by mike Evans
“You know any shortcuts?” Winters asked.
“A few.”
“Get me to the corner of Broadway and Wall Street—”
“Done,” the driver said and made an impressive U-turn into an alley barely wide enough to walk down. He appeared unruffled by the pile of empty pallets he clipped and, in fact, seemed to enjoy the excitement.
Winters wished he could say the same.
Sweat had already formed salt rings under the sleeves of the brown uniform shirt, and his eyes burned from the strain of searching the sidewalks for signs of someone carrying a suitcase. The streets were clogged with briefcase-toting men in business suits, but none of them were the right size. A 1970s-era Soviet suitcase bomb wasn’t really a suitcase but more like a golf bag or an oversized duffel. Small by comparison to a bomb dropped from an airplane but hardly as small as the suitcase the moniker suggested.
Winters felt rusty and unprepared too. It had been months since he’d put his observational skills to a test like this. Yet something was kicking in. Something familiar. He glanced at the driver as they made the corner onto Broadway. “What’s your name, pal?” he said.
“Alejandro,” the driver said. “But you can call me Al.”
“You’re a prince, Al.” Winters pointed to the right. “Drop me here.”
“I can take you around the block.”
“This is safer. You don’t want to be anywhere near here, so—”
“I’ll wait.”
“No, man,” Winters said as he opened the door. “You don’t understand—”
“In that alley across the street.” The driver pointed to the left. “I will wait for you there.”
“We’re not actors in a movie, Al—”
“You will need me to get to your daughter. After this is over. I will wait,” he insisted.
Winters didn’t have time to argue. Another barrier was going up in the next block. Soon he would be hard-pressed to get anywhere near the New York Stock Exchange.
“Okay,” he said, finally. And with a nod to Al, Winters left the SUV and ran down Broadway.
Though no doubt weakened by time and lack of maintenance, a suitcase bomb would still carry enough force to create a blast radius of six or seven blocks. Much larger than the four-block area Donleavy said the police were focused on. Either way, it was an area much too large for a single person to effectively search.
If the stock exchange really was the target, it would have to be attacked from outside. A layperson would have little chance of getting inside the building with a case that large. And besides, security at the entrance would stop them immediately. If they used a layperson. What if they had someone on the inside? A trader or technician. They could enter the building a different way. But surely, even employees go through the security checkpoint—don’t they?
Still, Winters threaded his way through the foot traffic and hurried toward the stock exchange building. He had no option now but to try. And hope for the best.
As he made his way down the sidewalk, he craned his neck over and around the oncoming crowd, eyeing every attaché and tote bag on Broadway and stopping only to check the alleys and side streets. He was about to circle back to the other side of the exchange when he took a cursory glance down Exchange Place. It was virtually empty, except for a lone figure standing at the far corner with his back to Winters. Holding an oversized metal case.
The man was about Winters’ height but even from a distance his muscular build was obvious. His black jacket strained at the shoulders and his beefy arms hung at his side as if he’d spent every day in the weight room.
If the man had any moves at all he’d have the upper hand physically. Winters wouldn’t be able to wrestle the case away from him. He’d have to talk him out of it.
As Winters started toward him, the man with the case reached into his jacket with his free hand, took out a cell phone, and thumbed a text message. That was a good thing. If they had to fight, maybe Winters at least would have the advantage of surprise.
And, from the way he flexed his arm, the guy seemed to be getting tired. That case—if it was the bomb—wouldn’t be light and the longer he stood there the heavier it would get. That was the thing with weight lifters. They were strong but they seldom had any stamina.
With a few more steps to go, the guy still didn’t seem to realize Winters was coming up behind him. He stuffed the phone in his pocket and shifted the case to the other hand. That was not a good thing. If he’d been holding it for that long, time was running out.
“Excuse me,” Winters said. “Could you tell me—”
The figure whirled around to face him and in an instant he realized—the man with the case was Ben, his brother.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Winters shouted.
Ben took a step backward, both hands white-knuckling the handle of the case. “What are you doing here, Johnny?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be somewhere else.”
“I asked you first, Brother,” Winters replied, his mind reeling with shock. Nothing he had planned would work.
“Go away, Johnny,” Ben said in a sullen tone. “This is my gig. I don’t need your help.”
“Your gig? With who?”
“The Service. They sent me.”
Ahh. The Service. Winters knew the angle now.
“Well, look, buddy. Change of plans,” Winters said. “I have orders to take over from here.”
Ben shook his head and held the case closer. “Whose orders?” he asked. “The Service isn’t even using you right now. You’ve got PTSD.” Ben took another step back.
“I’m over the PTSD,” Winters said. “Look, you’ve done a great job up to this point, but they sent me to take over. I know what to do with it.”
“No, man! Why does it always have to be you? I know what to do with it!”
Winters scanned the case for a button, a switch, anything, even as he gave Ben a nod.
“What are your orders?”
“I get the text, I set the case down here. Not until then.”
