He hadn’t had to wait long before the man entered. After he tagged his target and was certain it was Khan, he waited. His plan was already in place. Jake had a taxi waiting outside, meter running.
Khan walked back through the lobby, glanced his way but failed to recognize him. The terrorist continued out of the bank where the black sedan was waiting.
While he waited in the lobby, Jake pretended to read the New York Times. After Khan left, he folded the paper, tucked it under his arm, and followed Khan onto the street.
Two vehicles back, Jake’s taxi was waiting, meter running. He crawled into the back seat, and gave the cabbie instructions. The driver nodded and followed the black sedan for the next twenty blocks until it pulled into an alley and stopped. Jake jumped out and sent the taxi on its way. He had studied a map in the back seat of the taxi, following along as they drove. Khan stopped five blocks from the museum. His heart raced with anticipation. This had to be it.
CHAPTER 67
ISABELLA WATCHED HIS eyelids grow heavy. Gregg’s pain medicine made him drowsy. He was resisting, she could tell.
“Gregg, go to sleep. We can talk later.”
“But—”
“Shh.” She placed her finger on his lips. “We’ll talk later.”
That was three hours ago and she still hadn’t decided what to do. She was a woman and wanted to share this with him. In her mind she could see how the next few months would play out. His leg would heal; he would take time off work, and spend it all with her. They would travel and do all the things couples do, just in a compressed time frame. They would make love every day, taking in as much of each other as they could…
Then it would be over.
The morning after they had made love in Tripoli, it started. Early morning headaches and nausea. Two weeks later the headaches were followed by vomiting, which oddly seemed to make the headaches go away. From her symptoms she reasoned she was pregnant. How could she have been so stupid? There were so many other signs, but she just ignored them. Once, on her mission in Yemen, the headache was accompanied by blurry vision, which exacerbated the magnitude of the headache, followed by a brief loss of consciousness. She blew it off as fatigue and stress from the mission.
The symptoms were all there, and lurking somewhere in the back of her psyche she knew it was serious, yet she refused to acknowledge it. To be struck down by something she couldn’t see and couldn’t control was too frightening. So she ignored the symptoms, again and again, as if that would make it go away.
After the CT scan upon her return from Yemen, the doctors told her she had a cerebral aneurysm, fixable only by surgery. The silent killer could strike at a moments notice. Once ruptured, she’d be only minutes from death. But the recommended surgery was too risky—nearly a 75 % mortality rate.
It was at the suggestion of Elmore Wiley that she consult a physician in Belgium who had developed a new, less-risky surgical procedure to repair the aneurysm. Using a camera and robotic tools, the physician would go in through the veins and insert a surgical mesh or screen to permanently correct the aneurysm. His mortality rate was under 30 %. Still risky but much better odds. And with it, the possibility of getting her active lifestyle back.
No, she couldn’t tell Kaplan. He would insist on putting his life on hold and staying by her side. It wouldn’t be fair to him.
Their feelings for each other would have to languish and fade away. Isabella’s eyes filled with tears. She gently kissed the sleeping Kaplan. Her heart ached for what it may never have.
† † †
Khan signaled the driver to stop outside the rear entrance of the abandoned building. He got out of the sedan and waved the driver on. He pulled the keys from his jacket pocket, looked over his shoulder as he walked toward the small door next to the vehicle entrance he’d used earlier.
The building was empty except for the box truck. Across from the truck was a small office with a gym bag sitting on top of an old wooden desk. He walked into the office, unzipped the bag, and pulled out coveralls and a cap that matched the logo of the catering service along with a company identification badge, a fake driver’s license, and cargo manifest.
He removed his jacket and pulled on the coveralls, zipping them within two inches of the top, just enough to show the white button down shirt underneath. He slipped the ID badge onto the left breast pocket, his driver’s license into his pocket, grabbed the manifest, and walked out to the truck leaving his personal belongings in the bag on the desk.
Startled by a noise above him, he jumped. He looked up and saw birds flying around overhead. He opened the cargo door to the truck and climbed inside. He moved three boxes to the side to get to the five packages he was after, four small ones and one large one.
He opened each package and activated the device inside, closed and resealed them. It was time and he was ready. An hour from now he would take his place in history. An hour from now New York City’s first responders would again be rushing to a major calamity with visions of September 11th filling their infidel minds as another New York City building collapsed to the ground killing its occupants.
But this time it would be worse.
Mothers and fathers would be unable to protect their children as the world watched them die.
Four thousand children.
Khan climbed into the truck, started the engine, used the remote to open the back door, and drove out. His next stop, the loading dock at the American Museum of Natural History.
† † †
Jake exited the taxi and, as soon as the sedan dropped off Khan and drove away. He ran down the alley toward where the man disappeared. When Jake reached the door to the building he realized there were no windows on the ground level. He tried the door handle. Locked. He stepped back and looked up, a fire escape, but the ladder was fifty feet farther down the alley.
