by Dee Davis
“What we don’t know,” Hannah continued, “is how many more layers or tiers there are. And right now, with all due respect, Mr. Palmer, I think the more important consideration has to be finding the bomb.”
“Of course.” Logan nodded, making a note of some kind on the pad of paper he’d brought with him. “Continue.” He waved his hand like a king granting a favor, and Tyler almost laughed at the look of disgust on Drake’s face.
“Okay, so let’s start with what we already know,” Avery said. “Hannah, can you make a list on the other screen?”
She nodded and hit a key, a second screen popping up next to where Emmett’s riddle was displayed. “The first thing should be location. We’ve got a valid threat against New York and solid indications of cell activity in the area. It makes it a likely target, but not necessarily a certainty.”
“Except that I’ve got further proof,” Harrison said, tapping his computer. “You know I’ve been digging through Jason’s files again. Trying to find something I’d missed the first time through. And I found a second hidden file. And there’s a reference to the bomb. Along with a cyber trail of the evidence he’d been following. Evidence that seems to definitively link the bomb to Manhattan.”
“You’re sure about this?” Avery asked.
“I verified everything Jason did. And it seems to be accurate. And I had Hannah look at it, too,” he said as he reached for a file folder and handed it to Avery. “I made a hard copy for you.”
“Hannah?” Avery asked, scanning the pages inside the folder.
“I think it’s the real thing,” she said.
“So was there a specific location?” Logan asked, his tone skeptical.
“No. Just the city,” Harrison admitted, “but at least it narrows our focus.”
“Right,” Avery said, nodding at Hannah. “New York.” She wrote something on her ThinkPad and the words “New York” appeared on the screen. “What else?”
“Emmett implied that it was happening tomorrow,” Tyler said, and Hannah added that to the list.
“We also know that the bomb is a suitcase nuke,” Nash said. “Probably small enough to fit into a duffel bag or backpack.”
“And they’ll be using some jury-rigged version of Jefferson Smithwick’s plans. Including the detonators they stole. Which means that there will probably be an electronic ignition and timing system.” Owen frowned, his eyes on the screen. “That’s pretty much all we’ve got. Unless we can figure out what the hell Emmett’s trying to tell us.”
“I don’t see how any of you can possibly give any credence to the scribblings of a traitor,” Logan said, shaking his head as his gaze encompassed them all. “He’s either totally crazy and the poem doesn’t mean a thing, or he’s purposely leading you down the proverbial garden path. A final parting shot.”
“You didn’t know Emmett,” Tyler said, shaking her head. “He was a master at games theory. He even taught a class. And the one thing he believed above everything else was the importance of winning. He used to say there was a strategy for everything. The key was to be prepared. So you have to understand that playing the game had no meaning at all unless he came out on top.”
“What she’s trying to say,” Drake said, leaning forward, his chair legs dropping back to the floor, “is that when he knew he was dying, he still wanted to have the last word. Which means he wanted us to have a shot at finding the bomb.”
“But he’d already written the poem,” Logan insisted. “So it can’t be about his dying.”
“It can be if it was a contingency plan. I told you Emmett was all about being prepared for any eventuality. And it’s not a poem,” Tyler said. “It’s a riddle. That’s the whole point. We solve the riddle, we’ll have the answers. The only question is can we do it in time?”
“So let’s break it down,” Avery said.
“No idea what specifically he means by first and second act,” Annie mused, “but I’m guessing the bombing tomorrow is the second act.”
“Which means the place and the time from the first act are going to be repeated in the second.”
“Well, that clears things right up,” Logan groused, shaking his head.
“It’s a process, Mr. Palmer,” Hannah said. “You have to be patient.”
“Patience, I’ve got,” the man said. “Time not so much so. Tomorrow is almost here.” He held out his wrist, tapping his watch for effect.
“We know that the bomb is destined for New York, right?” Harrison said. “And we know that the act is being perpetrated by a group of terrorists known as the Consortium. So if their attack is a second act, what’s the most obvious first act?”
