by Jeff Gulvin
‘OK, let’s move.’ Sidetrack hefted his pack and led the way back along the edge of the arroyo towards the hills and the railbed beyond it. ‘Four-String,’ he said. ‘Stick close to me. The state troopers patrol round here of a night-time.’
When they were gone, Penny rolled on his back and looked up at the stars. He had counted fifty packages in all. He recognised the oiled paper used by manufacturers of explosive and figured the packages were about two pounds apiece. Getting to his feet, he stripped off the gilly suit and followed the hobos back down the trail. He passed the stand of cottonwoods where Harrison’s truck was parked, but he could not see it, which meant they couldn’t either. He followed them through the scrub and the clumps of crested wheat-grass as far as the railbed. He kept fifty yards behind them and could make out their movement by the line of shadows against the sky. The land beyond the arroyos was flat and broken by cactus and sagebrush, lending an eerie edge to the night. When they hit the tracks, they paused, then moved to the east where the tracks curved round the dry lake. There, they sat and waited. Penny checked their position in his head and then cut his path back to the truck.
Jean had got back in the cab. She did not see Penny coming back until he arrived and opened the passenger door. She jumped, hand to her throat momentarily, and he smiled at her. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘But I had to be quiet.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘They’ve made some kind of collection and now they’re back at the tracks waiting for a train. He took the railroad map that Harrison had given to Jean and checked the coordinates of their position. Then he picked up the phone and called Swartz. He related what had happened; and Swartz told him that Paulie Caulfield had led them on a wild-goose chase into town, then to a bar and finally back to his house. ‘I’m gonna keep him under surveillance,’ Swartz said. ‘Sooner or later, he’ll go to the munitions dump.’
‘Yeah, well in the meantime, somebody else did.’ Penny gave Swartz the hobos’ position and what track they were camped beside. ‘I’m gonna set up a lay-up point,’ he said. ‘Make sure I know what train they’re getting on, the number and everything. In the meantime, check with Burlington Northern and see what they can tell us about the times and destinations.’ He paused. ‘They transferred a whole buncha packages, Andy. My guts tell me explosives. Two delivery boys, and Johnny Buck right up there on the truck with them.’
‘Why do you figure Caulfield didn’t supervise the drop?’ Swartz asked him. ‘From what we got from D.C., he likes to do the quartermaster routine himself.’
‘I don’t know, Andy. But we’re gonna need fixed wing on that train all the way to wherever.’ He paused then. ‘I’m gonna follow it myself. If they switch trains, the overhead might not pick them up.’
‘OK. You want back-up?’
‘Sure. The more eyes on target, the better.’
He put the phone down and started the engine. ‘There’s a better place to park up, Jean. I’m gonna leave you with the truck again and go back to my lay-up point. I need to know exactly when they get on the train.’
Harrison smoked another cigarette, but it tasted foul and he considered quitting once and for all as he flipped it away in the darkness. Sidetrack was sitting against a rock with one arm draped over his backpack, as the dawn sent out orange feelers in the east. Limpet sipped water. Hooch and Carlsbad just sat and watched the distant lights of the train rolling in from the west. Harrison looked at Sidetrack, but Sidetrack was looking at a patch of grey dirt and neither of them said anything. The wind was cold and Harrison pulled his jacket more tightly about him, turning the collar up under his ears.
The train drew closer and Carlsbad hauled his massive bulk to his feet. ‘Could do with some breakfast,’ he muttered.
Harrison stood up next to him. ‘You and me both, bro.’ They watched the headlight breaking open the country in front of the train and now they could hear the thunder of iron wheels on the track.
‘Hope that mother slows some before it gets to us,’ Carlsbad muttered.
