingered claw.
“Are you Howe?” asked the man.
The question took him by surprise: If Wu worked for NADT, as he’d thought, he wouldn’t need to ask. And Howe didn’t remember meeting anyone with a scar so prominent on his face.
If he suggested they go anywhere, Howe told himself, he’d resist.
Wu slid into the booth. The waitress came right over and he ordered a decaf coffee. When she left, he reached into his pocket and took out a thin wallet.
“I’m with the CIA,” said Wu, showing his credentials. “I’m sorry to make such a production out of this. I couldn’t trust your phone at the motel, and I have to have the report together in a few hours.”
“Which report?” asked Howe.
“Someone on the NSC staff mentioned that you saw UAVs on the airstrip in North Korea.”
Howe nodded. Wu took out a small notepad. He’d written a brief summary of one of the reports Howe had made earlier. They went over it quickly.
