Fear City

  * * *

  11:30 A.M.

  Ramzi saw smoke billowing a block ahead. The policemen directing the traffic began to run toward it. Just then a bus began pulling away from the curb. Ramzi darted in behind it. He had a clear view of the General Assembly and Secretariat.

  Perfect.

  He set the brake and grabbed the butane lighter waiting in the cup holder. He lit all four fuses at once, then jumped from the van and locked it.

  Traffic on First Avenue had ground to a complete halt, so he had no trouble weaving between the stopped cars.

  Ten minutes … ten minutes to detonation. By that time he would be safely away, waiting for the thunder that would put him in the history books.

  * * *

  11:30 A.M.

  “What kind of rounds y’packin’?” Burkes said.

  Jack wasn’t sure what he meant. “Nines.”

  “Hardball or hollow-point?”

  “Hardball.”

  Burkes grimaced. “Listen, if you get close enough to one of them, use this.”

  He handed Jack some leather thing about a foot long. Jack took it. Heavy.

  “What—?”

  “It’s a lead sap. A hardball round can go through your target and hit an innocent. The place is crawling with kids. I mean, if it’s you or him, then shoot. But if he’s in reach, knock the shit out of him with that.”

  Jack lifted it by the handle and winced as he slapped it gently against his knee.

  “Man, that’ll crack a skull like an egg.”

  “Indeed it will. And don’t hold back when you swing. You want him to go down and stay down. If—”

  He stopped and gaped through the windshield at a plume of smoke rising from the vicinity of the 44th Street intersection.

  Both Jack and Burkes were out in seconds. Looking across the hood, Jack figured the MI6 man’s puzzled expression mirrored his own.

  “That can’t be the bomb.”

  Burkes shook his head. “No explosion. Got to be—”

  “A diversion!” Jack said as he saw the patrolmen hoofing toward the smoke. “No, wait! It’s jammed the traffic. That means—”

  “They’re here! But where?”

  Jack searched the half dozen lanes of honking traffic for—what? What were the fuckers driving? Movement upstream caught his eye. A dark-skinned guy with an untrimmed beard wove through the paralyzed vehicles. He glanced around and Jack saw his face, his eyes …

  Manson eyes.

  Jack pointed. “That guy there! I’ve seen him before. He’s one of them. Shit, he’s on foot! That means—”

  “—he’s parked the truck somewhere! Has to be by the curb over there! Go!”

  Jack pointed toward Manson Eyes as he retreated. “What about—?”

  “Forget him. We’ve got to find that truck!”

  As they wove across the street Jack spotted a Ford Econoline van parked against the curb between two buses unloading hordes of kids. HERTZ ran along the side.

  “There!”

  With Burkes close behind he raced to it and grabbed the handle.

  “Locked!”

  Burkes pulled his Sig and gripped it by the barrel. “Look away!”

  The driver’s window spiderwebbed with the first blow and shattered with the second. When a familiar chemical reek stung Jack’s nostrils, he knew they had the right truck.

  Burkes reached through and popped the lock. Jack yanked open the door and crawled inside. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings: the cargo bay was stacked floor to ceiling with reeking cardboard boxes. He saw the tops of three metal cylinders like acetylene tanks. Then he spotted the plastic tubing—four strands of it—similar to what he’d found in the garage this morning, except this was all scorched inside. Smoke leaked from the ends.

  Fuses! He’d never guessed it came in plastic tubing.

  Christ, how much time did he have? And why four? Why not just one? He glanced out the passenger window and saw nothing but kids—wall-to-wall kids.

  Suddenly the kids were blocked by Burkes opening the door. His eyes did a Tex Avery bulge when he saw the boxes.

  “Jesus cunting Christ!”

  “Tell those kids to run!”

  Burkes shook his head. “Won’t be any use, lad,” he said, his gaze fixed on the load of boxes. “You can’t run from this.”

  “Then we’ve got to stop it.”

  Jack began pulling on the fuses—all four at once.

  “Do you ken what you’re doing?” Burkes said, his accent thickening. “Do you have the slightest idea?”

