by Alan Zendell
If Husam al Din landed in that area, there was a lot of ground to cover, but it was a start. Cases like this were solved by a combination of leg work, statistical analysis, and instinct.
“We’ll feed all the information we discover into the model I developed,” Mary said. “Areas of higher probability will cluster around specific individuals and locations – the more data, the better the prediction.”
That sounded like hand-waving, but I wasn’t about to object simply because it required a leap of faith. Mary told me to relax and be patient, it was only a matter of time, but I believed we were approaching a critical event nexus Wednesday or Thursday. My over-active psyche couldn’t distinguish between patience and failing to do everything possible to prevent disaster.
By William’s Tuesday briefing, I was living on adrenaline. The police had completed an aerial search of a forty-square-mile umbra starting at the end of the red line on the map and fanning out to the southwest. Every clearing large enough for a landing that intersected a navigable road was visited by police or park rangers in four-wheel drive vehicles. We caught one break – there’d been no rain in the area since a wind-driven cloudburst eight days earlier.
Early Tuesday afternoon, the State Police found imprints that matched the landing skids of a helicopter in an area of sandy soil off a sparsely traveled gravel road. They also found two sets of tire tracks and a scattered debris field – leaves, branches, sand, pebbles and trash left by hikers and campers – that suggested a wind pattern typical of spinning helicopter blades. A mold of the tread patterns had been sent to the police forensic lab.
After the briefing, Henry took me aside. “You really think something’s going to happen in the next couple of days?”
“I don’t know what I think, Henry. I’ve followed my instincts the last few weeks, and it paid off every time. That’s what they’re telling me now.”
“We’ve ramped up security at every likely target from Boston to Washington,” he said, “an undeclared Condition Red. When we’re confident we know where they are, we’ll hit them hard, but we don’t have enough information yet. We can’t afford to be wrong and spook them.”
He told me to go home. They’d call me the moment something broke.
“What about staying in touch Wednesday?” he asked. “I’m still not sure I understand these rules of yours.”
“Contacting me won’t even occur to you unless something urgent like discovering radioactive contamination forces you to focus on me. If anything significant happens tomorrow, I’ll know about it on Thursday, and I’ll contact you when I jump back to Wednesday.”
“And if something happens on Thursday?”
“It’ll be like Union Station. I’ll get in touch with you and we’ll bust our asses trying to head off whatever it is. If I were you, I’d sleep lightly tonight.”
***
“Complain as much as you want to,” Ilene said, “you’re taking this. Jerry says it won’t interfere with your thought process, and you can’t afford to exhaust yourself with stress. You’re going to take two more before you go to sleep.”
I didn’t fight over it, and twenty minutes later, I was glad I hadn’t. The painful, gnawing ache at my center was only fully realized after its edge had been smoothed. I had an appetite for the first time in days.
Later, Ilene said, “We need to talk about the kids. It’s not too late to tell them to stay home. We can find another weekend.”
Not against the Red Sox, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“I thought we agreed to trust my feelings. Besides, what would we tell them?”
“How about the truth?”
“What truth? That Dad’s been an undercover agent all their lives and he’s in the middle of a terrorist plot? That some super-being has selected him to save the world and live his days out of order? Even if I were inclined that way, a conversation like that won’t work on the phone. If they believed me, they’d either insist that you leave town to be safe or rush down here to have us committed.”
“What about Thursday’s game? Isn’t Yankee Stadium the worst place they could be?”
“The task force concluded that trying to second guess where they’re likely to attack is futile, and the heat wave makes the Stadium easier to protect than most places. Anyone not dressed in shorts and a tank top will be suspect.”
“God, if something happened to them because we didn’t warn them…”
“Cut it out, Ilene. Show me how we could improve things by telling them anything and I’ll be the first one to pick up the phone.”
I let Ilene convince me to take another sedative at about 11:00. I didn’t want to, but I needed to be sharp on Thursday. I couldn’t afford to risk not sleeping. Before I got in bed, I told Ilene what I’d told Henry. I’d find a way to contact her Wednesday morning.
44.
The world was still there, Thursday morning. Ilene was, too. I woke up first and turned on the news. There’d been no attack. I turned to find Ilene rubbing her eyes sleepily. When she opened them, she watched with me for a minute. She definitely wasn’t happy.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” I asked.
“You were home when I woke up yesterday, obviously upset. You wouldn’t say much, but you’d changed your mind about the kids. You were adamant that I contact them and tell them to stay the hell away from New York, Thursday, and under no circumstances to go near Yankee Stadium. You didn’t care what I told them as long as I kept them away from the city.”
“And did you?”
“It wasn’t easy. I got them together on a conference call. I’m afraid I had to blow your cover before they agreed to stay home.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That your reserve unit had called you in for sensitive, classified work, and it was your idea for us to postpone our weekend. I told them you’d explain it to them when your mission was over. But I’m not a hundred percent sure I convinced them. They may have just been telling me what they thought I wanted to hear.”
“Damn. Anything else?”
“You said you’d be cloistered with your team all day. You might not be able to call me again.”