“Another terrorist attack?” Lara asked. “No question, it’s 9/11.”
“Wait a minute,” Tyler said, squinting up at the riddle. “That makes sense actually. The mighty have fallen could apply to America as a whole—but more specifically, wouldn’t it apply to the Twin Towers?”
“Yeah.” Harrison nodded. “I’ve seen those words used before somewhere. Maybe in the media. Or in the chatter and rhetoric following the attack. And if we’re talking second act, it seems pretty damn fitting that tomorrow is October 11. Anyway, if we’re right, then the riddle is telling us that the attack tomorrow is going to be at ground zero. And the time would be—” He typed something into the computer, waited for it to respond, and then continued “—eight-forty-six in the morning. When the plane hit the first tower.”
“But that area is huge,” Hannah said. “How are we supposed to narrow it down?”
“There’s more to the riddle,” Owen said, nodding up at the screen. “Maybe it helps clarify the location. The divine still stands. We need to figure out how that fits with the towers being destroyed.”
“Well, churches are divine,” Annie said, “but there are too many of them in the area for it to be a specific location.”
“And besides,” Nash said, “the sentence is singular.”
“Plus the way it’s worded, it seems as if he means the towers themselves,” Logan offered, apparently having decided to go with the flow. “Or at least the site where they used to stand.”
“What about the cross?” Lara asked. “The one that came from the wreckage. Wasn’t it made of fused girders?”
“Yeah, I remember seeing it on television,” Drake said. “It was pretty fucking inspiring.”
“And it definitely qualifies as divinity,” Owen said. “Some people have even implied that it was a sign from God.”
“Wrong God, if you’re on the other side.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got no reason to believe that this is an Islamic extremist group. In fact, the members we’ve uncovered so far would indicate that it isn’t.”
“Maybe that’s the point of the last statement,” Tyler said, nodding up at the screen. “And the righteous shall take the blame. Righteous is sometimes used to refer to religious extremists.”
“But didn’t you just say that this Consortium doesn’t play as an extremist group?” Logan asked.
“Read the statement again,” Avery suggested.
Logan rolled his eyes, but obeyed, frowned, then nodded. “He’s telling us that the plan is to blame an extremist group.”
“Whoever the hell these people are, they’re trying to start World War III,” Owen said, anger coloring his voice. “Bloody bastards.”
“So we’re all in agreement?” Hannah asked. “The Consortium is planning to detonate a bomb at ground zero, quite possibly at eight-forty-six tomorrow morning. And more specifically, we’re thinking that the exact location is tied to the girder cross. Does anyone know if it’s still there?”
“I think it was moved to the front of St. Paul’s, if I remember correctly,” Harrison said, typing again on his computer to verify. “But if the setting is the same, then I’m guessing that means we’re talking about the location, not the physical cross.”
“How difficult is it going to be to get access to the site? There’s quite a bit of constr
uction there now, right?” Drake asked.
“You won’t need to worry yourself with logistics,” Logan said. “NSA will take it from here. I’ve already alerted the authorities in New York, and we’ll mobilize national forces as quickly as possible.” He held up his BlackBerry to underscore the words. “But I do want to thank you for all your hard work.” He paused, his expression mocking.
“By what authority are you taking charge of this operation?” Avery asked, leaning over the table, his face inches from Logan’s. The other man, to his credit, held his ground, but Tyler thought she could see him flinch.
“It comes from the top,” Logan said, producing an official-looking document. “See for yourself. In light of your team’s failures, it was decided that the endgame should be handled by someone with a little more expertise.”
“You?” Avery asked, barely controlling his anger.
Logan smiled. “Yes, me. With Owen’s help. He’s the expert in nuclear weapons, after all.”
“Hey, I didn’t sign on for that,” Owen said, exchanging a glance with Tyler.