  “Only what I know from movies. A fuse goes to a detonator. Disconnect the two and no explosion.”

  “Unless the disconnecting triggers one.”

  Jack glared at him. “Just what I need to hear.” He paused, sweating. “So, if I do the wrong thing, we’re history. But if I do nothing, we’re also history.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “Not much of a choice. Let’s chance the wrong thing.”

  “Do something.”

  Ideally he could crawl onto the boxes, trace each fuse to its detonator, and disconnect it. But he didn’t know how long the fuses were and how much time he had—not much was probably a pretty good guess.

  He’d always admired the way Alexander had handled the Gordian knot, so …

  He twisted all four fuses around his hand and got a tight grip. With an inarticulate cry that he knew might be the last sound he’d ever make, he closed his eyes and yanked, putting as much of his body into it as he could manage in the confines of the front seat. Some resistance, and then a sudden release—and he was still in one piece.

  He began reeling in the fuses. They were long, but eventually he came to the burning portions. Three had pulled free from their detonators, one had not. A black tube with remnants of duct tape tagged along like a hooked fish. Jack pulled it from the fuse, then slumped, swallowing a sob of relief.

  “I’m too young to die,” Burkes said, sagging against the door frame.

  Jack had to laugh. “You are? What about me?” And then he realized—“Hey, there’s supposed to be two bombs. Where’s the second?”

  Burkes had his phone in hand. “Haven’t heard anything from the lads. I’ll give them a call.”

  While he was talking, Jack ran up and down the outside of the bus lane. No other van or panel truck by the curb, and every one he did see had a driver.

  Burkes was just ending his call when Jack returned.

  “Rob said they’ve found nothing, but a fair number of trucks and vans made a quick turn-off before their checkpoint. Could be that was the way they were headed in the first place, could be they had bales of contraband in the back, could be one was the second bomber.” He raised his phone again. “I’m going to have NYPD send its bomb squad here.”

  “Serve them a steaming platter of crow while you’re at it.”

  Burkes grinned. “You can count on that. It’s lunchtime, after all. It’ll be my treat.”

  Traffic remained at a standstill in front of the UN. The other truck might be stuck farther upstream.

  Jack pointed downtown. “I’m going to have a look that way.”

  Burkes nodded and began talking into his phone.

  Jack wove through the cars, looking for anything with an empty driver’s seat.

  * * *

  11:37 A.M.

  Kadir had come downtown on Second Avenue. As he passed 44th Street he saw traffic backed up and fire trucks heading toward the UN. Too early still for Yousef’s bomb to have exploded, so this must be Salameh’s doing.

  At least something had gone right.

  He continued downtown and noticed that eastbound traffic was backed up on 42nd Street as well. Up ahead he saw a similar backup of cars trying to turn east onto 40th. But 41st Street was empty, and its arrow pointed east. Most odd-numbered streets in the city ran west, but this appeared to be an exception. He turned into it.

  He soon understood why traffic wasn’t backed u
p on 41st—it didn’t run through. It dead-ended at a wall overlooking First Avenue near the downtown end of the UN complex. He’d wound up in the middle of a collection of apartment buildings called Tudor City. Detonating the bomb here would leave the UN unscathed. He looked at his watch: 11:40. Yousef’s bomb should be going off any second. Kadir had to get away from here.

  He raced uptown, crossing an overpass above 42nd Street—still jammed eastbound and nearly empty westbound. He turned onto 43rd, which took him west, away from the UN. What to do? He couldn’t get near the target.

  And then he remembered their first target. Let Yousef do what damage he could to the UN. Kadir would attack on a second front. Surely the Great Satan would feel itself under siege from all sides.

  * * *

  11:45 A.M.

  Jack found nothing. Every truck and van he passed had an angry or frustrated driver behind the wheel. So where was the second truck? If it wasn’t already here, he couldn’t see any way it could get here. And then he remembered something al-Thani had said on the recording of Dr. Moreau’s interrogation.

  Towers off-limits.