Fachida Harada took the metro into the Federal Triangle, dressed once again as a woman. His hair was now longer than it had been when he was the girl who had shot the Fairfax County trooper. He carried a small purse on a strap, which hung from his shoulder, but no other bag. He got out opposite the Old Post Office building, just off Pennsylvania Avenue. Traffic was busy, so he had to wait to cross the street. He then walked up to the corner and stared at the weird-shaped windows of the Hoover building. The flags were fluttering in the light breeze and he counted the black-uniformed FBI police who were posted at various stations round the building. His face betrayed no emotion. He looked at the watch on his slim wrist and made his way to the Hard Rock Café. Harada had been here once before, but that had been three months ago, and he realised, as he walked in, he had given himself a problem. He paused by the door, glancing across at the counter, then made his way to the toilets. He wanted the men’s room, but now he was a woman, and the ramifications had not fully dawned on him until he had got on the metro that morning. Looking left and right, he took a breath and walked into the men’s room. Nobody. He smiled and entered the first cubicle. The door closed behind him and he took a screwdriver from his purse and opened the cistern inspection hatch. Two minutes later, the bomb was primed. He replaced the hatch and walked outside.
Nobody took a blind bit of notice of him: how utterly complacent, when on two occasions already he had brought their city to a standstill. There were more police on the street, and some cars were still being stopped, but America was a business and business rolled on. Jack Swann was seated in the lobby of the Four Seasons hotel on 9th Street, where he and Logan had bought some lunch. She was in the toilet and he was waiting for her. He sat reading a copy of the Washington Post and looked up briefly when an attractive Asian woman walked in off the street. He looked at the paper again, then folded it away and got up to stretch his legs.
He glanced at his watch and clicked his tongue against his teeth. ‘Come on, Cheyenne.’ He wandered, hands behind his back, through the lobby, and as he passed the toilets, the door to the men’s room opened and the Asian woman walked out. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, then head down, she scurried out to the street.
Swann smiled to himself and shook his head. This country, he thought. Then all at once, he froze.
He raced for the door and stopped, looking left and right. People milled about the spacious sidewalks, but there was no sign of the woman. Cabs eased up and down on either side of the road. Swann turned and looked back towards Pennsylvania Avenue, and the explosion tore at his ear drums. He felt the shock wave and windows shattered in buildings barely fifty yards from where he was knocked against the wall. The doorman staggered, losing his hat, and the rush of wind tore at the awning over the entrance. Down the street, cars piled into one another and smoke billowed. People were screaming, that terrible high-pitched screeching that only shock can bring. Swann stared for a second and then dashed into the lobby. He almost ran into Logan.
‘Thank God,’ he said.
‘Jack, a bomb just went off.’
‘Chey, we’ve got to clear this hotel.’
‘Why?’
‘Harada just primed one here in the men’s room.’
‘Jack?’
‘No time, Cheyenne. Come on.’
They went up to reception and Logan stuffed her shield under the receptionist’s nose and demanded to see the manager. He was already on their side of the counter, having appeared as soon as the blast was heard.
‘I’m Special Agent Logan,’ she said. ‘You need to evacuate this hotel and you need to do it now.’
‘But …’
‘Listen,’ Swann cut in. ‘There is a bomb in the men’s room. You just heard that one down the road. Well, you’ve got one too.’
The man stared at him for a moment, then picked up the house phone on the desk. A lot of people had already come down to the lobby and were milling about the entrance, trying to
see what was going on.
Swann went into the dining room and calmly told everyone to get up and leave as quickly as possible. ‘Do not pick up any belongings,’ he said. ‘Do not go to your rooms. Get outside and keep going north until you are at least two hundred yards away.’
Logan was still in the lobby, on the phone to the field office. A minute earlier, the Tannoy system had been in operation, requesting that everyone vacate the premises with immediate effect. Swann looked at his watch: four minutes since Harada had left the building. He figured that gave them between six and eleven minutes until detonation. Harada was wandering round the city, priming devices he must have planted months before. If he were on foot, he would need fifteen minutes to clear the area. But he might not be on foot.
Swann grabbed Logan. ‘Get out of here now, Chey.’
People were piling down the stairs and streaming out of the lounge and dining room. The manager, at Swann’s request, had expressly forbidden use of the elevators and the stairs were jamming up. Swann stood at the bottom, ushering people across the lobby until the flow dwindled and then finally stopped. Again, he looked at his watch. The ten-minute mark had passed. He looked at the manager. ‘Is everybody out?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, you can’t go up and check.’ Swann bundled him towards the door.