Khan was inside and Jake needed to find out what the terrorist was up to. He ran to the ladder and climbed to the second floor level. Next he walked down the rickety metal structure to the windows where Khan had disappeared. An anchor in the brick mortar gave way under Jake’s weight and the platform moved banging against the side of the building. Startled birds flew from their nests inside the building, most escaping through broken windows.
Jake crouched then eased up to eye level with the windows. He saw Khan dressed in some sort of uniform walking toward a box truck with a catering service logo painted on the sides. Khan went inside the back of the truck, out of sight, then after a few minutes came back into view. Khan closed the cargo bay door, climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Jake scanned the room from his lofty viewpoint for exits—only one—directly below him. He needed to get off the fire escape and into a position to follow the truck, even though he already knew where the truck was going. When Jake moved, the platform slipped again as a cement anchor broke free from the concrete wall. If the fire escape fell, he’d fall with it.
Desperately trying to stabilize his weight distribution on the platform, he slowed his steps. The metal door beneath him rolled up and he heard the catering truck accelerate toward the door. He was in plain view for Khan to see him.
He reached the end of the platform by the metal steps at the same time the truck exited the building. Jake lay prone on the platform until the truck turned the corner and drove out of sight. Sliding down the ladder by cupping his feet and hands around the outside of the rails allowed gravity to pull him to street level.
He recalled the envelope Bentley had given him. The clippings with the shamrocks. He let his anger build like a swelling wave gathering strength. He focused on his two targets. Connected only by his lust for revenge, he saw the faces of the two men he would kill.
Khan and Collins.
He sprinted out of the alley and onto the sidewalk as fast as he could toward the museum. Without breaking stride he darted across West 79th Street raising his hand at oncoming traffic to avoid being hit. Tires screeched and horns blared as Jake
continued to run toward the museum.
When Jake rounded the corner, the catering truck was stuck in traffic two blocks ahead of him. He steadied his pace to keep equal distance from the truck. He couldn’t risk being seen by Khan. He slowed his breathing and blended with the crowd of people on the sidewalk. After he killed Khan, he still had unfinished business with Ian Collins. He hated Khan but it was a personal vendetta against the Irishman. Collins had systematically destroyed everything around Jake.
An eye for an eye.
CHAPTER 68
KAPLAN WOKE UP in pain but with a clear head. With every heartbeat, every pulse of blood through his body, his leg throbbed.
“Isabella?” Kaplan called out.
No answer.
He’d slept several hours, he didn’t know how long but it was much needed rest. It had been the early hours of the morning when they’d dropped Bentley and his bodyguards off at Langley and Isabella had driven him home.
While he slept, he dreamt of the night he and Isabella made love. The romantic atmosphere of the Mediterranean was overwhelming and perhaps underestimated. Doors to the balcony opened to their adobe style villa in Tripoli, the warm breezes from the blue sea washed over their naked bodies. The private balcony in the bedroom offered spectacular views as the full moon bounced beams across the water illuminating every curve on her dark skin. The balmy night turned steamy as they made love, exploring each other as new lovers do, passionately and longingly.
He’d battled his feelings for her the entire time she was in Yemen, a trip he didn’t want her to take. He knew she’d been ill after that night in Tripoli. Food poisoning she’d tried to tell him. Stood to reason since he’d been plagued with stomach issues after that trip as well. Then she was gone, just like that, off to Yemen. He knew it was one of the many drawbacks of working for the Clandestine Service, no normal life. No time to foster personal relationships.
Somehow they could make it work. They could both resign and live comfortably on contract jobs. In effect, they would still be working for Bentley, just not on the United States Government payroll.
“Isabella?” Kaplan called out again.
Nothing.
He rolled off the couch using his crutches to hoist him onto his foot. He positioned them under his armpits and hobbled around the room.
“Isabella.”
He turned toward the front door and saw the note folded tent style on the dining table. He figured she went back to Langley anticipating he would sleep longer and would return soon. But that wasn’t what the letter read. Not even close. After he read her words, he felt light-headed. He grabbed a chair, letting his clutches fall to the ground, and plopped into the seat.
He let the note slip from his fingers. It floated to the floor.
He lowered his head.
Isabella Hunt was gone.
† † †
Khan ground the gears to the truck every time he started to move forward. He’d always had trouble operating a stick shift and now he wished he’d learned the intricacies of using a clutch.
The light turned green, Khan pressed heavy on the accelerator, and then let go of the clutch. The truck bucked again and moved forward slowly gaining speed.
The next light was green, one block to go. He saw the service delivery entrance sign for the American Museum of Natural History located at the rear of the museum. He cleared the guard post with his identification then pulled past the delivery ramp. Now he had the challenge of backing it down the ramp, between two other trucks, and not smash into the concrete abutment at the bottom of the ramp.