The switch was on the bottom. Winters forced himself not to lick the sweat off his upper lip. Ben had no such self-control. He released the case with one hand to pull off the watch cap and mop his high forehead.
“That’s the deal with these ops,” Winters said. “You have to be flexible. Last-minute changes happen. They knew you would trust me, which is why I’m here.”
“They told me not to trust you.” Ben’s voice was high-pitched and tremulous and he had trouble getting the cap back on with one hand. “They said you might show up and try to mess with me, but not to let you. It’s part of my training.”
Forget everything he’d thought about Tejada’s choice of a carrier. The man was a genius.
“I have orders, too,” Winters said. “They sent me on purpose to try to mess you up—just the way they sent you to mess me up. You know, the whole thing with the laptop?”
Ben’s blue eyes now showed fear, but Winters forced a smile. “It’s part of the training game, Bro. No worries. But you see, what they’ve done here is pit us against each other, to see how you handle it.”
“I know how I’m gonna handle it. I’m not putting this down until they tell me to.”
“Even though I outrank you?”
“Yeah,” Ben said defiantly.
Winters shrugged. “You can do that, but do you know the penalty for disobeying a direct order from a superior?”
“They’re my superiors.”
“Who? Give me some names.”
Ben’s face went blank. “They never told me their names.”
Winters smirked. “They took that approach, huh? This way it doesn’t come back on them.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Look, Brother, this isn’t just a training mission. There’s some serious stuff in that case. This goes down wrong and heads will roll, including yours.”
“So,” Ben said, pleading. “What do I do?”
“You show them t
hat you know the protocol. You have no way of knowing what rank these people have, but you know mine. And it trumps yours. So, hand me the case and do it gently. You got it?”
Ben nodded, lifted the case to hold it with both hands, and offered it to Winters. Winters reached for the handle—and Ben’s cell phone buzzed.
The case slipped and they both went for it. Ben grabbed it once more and clutched it against his chest, then turned away as he fumbled for the phone.
“Ben, give it to me,” Winters demanded. “Give it to me now.”
“They said to set it down and I’m doing it. This is my chance, Johnny.” He held the case out to his side and began to lower it.
As Ben stooped to put the case on the pavement, Winters thrust his hand behind Ben’s arm and swept it away from his body. At the same time, he grabbed it with his other hand and slammed his full weight against his brother’s body. Ben staggered to the ground. His head smacked against the sidewalk.
Winters held the case at arm’s length and stared down at him. Ben looked like the kid brother he’d once seen beaned by a baseball. “Don’t move,” Winters said to him. “I mean it.”
Ben groaned.
Holding the case in his arms, Winters turned away and walked back toward Broadway. All he needed was a cop, a firefighter, anybody to take this thing off his hands. He had to get to Maria.
Before he reached the end of the block, he spotted two members of the bomb squad heading toward him in hazmat suits.
“This what you’re looking for?” he said.
They stopped a few feet away.
“Agent John Winters, Secret Service,” he said, barking the words in an authoritative tone. “Got it off a Middle Easterner.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Took off toward the river.”
The bomb squad guys looked stunned.
“Here,” Winters said, thrusting the case in their direction. “Take it. And don’t set it down. The trigger is on the bottom. I’m available for questioning later but I have another matter to take care of.”
The great thing about guys in those squads was that they were interested in only one thing—the bomb. No one came after him or hailed him as he sprinted back up the alley, and helped Ben to his feet. When Ben was standing, he slung an arm over John’s shoulder and the two of them made their way up the alley, away from the bomb squad.
“Where did you pick up the case, Ben?” Winters asked.
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because I think the same people who set you up to bomb Wall Street have taken Maria. You say you want your chance? Here it is. Tell me where they are.”
As they emerged onto Broadway, the silver SUV nosed to a stop right in front of them. Winters slammed Ben against the passenger side. His head thudded on the glass and Winters leaned in close. “You tell me now. Or I’ll leave you in this alley and you can take the fall for everything.” When Ben didn’t respond, Winters shoved him again. “Are we clear?”
“I got it in the parking garage. At the law firm.”
Winters frowned. “What law firm?”
“Gump whatever. I don’t remember the name.”
“Gump, Snowden and Meir?”
“Yeah! That’s it. They told me to meet them there. In the parking garage. That’s where I got it.”
Winters stuck his head into the SUV. “Al, you mind babysitting my brother while I borrow your car?”
“I was just going to suggest that,” Al said.
Louis parked himself in a chair across the table from Maria and popped open a can of Coke. He shoved a second one toward her, but she shook her head.
“I don’t drink with people who kidnap me,” Maria snarled.
Louis took a sip of Coke but didn’t answer.
She’d never been able to figure out whether he actually spoke English. He definitely understood the universal language of fingernails down the cheeks. She noted with some satisfaction the angry claw marks on his face. But she had to hand it to him, though. He hadn’t even blinked.
“So what are you, stoic?” she asked.
He stared at her a moment, then turned away.