Her emotions were running wild. Anger at being excluded on the one hand, fear for Owen on the other. Not to mention the horror at the possibility of something as cataclysmic as a nuclear bomb exploding in Lower Manhattan. A suitcase nuke had a lower yield than traditional nuclear weapons, but a one-kiloton explosion was more than enough to effectively destroy the city.
“You work for me,” Logan said. “So you’ll go where I tell you.”
“And help you grandstand this into some kind of coup for NSA?” Owen snapped.
“No,” Avery said, shaking his head, “you’d be helping prevent disaster.”
“But he’ll need help,” Tyler said. “And I’ve got the right set of skills to assist him.”
Owen opened his mouth to object, but Tyler shook her head. “I’ve got field experience you don’t have. You need me.” She turned her attention to Logan. “Both of you.”
There was silence as Logan considered the option, the group waiting collectively for his decision. “Fine,” he said, lifting his hands. “You’re in. But there’ll be no grandstanding. You’ll do what I tell you to.” His gaze locked with hers. “Understood?”
CHAPTER 27
There’s still nothing,” Owen said, handing Tyler a cup of coffee and joining her on the sidewalk bench. “The consensus seems to be that we’ve thwarted the attempt.”
They’d been in Manhattan since the wee hours of the morning, complete with hazmat teams and representatives from pretty much every possible law enforcement agency. They’d covered ground zero from one end to the other without finding a bomb.
On the one hand, that seemed to signal success, at least if one listened to Logan Palmer and his endless parade of press conferences. He’d dismissed almost all personnel, deeming the crisis over. But Tyler wasn’t buying it. And with the witching hour approaching, she still couldn’t shake the idea that something was off.
“What if we’re wrong? What if the bomb is somewhere else? Maybe Logan was right and Emmett was just trying to mislead us.”
“No.” Owen shook his head. “You said yourself he wasn’t involved for ideological reasons. He was in it for the money—right?”
“That’s what he said,” Tyler acknowledged. “But he also talked about being at ‘war.’ And that innocents had to be sacrificed for the greater good. So it was a bit of a mixed message.”
“But you knew Emmett. And you knew how he operated. So what do you think the real truth is?”
Tyler sighed, running a hand through her hair. She was exhausted, and her body ached everywhere, the bruise on her cheek throbbing in time to the sound of a jackhammer off somewhere in the distance. “I’d have bet money that the riddle was real. But this just seems too easy. The Consortium’s been ahead of us every step of the way.”
“But they had no way of knowing we’d figure out Emmett was the mole or that he’d leave you a clue. Look, it took forethought to come up with that riddle and to hide it where he did. That implies that he had a plan. And if the plan was to throw us off, why not give you the riddle from the very beginning? Or better yet, make it easy for someone to find? But he didn’t do that. In fact, he didn’t mention it at all until he was dying. Which indicates to me that, whatever he was trying to tell you, it’s valid.”
“Then I think we got the riddle wrong. I just don’t buy that we somehow cut these people off without so much as lifting a finger.” She looked out across the open ground where the Twin Towers had once stood. Construction was everywhere, the new covering the old, but she could still remember what it had been like, the two buildings jutting into the air, a symbol of American enterprise.
She closed her eyes, her mind pulling forth more horrific memories. The plane slamming into the building, people screaming and running, debris falling everywhere, clouds of smoke obliterating the sky. But Americans had pulled together, and something wonderful had risen from the ashes. People reaching out to each other. Hospitals forming triage teams in nearby office buildings. Firefighters and policemen from all over the country coming to Manhattan’s aid. Organizations serving food and offering shelter 24/7, manned by people from all walks of life. Ethnicity and religion trumped by citizenship.
She smiled, thinking that even in the most awful of times, there were always heroes. Across the way a church spire rose into the blue October sky, and Tyler flashed on a memory, a snippet from some forgotten news image.
“Hannah?” she said into her earpiece. “Are you still there?” Despite Logan’s moratorium on A-Tac’s involvement, Tyler and Owen had managed to maintain radio contact with Sunderland, Hannah manning the helm, as it were, updating the rest of the team as needed.