  What towers? The Trade Towers?

  Towering towers.

  Why are they off-limits?

  … Wouldn’t tell me. Nobody would tell me. Just that they mustn’t be damaged. So we diverted them.

  Christ. What if one of the bombers had just become undiverted?

  Jack ran for his car.

  * * *

  Noon.

  Kadir was so relieved to find Broadway.

  He had taken Second Avenue as far downtown as he could, then worked his way west. When he and Ayyad had come into the city via the Holland Tunnel they never had to deal with any of this. But he remembered seeing Broadway on their trip to the towers. Soon after he turned downtown he saw the towers dark against the sky, their tops lost in the swirling snow clouds.

  He wanted Tower One, the north tower. That was the one he and Ayyad had inspected, the one Ayyad said would fall into the second tower and bring both down. Kadir remembered where to place the van. He simply had to find the ramp to the parking garage.

  * * *

  Noon.

  They were on Chambers, heading west across Broadway, when Tommy began pounding on the back of Vinny’s seat.

  “That’s him!” he shouted. “I just saw the fucker!”

  “Where?” Aldo said. “I was watching every cab and—”

  “He wasn’t in no cab! He was in that yellow Ryder van heading down Broadway. And it wasn’t the redhead, it was the little weasel. Turn around! We got him! Do you fuckin’ believe it? We got him!”

  “I can’t turn around,” Vinny said. “It’s a one-way street.”

  “Fuck it! Turn around!”

  “Fuck that.”

  Vinny made a left on West Broadway—sure as hell got confusing down here—and raced along Warren back to Broadway. But no yellow van, Ryder or otherwise, was in sight.

  “We lost him!” Tommy shouted, pounding again.

  “Ease up on the upholstery. We’ll catch him.”

  Vinny found himself believing that. The goose they were chasing had suddenly become less wild.

  * * *

  Noon.

  Jack surged out of the Battery Park underpass and was rewarded with the sight of the snow-dimmed twin towers half a mile straight ahead, both upright and healthy looking.

  Instead of weaving down through the city, he’d steered Ralph onto the FDR and hooked around the southern tip of Manhattan. Longer in miles but much shorter in time when traffic was moving. He hoped he’d made up for the other bomber’s head start.

  The towers weren’t on the Cool Buildings list he was slowly compiling. In fact, he considered them a blot on the city’s skyline. But he wasn’t about to let any goddamn foreign terrorist bring them down. New York had adopted him—this was his city now—and no outsider was going to mess with it.

  Damned if he wasn’t going to enter his house justified.

  But first … what?

  He didn’t know what kind of truck he was looking for. The bombers had used an Econoline from Hertz for the front of the UN. Was the second a Hertz too? That would help, but he couldn’t count on it.

  And which tower—north or south?

  This was looking bad.

  * * *

  12:02 P.M.

  Kadir breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted the parking ramp for the north tower. Although he had been here only once before, it felt like coming home.

  He entered and maneuvered to the B-2 level, where he found an empty space against the wall, just as Ayyad had planned.

  * * *

  12:03 P.M.

  “There!” Aldo said, pointing ahead. “Ryder van turning onto that ramp.”

  “The garage?” Vinny said.

  He’d just turned onto West Street and hadn’t been looking.

  “Yeah-yeah,” Aldo said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Follow him in!” Tommy said. “We got him now.”

  Vinny didn’t know about that. “These towers are pretty fucking big. If he’s headed upstairs, we’ll never find him.”

  “Then we’ll find the van and wait for him to come back. Simple, huh?”

  “Yeah, as long as that’s the same van.”

  “It is,” Tommy said. “I feel it in my bones.”

  * * *

  12:07 P.M.

  Kadir set the brake, grabbed the lighter, and applied the flame to the ends of the fuses. When he was sure all four were burning, he locked the doors and dashed for the stairs up to street level. Once outside he would hurry uptown. He had plenty of time to put buildings between himself and the blast, but he wanted to be as far away as possible when the tower fell.