My heart was pounding. “Did I?”
“No. I didn’t hear from you after that, and I’m worried. You’d better not have done anything crazy Wednesday night.”
“You know I won’t, stop worrying. If you want to keep me safe, make sure you and the kids are so I’m not distracted worrying about all of you.” I took her in my arms and held her a bit longer than I usually did, and she headed for the shower.
Apparently, something was going to happen tonight, probably involving Yankee Stadium, but instead of telling Ilene what it was, I’d asked her to trust me and make sure the kids stayed far away from the Stadium.
It must be that I didn’t want to know what was going to happen in advance. Normally, I would have relied on her to abide by our rules, but whatever went down tonight must have been so bad I believed she might not be able to keep from telling me about it. I’d have thought through whatever I told her carefully before saying anything on Wednesday morning. I needed to re-create that thought process, now.
There could only be one explanation: I wanted to prevent myself from interfering with whatever happened, and since I clearly didn’t want to know in advance, I ought to stop trying to guess what it was. This situation was different from anything I’d encountered before. I’d believed from the beginning that it was a bad idea to use foreknowledge of what my Thursday would be like to alter the result. I didn’t want Ilene to tell me what I was going to encounter that day, because I’d worried that knowing in advance would limit my freedom of action and trap me in a circular chain of events, but this situation was different.
Nothing Ilene and I might have discussed on Wednesday would have mattered today because I was convinced that something terrible was about to occur at Yankee Stadium on Thursday, and there was no way I could prevent it once Thursday dawned.
So today, inst
ead of trying to stop it from occurring, I would let it unfold and record every detail, knowing that from my point of view, no matter how terrible it seemed, it was only a dress rehearsal. Then, I’d take everything my team knew on Thursday night about the terrorists’ whereabouts on my overnight journey back to Wednesday. If that information unlocked a door, we’d hit the terrorists hard Wednesday night. And if we couldn’t stop them on Wednesday, it would be like Union Station. Henry and the police would lay a trap for them on Thursday.
I must have realized there was no point in involving Ilene any further on Wednesday. Whatever happened today, she’d know the grisly details soon enough. As for warning the kids off, dress rehearsal or not, I wouldn’t sit by and see them attacked.
***
I got to the office as early as I could, Thursday. Henry was already at his desk. On Tuesday, William had found Henry and me huddled over police reports just after 7:00 a.m. “Don’t you ever sleep?” he’d asked Henry, clearly impressed.
“I’ll sleep on the first day the terrorist watch list is empty,” had been Henry’s reply. The rapport between Henry and William was good for my comfort level, and also for my stock with William, which was still an up-and-down thing.
“Miss me, yesterday?” I quipped.
“Do I know you?” Henry laughed.
“I need you to bring me up to date.”
“We got results on the tire treads yesterday. We know they were made by large SUVs, five possible makes.”
I looked at the list, wishing it was shorter.
“New Jersey DMV ran current vehicle registrations for those models within fifty miles of where the helicopter skid marks were identified. And I had agents out all day getting sales records for those tires from every dealer in the area. We should have all that later today. We’ll match both of those lists against the new watch list in Mary’s database.”
The next step was to develop two final suspect lists, a short one of names most likely to yield a quick result, and a more complete one in case the first list was unproductive and there was still time to investigate it.
Henry sensed my intensity. He knew something was up.
“You still think today’s critical, that we’re at the end game?”
“I’m sure of it, but don’t ask me to explain.”
“Assuming everything happens the way you expect, we’ll send you back to Wednesday with clearly prioritized targets,” he said.
It struck me, then, that I’d known Henry only thirteen days. He wouldn’t be here with me today if I hadn’t acted on an initial, irrational feeling about him, and apparently, whatever I saw in Henry, he also saw in me. I told him everything I knew and shared my conclusions. He accepted it all without question, as he had with everything else I’d told him, agreeing that my plan was the best approach, but at a price. After building a successful career making decisions based on logic and hard evidence, he was acting based on the most irrational kind of guidance from me. And when that guidance told him a major attack was about to take place, he had to trust that the best response was to sit and watch, so I could help him prevent it yesterday.
I realized that a lot of my anxiety was from not being certain I was doing the right thing. Henry helped me put that concern behind me. “You know, Dylan, you’ve been walking around in your off-the-wall reality for so long, I wonder if you realize how bizarre this is for me.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ve already lived Wednesday. I clearly remember waking up, wondering if you were going to show up with something like this. When you didn’t, I spent the day plugging away at this case the old-fashioned way. Yet, today, you’re telling me that what I know for a fact didn’t happen, yesterday, is going to after all, and I’m going to wake up on Friday with two realities in my head. I’ll have split into two people, but the universe can only tolerate one of me at a time, so one of us has to die, and the one who’s going to die is me. I’m going to be replaced.”
I shuddered, realizing how he must feel. He must have read my reaction on my face.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m sure my death will be painless.”
***
Henry and I spent the day interviewing people by phone, while Samir and several others were out locating people in the field. By 5:00, Mary’s models had narrowed the likely suspects down to five people who lived within fifteen miles of where the helicopter had landed.