Owen frowned, adjusting his own earpiece, but Tyler shook her head, concentrating on the memory.
“I’m here,” Hannah’s voice crackled into her ear. “Have you got something new?”
“I’m not sure,” Tyler said. “It’s just a memory and I could be totally off-base. But I think there’s a church somewhere around here that has some kind of important artwork. A statue maybe or a frieze or something?”
“You’ve just described half the churches in Manhattan.” Owen shook his head, looking as frustrated as she felt.
“No. It’s more than that. The artwork was important enough to have made the news. I remember seeing the news report. The church apparently sustained a great deal of damage. But the statue, or whatever it was, survived. It was heralded as a miracle. They made a huge deal out of it.”
“Okay,” Hannah said, “but I’m not sure I’m seeing how this fits in with a nuke at ground zero.”
“Well, here’s the thing. What I’m remembering is the name of the piece. Divine Christ.”
“The divine still stands.” Owen repeated. “Hannah, in the riddle, is the word ‘divine’ capitalized?”
“Yes,” she said, the sound of typing echoing across the wires. “And you’re right. It’s a statue. Divine Christ. It was commissioned for St. Ann’s Chapel in 1779 by Benjamin Franklin. A gift from France to celebrate America’s victory in the Revolution.” She paused a moment, clearly reading. “The altar and most of the sanctuary were severely damaged,” she continued. “There were major fears that the statue had been destroyed. But after digging out the worst of the rubble, they found it.” She released a whistle. “Undamaged—and still standing.”
“That’s got to be it,” Owen said. “Is the statue still there?”
“Yes. The damage to the church was repaired, the statue put back in its niche to the right of the altar. And the chapel opened to services less than two months after 9/11. Tyler, I don’t know how you came up with that, but I think you’re right.”
“Actually,” she said, her stomach twisting as she remembered the day more clearly, “I’m certain of it. I know where I saw the report. It was a day or so after the attacks. I was in the war room watching the recovery efforts on television—with Emmett.
“Hann
ah, where’s the chapel?” Tyler asked, glancing down at her watch, her heart rate ratcheting up when she realized the time.
“Vesey Street near Church. That’s quite a ways from where you are now.”
“We’ll manage,” Owen said, jumping to his feet. “Look, Hannah, most everyone’s gone from here. So I need you to take all of this to Avery. And tell him we’re on our way now. He’ll know what to do.”
“But shouldn’t we consult with Logan?” Tyler asked, looking across to where he was holding court with the media.
“There isn’t time.” Owen shook his head, slinging a small pack over his shoulder. “Avery will call in the necessary backup. But if we’re right, and the bomb is at St. Ann’s, it’s set to blow in less than fifteen minutes.”
St. Ann’s Chapel was one of the oldest buildings in New York. Built in 1766, its simple brick façade was dwarfed by the towering skyscrapers of Lower Manhattan. Immediately after 9/11, the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the little church had been covered with fliers, photographs of people lost in the collapse. Now, fully restored, it spoke of better times.
“Hannah said the statue is near the altar,” Tyler said as they moved into the chapel. A priest hurried down the center aisle, alarmed no doubt by their guns.
“Sorry to intrude, Father,” Owen said, producing identification, “but we believe there may be a bomb inside the church. I’m going to need you to clear everyone out immediately.”
“There’s no one here but me,” he said, accepting the news with the kind of calm only a New Yorker can muster. “Is there time for me to get the Communion vessels? The chalice is quite valuable. It’s in back in the sacristy.”
“No. Better for you to just go out through the front,” Owen said, checking his watch. “There’s not much time.”
The priest nodded, his eyes concerned as he made the sign of the cross. “Go with God.” He turned and, moving as quickly as his robes would allow, strode into the vestibule and out the door.
“I hope he truly does have a direct line,” Tyler said, as they made their way through the nave and up to the steps leading to the sanctuary.