On the street pandemonium ruled; people were running this way and that. Cars were backed up and some of them had been abandoned. Police officers down on Pennsylvania Avenue were trying to take control of the first bomb scene. Logan grabbed Swann’s hand and they headed away from the hotel, pushing people before them. Swann looked at his watch. ‘I reckon we’ve got four minutes.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because like a dumbfuck I watched him come out of the men’s toilet dressed as a woman. It didn’t register until he was on the street. I chased after him, but he was gone. Then the first bomb went off.’
Logan looked him in the eye. ‘No warnings,’ she said.
Four minutes later, they were at the field office and the explosion sucked oxygen from around them. The noise was more muffled than the previous one, but windows shattered and concrete was flayed from the buildings on 5th Street. Swann looked back, one hand to his ears, as he felt the sudden heat on his skin. ‘I hope we got them all out.’
Logan was clutching his arm. ‘Christ, Jack. If you hadn’t been in the lobby …
Swann felt the shiver gather at the nape of his neck and race down his spine to disappear in his buttocks. He opened his mouth to let the air escape from his chest. ‘Let’s get upstairs,’ he said.
Every phone in the building seemed to be ringing when they appeared on the squad floor. Kovalski was there with Carmen McKensie. He looked up at Logan. ‘The Four Seasons,’ he said. ‘Did you get everyone out?’
‘We think so.’ Logan leaned on the desk. She told him exactly what had happened and Kovalski looked at Swann. ‘You didn’t see where the woman went?’
Swann shook his head. ‘She was gone when I got outside. I should have worked it out immediately, a woman in the men’s room.’
Kovalski made a face. ‘Forget about that. You did a good job.’ He sucked a breath. ‘Damn this sonofabitch.’
‘Tom.’ McKensie got up from where she was sitting, with a phone cupped in her hand. ‘It’s the Director for you.’
Swann went to the window and looked out. Round here, there was not much activity—Judiciary Square was pretty empty, most people leaving the federal area by the major routes and bridges. He looked at the TV screen on the wall and watched the news broadcasting the carnage. Paramedics were at the first scene, the Hard Rock Café, but there was panic in the air. Two bombs and no warnings. Just then, he heard a third explosion. He thought about the ring of steel the task force had been implementing and how easily Harada had breached it. The stop-and-search procedure had been completely circumvented. Logan came alongside him.
‘Chey,’ he said. ‘This took a whole lot of planning. I really don’t think Harada could have done it all by himself.’
Harada got out of the taxi by the old airmen’s and soldiers’ home and crossed the street to the self-storage lot. He walked the length of the units, nodding to a couple of workmen, and entered the one adjacent to where the security truck was housed. Inside, he stripped off his wig and tore at the buttons of his jacket. He had a long drive ahead of him. Quickly, he showered and changed into his grey suit, then rolled up the door and backed out the blue Ford he had bought to replace the grey sedan that every cop in Fairfax County was looking for. He parked, then got out of the car to close the door.
Across the street, Charlie, the old soldier, squeezed the nurse’s hand. ‘See that,’ he said. ‘Happens every time.’
‘I only saw a man come out, Charlie,’ she told him gently. ‘A man in a blue car.’
‘Yeah, but he’s a Jap, goddammit. I told you. You just think I’m stupid on account of having lost my legs. But I ain’t stupid. No, sir. Not when it comes to the Japs.’
‘Charlie.’
‘It was a woman that went in and a guy that come out. I know what I seen. It’s my legs that’s gone, not my damn eyes.’
The TV set was on behind them and the newscaster was describing how Detective Inspector Swann of Scotland Yard had witnessed the Japanese woman coming out of the men’s room in the Four Seasons hotel. Charlie wheeled himself round, and he and the nurse both stared at the screen.
‘The FBI have already alerted the public to the fact that Fachida Harada was dressing as a woman,’ the newscaster went on. ‘If Inspector Swann had not been there and recognised the signs, hundreds more people would have been killed. The woman is described as small, Asian and wearing a long black wig. It is believed she made her escape in a taxi.’
