by Stuart Woods
Macher had no response, just glared at him.
“I tell you this because it means that the mansion is not as good a target as it might have been in the past.”
“I still can’t figure out how they discovered my bomb in the library,” Macher said.
“Oh, she told me about that. The new corporate counsel has a Labrador retriever, and he brought the dog to the board meeting. The animal is a retired sniffer dog at the airports, and she smelled something that led Barrington to open the wood box.”
“Well, shit!” Macher yelled.
“I know it’s a blow, but if the thing had gone off, we would now be up to our asses in investigators. Perhaps it’s just as well it didn’t.”
“You have a point there,” Macher said.
“And about the yacht. Our man on the crew volunteered to check the hull that morning, and shortly after that, he was fired and sent ashore in Edgartown. He says that the bomb was still in place when he left the yacht, and he doesn’t know what went wrong.”
“Barrington is the luckiest bastard I’ve ever known,” Macher said.
“Maybe we should go back to D.C. and tend to business there. I’m hearing that not much work is getting done in our absence.”
“Oh, all right,” Macher said. “We’re certainly not getting anything done here, and I’m running up a hell of a hotel bill.”
“I’ll go get my things together. What time do you want to depart?”
“Call for a bellman in half an hour, and ask him to bring the car around.”
“Certainly,” Jake said. He went to his room, relieved that there would be no more attacks on Macher’s enemies, at least for a while.
Macher, if he had known what Jake was thinking, would not have agreed with him.
49
Kaley Weiss left the offices of Strategic Services at 11:30 to go and prepare lunch for Charley, something she did each day, even if there was a cook on duty at the mansion.
She started across Park Avenue, but the light caught her on the center island, and she had to wait there for it to change. As she did, she saw a stopped car on East Fifty-seventh, headed west, waiting for the light to change. She recognized the driver from photographs: it was Jake Herman. That must mean that the man sitting next to him in the front passenger seat was Erik Macher. As she watched, the light changed, and the car drove across Park Avenue. She noticed a hanging garment bag and a suitcase in the rear seat, as if the trunk must be full. She turned and watched the car proceed up East Fifty-seventh Street, and she watched it from a distance until it disappeared, going west.
Kaley called Stone Barrington.
“Yes, Kaley?”
“Good morning, Stone,” she said. “I’m at the corner of East Fifty-seventh and Park Avenue, and two men in a Mercedes S550 just drove past me, heading west. The driver was Jake Herman, and I’m assuming the front-seat passenger was Erik Macher. The backseat had luggage in it, which I take to mean that the trunk was full, and that car has a pretty big trunk. I watched them drive all the way west, as if they were headed for the bridge or the tunnel.”
“That’s an astute observation, Kaley,” Stone said. “I expect they’re leaving the city to drive back to D.C., where Macher has a condo, across the river in Arlington.”
“Then that’s good news?”
“It is. How’s Charley doing?”
“Better and better. I’m headed over to the mansion now to fix his lunch and to make sure he isn’t doing too much yet.”
“That’s good of you, and thanks for the information.” He hung up.
—
STONE CALLED DINO.
“Bacchetti.”
“Someone I know thinks she saw Jake Herman and Erik Macher headed across town, west, probably headed for the tunnel, thence to D.C.”
“Hang on, I’ll bring up the app.” He paused a moment. “I’ve got him on Eleventh Avenue, just north of the tunnel. He’s waiting in traffic. Now he’s moving, and he’s turning into the tunnel.”
“Let’s get his direction when he gets to Jersey.”
“What would you like to talk about in the meantime?” Dino asked. “This job leaves me with so much time on my hands.”
“Hang up, if you’re needed.”
Dino hung up.
Stone waited patiently for another fifteen minutes, then his phone rang. “I’m here.”
“He turned south on I-95, which means he’s headed either to D.C or Miami, or some point in between. Satisfied?”
“For the moment.”
“See ya.” Dino hung up.
Okay, Stone thought, Macher is headed for D.C. Now what?
—
KALEY CAME INTO the bedroom carrying a tray containing a sandwich, to find Charley sitting up in bed watching a soap opera. “Gotcha!” she said. “A soap opera, yet!”
“I was just channel surfing,” Charley said, accepting the sandwich and taking a big bite. He switched to MSNBC.
“Guess who I just saw headed out of town?”
“Who?”
“Erik Macher and Jake Herman. At least they seemed to be heading out of town.”
“You should tell Stone.”
“I already have. He thinks they’re headed for D.C.”
“If that’s true, it’s good news.” Charley’s phone rang, and he picked it up. “Charles Fox.”
“It’s Stone. I just talked to Dino. He’s tracking Macher, and he’s headed south on I-95, we think to D.C.”
“Great,” Charley said. “Can we relax now?”
“A little,” Stone said. “Let’s not get overconfident.”
“I’m going back to work tomorrow,” Charley said.
“You are not!” Kaley shouted. “You’re going to stay in bed for at least another week.”
“Listen, I went yachting and nearly got blown up, and I didn’t pop any stitches.”