“That answers that question.” She shifted positions in the chair. “Here’s another one. What are we doing here? Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?”
“We are waiting,” Louis said at last.
Maria grinned. “So you do speak. Who are we waiting for?”
Louis took another sip from the can.
“If you tell me we’re waiting on Molina, I’m going to beg you to just put that gun to my head right now.”
Louis just looked at her. And from the set of his jaw, she knew she wasn’t getting any more information from him.
The room in which they sat was more like a vault, and she’d never known about it. After nine months with the firm she didn’t even know it existed. Of course, there was a lot she didn’t know—like the fact that Bill Snowden was in league with terrorists. But she couldn’t go there, because from that place her mind went straight to Tejada—and she was still finding it hard to believe that he would mastermind an attack like the one her father was trying to stop. Shrewd, underhanded business deals—that she could see. But this . . . from the man she’d almost fallen in love with?
No. Don’t go there, she told herself. Not even for a moment.
Trying to appear bored, Maria slid low in the chair and glanced around once more. No windows. No sound. In a basement she hadn’t known existed. One door, with a handle like ones she’d seen in banks. No other furniture except the round metal table where they sat. And only two chairs, both with hard plastic seats. Nothing on the stark white walls. Gray concrete floor.
Maria let her head fall over the back of the chair and peered at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. Rows of fluorescent lights were no help. There must be a ventilation system. The chill she felt had to be coming from someplace besides her own fear.
After a moment she located a vent, on the ceiling above the door. It was just about big enough for her to crawl through. If she had a screwdriver to take off the cover. If she had a way to get up there. If Louis were unconscious on the floor.
She sat up and watched him crumple the can with one hand. Okay, so much for that idea.
Her only chance was to get out the next time that door opened, and the only way to do that was to divert everyone involved. But if “everyone” included Molina, she would be out of luck. She’d gotten away from him once, and he wouldn’t let that happen again, no matter what instructions Tejada had given him. She could only hope Molina wasn’t coming. But then, if it wasn’t him, who were they waiting for?
Maria pulled the Coke can to her and rolled it between her hands. “So why the change of plans, Louis? Why you instead of Molina?”
Louis stared at the crumpled can, but did not reply.
“Well,” Maria said, “I’m glad we have this opportunity for a chat because I’ve always wanted to make sure there are no hard feelings about me not wanting you as a bodyguard. The thing is, I didn’t want anybody. I thought I could take care of myself.” She shrugged. “Looks like I was wrong, huh?”
“Señor Tejada’s orders.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Señor Tejada sent me for you.”
Interesting. Maria leaned on the table. “So what’s Molina up to, then?”
Louis shook his head. He actually looked—uneasy?
“Whatever it is, you don’t like it. Right?”
No answer.
“Or do you just not like Molina, period?” She leaned in further. “I’m right there with you on that one, Louis. I personally can’t stand the guy. He’s rude, boorish—truculent.”
Louis looked at her quickly and then glanced away.
“Truculent,” Maria said. “It means, like, combative. That doesn’t help you, does it? Okay—he turns everything into an excuse to be violent, know what I mean?”
Louis nodded.
“That’s why Tejada sent you instead of Molina. Becau
se he knew Molina wouldn’t be able to resist knocking me around, no matter what Tejada ordered.” Maria leaned back in the chair and hugged her knees into her chest. “You, on the other hand, won’t lay a finger on me if that’s what Tejada told you. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Louis nodded again.
“But you can see how I’d be concerned, right? If Molina is coming, I have a problem. You get that?”
“No problem.”
“You’re going to protect me from Molina.”
“Sí.” Louis nodded. “Yes.”
Maria closed her eyes, hoping Louis would see that as relief. Truth be told, she needed a minute to sort it out. She wanted to ask, For how long? But she was afraid of the answer. When she opened her eyes, she said instead, “Just one more question, Louis. How are you going to protect me? Reassure me.”
Louis looked again at the crushed can, and Maria wondered if she’d gone too far. And yet she couldn’t stop. “If the two of you were put in a ring with no weapons,” Maria said, “my money would be on you all the way. But that Molina is always armed. I bet he takes a bath with his AK-47.”
Again there was no answer from Louis. But he opened his jacket and revealed a holstered pistol at his side.
“Gotcha,” Maria said. “I feel better.”
Okay, so what about the plan to escape? Knock out Louis with the Coke can, grab his gun, and wait for whoever to show up? Any attempt to do that would just make him mad. An angry Louis? Yeah, all bets were off then.
Louis toyed with the can he’d crushed, rolling it back and forth in his hand. Finally Maria said, “What do you see there, Louis?”
He gave her a sheepish look.
“Really,” she urged. “Tell me what you see. I want to know. If you’re like me, you see weird stuff in everything.”
“Pietà,” he said.
“Like . . . Michelangelo’s Pietà?”
Louis’ face reddened and he covered the can with his hand.
“I can see that,” Maria added. “I just didn’t know you were into art.”