‘See!’ Charlie said it with such venom that spittle flew from his lips. He jabbed a finger at the window. ‘I seen her get out of a cab right there. She goes inside and he comes out. It’s Pearl Harbor all over again.’ He grabbed the nurse’s sleeve. ‘Dammit, woman. Call the FBI.’
Logan was manning the telephones. Swann was manning the telephones. He took a call from a cab driver who said he had picked up a Japanese woman outside the Four Seasons at the time given on the TV. ‘Where did you take her?’ Swann said.
‘I dropped her up on North Capitol, by the soldiers’ and airmen’s home.’
‘OK. Thank you. Can you come into the field office and make a statement?’
‘Sure I can. Just as soon as the traffic dies down.’
Swann put down the phone and looked at Logan. ‘I’ve got a location,’ he said.
The phone rang again and McKensie picked it up and listened. ‘Oh, yeah,’ she said. ‘He’s phoned us a couple of times.’
‘Well, I think he might be right this time,’ the nurse said in her ear.
The three of them rushed upstairs to where Kovalski was back in his office, the door wide open, and agents and other members of the task force bustling in and out.
Kovalski was on the phone and Logan leaned over the desk. He flapped a hand at her and hung up the phone. ‘Goddammit, Logan.’ He looked at Swann. ‘How the hell do you put up with her?’
‘We might have a lead,’ Logan said.
They drove out of the federal area, siren wailing, blue lights flashing, carving a path between the vehicles jamming the roads and sidewalks. Kovalski had summoned a helicopter and the SWAT team was already rolling. He commanded the largest force of SWAT-trained agents outside the Hostage Rescue Team and half of them were deployed by Blackhawk chopper. Logan and Swann were almost at the self-storage complex. To save time, the nurse had agreed to bring Charlie to the gates of the home, so he could show them exactly what he had seen.
They parked on the kerb, as she wheeled the old, frail-looking man through the gates. Swann and Logan got out of the car and Charlie looked out of liquid eyes at them.
‘Goddammit, a woman,’ he muttered. ‘And she’s black, too.’
The nurse looked apologetically at Logan, who ignored the comments and knelt down by the old man’s chair. ‘You must be Charlie.’ She offered him her hand. ‘I’m Agent Logan. This is Jack Swann from London.’
‘London.’ Charlie frowned stiffly at Swann. ‘What’s a damn limey doing here?’
Swann smiled at him. ‘Learning the ropes, Charlie.’
‘Aha.’ Charlie nodded. ‘I gotcha.’
‘What did you see, Charlie?’ Logan asked him gently.
He brought his other hand out from under the blanket that covered his withered legs and laid a notebook on his lap. ‘It’s all in here. Dates, times, the whole damn report.’
‘May I?’ Logan reached for it.
‘I want it back, lady. Got to get it to the general.’
‘Of course.’ Logan took the book and stood up. Swann moved to her shoulder and together they flicked through the pages. Charlie had drawn a map of the storage complex and marked out two units in red. He noted that a man arrived in one, but he never saw anyone arrive for the next unit along. Yet that unit was opened up and the red C U SAFELY truck came in and out. Nobody ever left the first unit, but at the end of most days, a little Japanese man in a suit drove a grey sedan away. Recently, Charlie had seen a woman going in and out instead of the man.
Swann stared at Logan. ‘Where’s that SWAT team?’ he asked. ‘I think you’re going to need them.’
‘There ain’t nobody there,’ Charlie said from behind them. ‘It’s why I made her call you.’ He nodded to the nurse. ‘I saw the woman go in from the yellow cab and the man drives out in a blue Ford.’
‘You didn’t get the index number,’ Swann said.
‘What’s that?’
‘The licence tag, Charlie,’ Logan said.
He shook his head. ‘Can’t read that far. You don’t need no SWAT team. There ain’t nobody there.’
They crossed the street and entered the storage lot. As they did, the Blackhawk swooped down from above them and the SWAT team fast-roped to the ground. Logan stopped and ushered Swann back.