“That’s not the same as working.”
“Yeah, when I work I sit in a chair and talk on the phone and tap the computer keyboard a little. Does that sound too strenuous to you? I’ll tell you something, watching a soap opera is more strenuous than that. The music alone makes me antsy.”
“Charley,” Stone said.
“You heard all that?”
“How could I miss it? Do as Kaley says—your life won’t be worth living if you fight her on this.”
“Then I’m going to need a lot of dirty magazines,” Charley said.
“Dirty magazines?” Kaley asked. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“Charley,” Stone said, “you’re going to be chopped liver if you don’t do as she says. Don’t you know anything about women?”
“More than I want to,” Charley said.
“Humor her.”
“All right, Kaley, I’ll stay in bed awhile longer, but as soon as the stitches are out, I’m back at work, clear?”
“We’ll see,” Kaley said.
“I’ll leave you to your fate,” Stone said, and hung up.
Kaley sat on the edge of the bed, pressed the down button on his bed’s remote control, pulled back the covers, and began unbuttoning his pajamas. “Okay,” she said, “think about dirty magazines, if you need to.”
Charley didn’t need to.
—
BOB CAME OVER to Stone, sat down at his side, and stared up at him. “It’s not time, Bob,” Stone said to the dog, glancing at his watch. “Now go lie down.”
Bob retreated a couple of feet and lay down. Ten minutes later he was back, and this time he placed a paw on Stone’s knee.
Stone looked at his watch; the stroke of noon. He buzzed Joan.
“Yes, boss?”
“Bob says it’s lunchtime, and he’s giving me the paw.”
“Oh, no, not the dreaded paw! I’ll be right in.”
Joan came in, got a scoop of dog food from a cabinet and tipped it into Bob’s dish, then she refilled his water bowl. Bob inhaled the food, then nudged Joan.
“He wants his cookie,” Stone said, and
she gave it to him.
Bob went to his bed near the door, climbed into it, curled up, and began his after-lunch nap.
—
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, Joan buzzed Stone. “Dino for you on one.”
Stone picked up the phone. “I’m here.”
“Macher is in Arlington,” Dino said, “parked at his office address.”
“Great. What do we do now?”
“I haven’t been able to think of anything,” Dino said. “How about you?”
“Not a thing.”
50
Erik Macher arrived at his office an hour earlier than his small staff, after a fitful night’s sleep. Barrington was an itch he couldn’t seem to scratch, and the thought of him, alive and well in New York, was too much to bear.
He went into his office, locked the door, and opened the walk-in safe in a corner of the room. His firm’s weapons were kept there—handguns, holsters, assault rifles, and a couple of fully automatic machine guns. In a rear corner was a wooden case, and he opened that. It was half-full of plastic explosive bricks, each weighing one kilogram, or 2.2 pounds. Next to that box was another, containing detonators and timers.
He spread a plastic cloth on his desk, pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and retrieved two of the explosive bricks, setting them on the plastic sheet on his desk. This time he was taking no chances.
He pressed two detonators into the plastique and attached wires from them to an empty battery holder, then attached another two wires running from there to the terminals on a timer. He didn’t set the timer yet. He pressed a fresh lithium-ion battery against his tongue and felt the tiny shock. Good battery. He clipped it into the holder, and he had himself one hell of a bomb.
He stepped outside into the alley, where a box held packaging materials, and selected a heavy, two-ply cardboard box and a bag of foam peanuts, then took them back into his office. He laid a layer of foam at the bottom of the box, then pressed the two bricks into the yielding material, then filled the box with peanuts, leaving only the timer exposed. For added impact, he took two boxes of double-ought shotgun shells from the safe and with a craft knife cut each of the two dozen shells open and poured the shot into the box. He also scattered the powder over the foam.
He found a shipping label in a storage cabinet and snipped off the return address and waybill number, then affixed it to the top of the box, then he sprayed the container with Windex to remove any fingerprints or DNA. All that remained was to set the timer, tape the box shut, and send it on its way. He heard the outside door to the building open and close, and someone tried his office door, then knocked.
“Erik,” Jake said, “it’s me.”
Macher let him in. “Sit down, Jake,” he said.
Jake sat. “What’s in the box?”
“Think of it as a gift.” He went back to the safe and found an explosive-suppressing woven steel blanket and set it on his desk. “What we’ve got here is two kilos of plastique, a lot of buckshot, and a timer,” he said.
“You’re going to try this again?” Jake asked doubtfully.
“Just once—once and for all,” Macher replied.
“And you want me to deliver it?”
“No, I don’t want that, you’re going to need an iron-clad alibi.”
Jake looked relieved.
“Name a man who can be trusted to deliver this and to do it right.”
“Swenson,” Jake said without hesitation. “He’s young, but reliable. He did two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and he knows what it means to follow orders precisely.”
“All right, Swenson,” Macher said. “He’s single, isn’t he? Lives alone?”
“Yes. How do you want him to handle this?”
“I want the package placed outside the street entrance to Barrington’s office, which is downstairs in his house.”