“It’s not enough for you to order raids, is it?” I asked.
“I’d be willing to take the heat raids would generate from the press and the courts if it looked like they’d protect a stadium full of people, but we don’t have enough to go on yet.”
“You’ve done all you can here today,” I said, nodding agreement. “We have to prepare for what you’ll do if my Wednesday doesn’t work out. Why don’t you come home with me? We’ll see what happens, and if we watch together, we’ll be less likely to miss something.
“Your people are still receiving and collating information. Tell them that no matter what else happens, they’re to call you for a final briefing about 10:00 this evening and confirm what they report with an email posted to my account before midnight.”
“We could do all that from here.”
“We could, but I won’t leave Ilene alone tonight. Spend the night at my house, and Friday morning we’ll both be there to compare notes.”
“What about Ilene?” he asked. “Isn’t all this classified?” He looked as serious as I’d ever seen him.
“She’s in this with me to the end. I’ll deal with the consequences later.”
45.
Ilene hadn’t met Henry before. After seating him in front of the TV with a cold beer, she came into the kitchen and spoke softly to me. “I see what you mean about him, he’s a commanding presence. I’m glad he’s here.”
The three of us sat down to watch the Yankee-Red Sox game, barely touching the take-out we’d brought. Henry seemed relaxed; the only sign that he was agitated was his uncharacteristic chattering. Too restless to sit still, I needed to call Gregg and Marc, to satisfy myself that they and their wives were safe at home. The moment Gregg answered I knew something was up. I could hear Marc in the background. If they were together it could only mean that they’d gone to New York and met there.
“Dammit, Gregg, you promised your mother you wouldn’t come up ‘til tomorrow.”
“Oh, Dad…”
“Don’t ‘Oh, Dad’ me. She told you it wasn’t safe.”
“How do you know? We’ve been listening to the news and reading blogs all day. There’s nothing. Why are you always so paranoid about terrorists?”
I was furious and terrified at the same time. There was no way I could explain how I knew with all of them on a speakerphone in Gregg’s car. If I tried to insist arbitrarily it would turn into something ugly fast and get me nowhere, and we were running out of time.
Henry saw the look on my face and said, “Let it go, Dylan. Didn’t you say tonight’s just a dress rehearsal? If things go bad you’ll still have your Wednesday to make sure they stay away.”
He was right, in the same way I’d been when I convinced him to watch the game with us tonight so we’d be better equipped to prevent mayhem when I switched days. And there was always the possibility that nothing would happen.
“We all need to have a serious talk tomorrow,” I said into the phone. “This isn’t over, guys. I’m really pissed at all of you.” I ended the call.
***
The game started, and as we watched, I recorded it on a high-definition DVR with slow motion, freeze frame, and zoom capabilities. The TV cameras kept lighting on fans wearing as little as modesty permitted on the hot, breezeless, muggy evening.
“The way those fans are dressed,” Henry prattled, “you couldn’t sneak a stick of gum in, much less a weapon. Agents and cops have been sweeping the stadium since noon. I don’t know what else we could have done. Are you sure we’re not misinterpreting what Ilene said about Wednesday mo
rning?” he asked me.
“Logically? How could I be? But I know we’re going to see something as mind-numbing as nine-eleven, tonight.”
“Believe him, Henry,” Ilene said. “If you’d seen the way he looked yesterday…”
She made a choking sound, and I turned to her.
“I’m sorry, Dylan, this is almost too much to bear. I can’t believe we’re sitting here, about to watch God-knows-what.” Her voice shook. “It’s ghoulish.”
I sat beside her and took her hands, Henry observing quietly. I knew where the kids were sitting and I strained to catch a glimpse of them whenever a camera panned in their direction. I knew Gregg and Marina would be wearing red Penn t-shirts and Marc and Keli would be in their Yale blue, but in that crowd it was hopeless.
“I feel it, too. But Henry says we’ve implemented every possible security measure. There are hundreds of law enforcement people there, on full alert for trouble. I know this is hard, but arming ourselves with what we need to know to stop them when I skip to Wednesday is our best option.”
We watched in silence after that. If you’d picked a moment at random to ask any of us what the score was or what happened on the previous play, you’d have gotten only blank stares in response. A couple of Henry’s agents were on site with the head of stadium security. He’d given them my number and we were expecting a call. In the middle of the second inning, the phone rang. I handed it to Henry.
He talked for a minute, then addressed Ilene. “My man’s on a landline from stadium security. Do you mind if we keep this line open for the whole game?”
The question was superfluous. Henry was just being polite, and Ilene said, “That’s fine Henry. Anyone I’d want to talk to knows my cell number.”
Henry set the phone on speaker. The tension in the room was electric.
The agent on the other end of the line checked in every five minutes. In between, we heard his radio crackle as people posted at different locations reported in. The game announcer reported the excited crowd at 56,786, a record for a Thursday in August. None of us said anything, as if speaking would violate some sacred ritual until Henry’s need to be vocal won out.