A young man walked out on the loading dock and waved him directions, guiding him between the two trucks. Slow and steady. He didn’t know how truck drivers negotiated hills of any kind. Three pedals and only two feet. He kept a foot on the brake and a foot on the gas, which worked fine until he stopped and the engine ground to a halt. The young man looked perturbed, hands propped on his hips and a frustrated look on his face.
Khan restarted the truck, feet on the clutch and the brake when he realized he could let gravity roll the truck down to the loading dock. Fortunately, he thought, he didn’t have to worry about driving the truck out.
Khan had researched the architectural layout of the museum, specifically for structural integrity and located the four most critical load-bearing points under the museum. The destruction of those, coupled with the blast from the truck would ensure the collapse of the museum onto its own footprint.
After Khan opened the cargo door the young man approached with a hand truck, Khan pointed to the boxes. “Only the ones marked AMNH are yours. The rest are my next delivery.”
“You’re late.”
The young man’s sarcastic tone caused Khan to smile knowing soon the young man would be buried beneath tons of rubble.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Khan asked.
The young man pointed. “Down that hallway on the left.”
“Thanks.”
Khan waited until the young man left with his first load and then reached into the smaller boxes, pulled out the devices and placed them in a large backpack. He headed for the sub-basement to install the explosives.
† † †
Jake rounded the corner to the loading dock and saw Khan disappear into the building with a pack strapped on his back. He was winded but he knew what he had to do. He found his way from the ramp to the loading dock, then walked over and looked inside the back of Khan’s truck.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” A voice said from behind him.
“Where did the driver of this truck go?”
“You can’t be here. This is a secure area.” The young man said.
“Look, kid. I don’t have time for games. One more time, where is the driver of this truck?”
“I don’t know. He asked about the bathroom. Now you have to leave or I’m calling security.” The young man grabbed the radio from his belt. “Now leave.” He used the antenna to point the way for Jake to get off the loading dock.
With as much force as he could muster, Jake’s right fist punched forward, slamming into the young man’s solar plexus rendering him unconscious. The radio flew from his hand as he flew backwards. Jake watched the young man slide across the smooth concrete. He grabbed the young man by the ankles and dragged him into the cargo bed of the truck and wedged him behind the large box.
He opened the small boxes. Empty. Next he opened the large box, the one concealing the young man from view and found what he needed. From his tradecraft training Jake knew the box contained enough explosives to nearly level the entire museum, but he noticed something else. Something he’d already found indicative of Khan’s traits. Khan’s overconfidence made him neglect a small detail. The explosives were not tamper resistant. It was a careless mistake.
Jake removed the cell phone and disabled the explosive by removing the blasting caps. Four small boxes. Four smaller explosives. Khan was probably installing the devices somewhere in the substructure of the building. Jake needed to find out where and fast.
He ran in the direction of the restrooms. When the young man was talking to him on the loading dock, he had noticed a fire evacuation plan mounted on the wall. It was a large diagram of the level he was on and smaller diagrams of all floors, including a subbasement below him. That would be where Khan would plant the explosives. He knew it as soon as he saw the diagram.
He had one last thing to do. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his own cell phone, punched in the secret number, the one only a select few people knew, and hit send.
He located the door to the basement and descended into the lowest level. It was musty and dank. The hum of machinery used to keep the museum operating drowned out most noise. Although not an architect, he had earned a degree in aerospace engineering at Annapolis and had worked on the structures team several times while employed by the National Transportation Safety Board. He scanned the large diagram next to the exit and located the four most probable structural points fo
r Khan to use. Jake knew if Khan blew out the main supports, the superstructure of the museum could collapse. He ripped the diagram from the wall and set out to locate the bombs, or Khan, but preferably, both.
CHAPTER 69
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM of Natural History was a large complex consuming an entire city block. Its subbasement was a concrete maze of tunnels, pipes and wiring. Conduits ran along the ceilings linking miles of electrical wiring to a hub located in the central part of the basement. The hub was housed inside a thick wire mesh cage with “HIGH VOLTAGE” placards mounted around the outside. The lighting was dim, air stale, and it reeked of mold and mildew mixed with rodent feces and urine. To his good fortune, a utility ladder was propped against a wall next to the exit door.
He grabbed the ladder and, using stolen blueprints of the building, located the first two major support columns. He attached the explosive devices to the concrete masses using black duct tape. The blueprints indicated the basement was roughly 600 feet by 600 feet. The support columns he’d identified were spaced 400 feet apart. He strapped the devices as high as possible near the junction of the pillars and the concrete ceiling. With the load bearing supports gone, the center section of the museum would collapse, pulling the exterior walls with it. His plan was to blow a crater in the building’s lowest level and allow gravity and failing structures weakened by the blast, to cave into the void, sucking down over four thousand men, women, and children into the bowels of New York City.
Artifact storage rooms lined the catacombs of concrete tunnels. Artifacts being recycled or damaged found their way into these rooms. Khan didn’t care, soon enough it would all be one big pile of rubble.
The Toymaker Page 26