“Right.”
“I want it set in place at three tomorrow morning. That will give Swenson plenty of time to drive up there, place the package, and drive back, arriving at work at his usual time.”
“Got it. What’s the steel blanket for?”
“I want Swenson to wrap it around the box on the street side, like this.” Macher demonstrated how to do it. “That will help direct the explosive force away from the street and into Barrington’s office. There’s enough explosive here to destroy the secretary’s office near the street, then push into Barrington’s office, destroying it and him, and I anticipate that the force of the explosion will cause his house to collapse on top of his office. That way, in the unlikely event that he survives the explosion, he’ll die in the rubble while the fire department is trying to dig him out.”
“That sounds thorough, Erik. I assume you’ve taken steps not to leave any prints or DNA on the box.”
Macher held up his gloved hands.
“Got it,” Jake said.
“When we had his house under surveillance before, our men determined that Barrington’s secretary gets to her office around eight-thirty, and that Barrington comes downstairs between nine and nine-thirty, so I’m setting the timer for ten.”
“Suppose someone tries to enter from the street and discovers the box?”
Macher grabbed a pencil and pad. “The front of the office entrance protrudes from the house, like this.” He drew the outline. “There are concrete flower boxes under the windows on either side of the entrance. I want Swenson to pull one of them out far enough to place the package behind it, along with the steel blanket. The flower box will hide the package from the street and help the blanket do its job.”
“I see.” Jake sat immobile and silent.
“What is it, Jake?”
“I’m just running through it in my mind. When the secretary comes to work, she might notice the new position of the flower box.”
“She lives next door, and she enters the Barrington house from there and goes into her office from inside the house. Should FedEx or some other person get buzzed in from inside, he won’t notice the position of the concrete flower box.”
“That’s good,” Jake said. “You appear to have thought of everything.”
“I believe I have,” Macher replied. He got up from his seat, opened the box, and began to set the timer. “I’m setting the timer now, for ten AM, tomorrow’s date.” He did so, then closed the box and taped it securely shut.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Macher handed him a box of latex gloves. “Now put these on and take the box and the blanket down to your office. You can explain it to Swenson there, and make sure he has gloves for handling the material. All he has to do is stop at the curb, get the box out of his trunk, place it and the blanket, and he’s out of there in a minute or so. Also, while he’s at it, tell him to tape his license plate and leave the tape on until he’s well clear of the house.”
Jake picked up the box. “I’ll keep thinking about it and see if there are any other possible hitches.”
“You do that,” Macher said. He sat down, feeling much better than he had an hour before.
51
Dan Swenson was sitting at his desk, reading a gun magazine, when his phone rang. “Swenson.”
“Dan, it’s Jake Herman. Come to my office, will you? I have an assignment for you.”
“Be right there, Jake,” Swenson said, excited. He had been sitting around for weeks with little or nothing to do, and he hoped for an assignment of some consequence.
Swenson knocked on Herman’s door.
“Come!”
Swenson opened the door and walked in. “Good morning, Jake.”
“Good morning, Dan. Take a seat.”
Swenson did so.
“I expect you must be itching for something to do,” Jake said.
“You bet I am.”
“This involves driving to New York, setting a package in place outside a town house, then driving back here in time for work tomorrow morning.”
“I can do that.”
“If you do this job exactly as ins
tructed, some bad people are going to get hurt.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Swenson said, meaning it.
Jake reached across the desk and handed him a pair of latex gloves. “Put these on.”
Swenson did so.
“You are to wear those at any time when your hands come in contact with this package,” Jake said, indicating the box on his desk. “It’s entirely for your protection.”
“I understand,” Swenson said.
“You are to depart here at ten PM tonight and drive to this address.” He pushed an index card across the desk. “At approximately three AM, you will park at the curb in front of the house, take the box and the accompanying steel blanket from the trunk of your car, and go to the downstairs, street door, which has a brass plate on it with the name of a law firm engraved, ‘The Barrington Practice.’”
“I see.”
“To the left of the door, under a window, is a concrete flower box. You are to slide the box out enough to admit the package, set it there, then wrap the street side of the box in the steel blanket, then push the flower box back in place to hold the package there.”
“I understand,” Swenson said.
“You are then to return to your car, close the trunk, and put masking tape over your license plate, then drive away. When you are several blocks away, you are to remove the masking tape, then drive back to your home in time to leave for work at your usual hour. Is there anything you do not understand about these instructions?”
“No, Jake.”
“Repeat them to me,” Jake said.
Swenson did so flawlessly.
“After you have successfully completed your mission, there will be a ten-thousand-dollar cash reward paid to you for service above and beyond the call.”
“Thank you, Jake, that’s very generous. I would have done it for nothing.”
“Remember this—you are not to put the cash into any bank account. You may keep it in your safe at home or your office or in a safe-deposit box at your bank, and use it as you see fit, but it must not pass through any bank account. Is that clear?”
“Of course—a normal precaution.”
“You should put the box in your car trunk now, before the rest of the staff get here.”