  He came out of the stairwell and spotted the ramp to West Street on his right. He trotted for that and had just reached the snowy fresh air when he heard a voice behind him.

  “Hey, asshole!”

  As he turned, a fist slammed into his face—once, twice.

  Blinded by pain, he staggered back and would have fallen if someone hadn’t grabbed him by the back of his jacket. A big black car pulled up, the rear door opened, and he was pushed inside. The man sitting there grabbed his throat and yanked his head up.

  “Hello, raghead.”

  Oh, no. The thug who had lent him the money. Kadir had thought he’d never see him again.

  “I … I…” What could he say?

  “I don’t suppose you have my money.”

  The bomb!

  “Please, we must be away from here!”

  He smiled. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Which means I get to beat the shit outta you.”

  “No way, Tommy,” said the big driver. “Not in my car, you don’t. Mess up your own ride.”

  The fuse … the ten-minute fuse. How long ago had he lit it?

  “We must go!” Kadir screamed.

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” the one called Tommy said as he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. “’Cause y’see, you and me we got this … this connection, y’know. It’s a very complex thing. It’s cosmic, it’s karmic, it’s … money.”

  Kadir turned, opened the door, and leaped. His foot caught on something and he fell, landing hard on the ramp. As he tried to get up, he was grabbed from behind and hurled against the sidewall. His head slammed against the concrete. Through the ringing in his ears he heard a third voice call from the car.

  “Vinny says throw him in the trunk and we’ll take him somewhere.”

  “Uh-uh,” Tommy said. “We got important stuff to discuss.”

  “Play your games somewhere else,” the driver said.

  “You don’t want it in your ride, we’ll do it right here.”

  “Fine. Have it your way. But I’m getting off the ramp. Meet us down on the street. We’ll pop the trunk when we see you comin’.”

  “Gotcha,” Tommy said.

  The feel of the cuff ratcheting closed around his wrist wrenched Kadir from
his daze. The bomb! They had to be away from here! Yousef had said the blast wave from the explosion would move at five thousand kilometers per second, and this ramp was the only escape valve for all that force. It would blow debris along here like a giant shotgun. He had to tell this man, this Tommy.

  “A bomb!” he screamed. “A bomb will explode.”

  Tommy sneered as he closed the other cuff over his own wrist. “You got that right. It’s about to explode in your gut.”

  Kadir tried to pull him down the ramp by the cuffs.

  “Please!”

  The hoodlum yanked him back. Pain exploded in Kadir’s gut as a fist rammed into his belly. He doubled over in agony.

  “Now, as I was saying before you so rudely tried to get away … you and me, we got this connection and it’s a very complex thing. It’s cosmic, it’s karmic, it’s—”

  The world exploded.

  * * *

  12:17 P.M.

  Jack had already made one pass by the north tower and then one by the south without seeing a suspicious van. He’d just turned onto West Street for a second look at north when the ground shook and the sky roared. Ralph bucked and reared like a stallion as flames, smoke, and concrete chunks of all shapes and sizes blew across the street fifty yards ahead of him, carrying two pinwheeling human bodies with them. Jack slammed on the brakes.

  Shit! The bomb.

  Too late.

  He stepped out of his car to see if he could help those two flying humans, and through the smoke he saw a pair who seemed to have the same idea. He continued forward a few steps but stopped when he recognized one of the others: big fat Vinny Donuts. What was he doing here? Then he recognized the other as his pal, Aldo.

  They both rushed to the bodies, checked them, then lifted them. Jack couldn’t identify the dead men—too much blood. Their bodies flopped limp as rag dolls, like every bone had been broken. Vinny and Aldo carried them toward a black Crown Vic. The strangest part of the bizarre sight was how the two bodies appeared joined at the wrist. Handcuffs?

  The trunk was already open and both bodies were dumped into it like sacks of potatoes.

  Why were a couple of Gambinos down here? Who were the dead guys? And why were they cuffed together? Jack wasn’t going to attempt to explain what he was watching.

  When Vinny slammed the lid shut, Jack saw that the Vic’s rear window was shattered. Blown out by the explosion?