Replaceable: An Alan Lamb Thriller (16 page)

Chapter 21

Alan had taken
a cab to the Holiday Inn Express, thrown his suitcase on top of the bed, and then gone into the cramped hotel bathroom to splash cold water onto his face. If there had ever been a time when he felt like embracing sleep, this was it. But there was no time.

After he had freshened up, he made the trip over to JFK and met with the task force that had been assembled after Gant had informed the head of Homeland Security of the credible threat they had received regarding a possible terrorist attack on one of the airlines.

The task force met in a cramped conference room. It was sparsely furnished. The walls were lined with whiteboards. An analog clock hung high on the wall.

Besides Alan, four other men occupied the room.

Alvin Harper and Fred Hegge from the Department of Homeland Security; Marshall Evans, head supervisor for the TSA at JFK; Les Tetrault, Air Marshall; and Orin Wiens, General Manager of JFK.

Alan could feel the gaze of the other men on him. This was his ballgame. Reluctantly, he stood up and addressed the other men in the room.

This is exactly why I’ve never been interested in being an administrator. Public speaking has never been my strong suit.

He began the briefing. He broke down everything they had so far, including the other three bombings, if only to convey the message that the threat was real.

When he was finished, Orin Wiens said, “And you’re certain the Rome Airways flight is the terrorist’s primary target?”

Alan nodded. “That’s what the evidence suggests.”

“I’ll be on it,” Tetrault said.

“Like hell you will,” Wiens said. “There isn’t going to
be
any flight. We’ll cancel it.”

Alan said, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why’s that?”

Fred Hegge was in his late forties and completely bald. The dome of his head reflected the overhead fluorescents. When he stood up, he was taller than Alan had expected. “Because if they’re hellbent on getting a bomb on a plane,” Hegge said, “they won’t stop because you cancel one flight. They’ll just find a different plane. At least this way we know the specific plane they’re targeting.”

“And,” Alan said, “we want to catch these guys. This is our best chance to do that. It might be our only one. For once, we know where they’re going to be ahead of time.”

“Because
they
told you,” Wiens said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but do the bad guys normally let you know in advance where and when they’re going to attack?”

“Nothing’s a hundred percent certain. I’m not going to speculate as to why we’ve been given this information. For all we know, they’re overly confident in their ability to succeed in their mission. Maybe they’re throwing us a bone because they don’t think they can get caught. It doesn’t matter. We know where they’re going to be, we have to act on it. What we don’t know is
who
we’re looking for. Based on the details of the previous crimes that have taken place, it will likely be someone you know. Most likely an employee.”

“Do you know how many people work here?” Wiens asked. “Even with that information, it’s still like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

“I’ll brief my men,” Evans said. “They’ll be hyper vigilant for anything out of the ordinary.”

“Don’t,” Alan said.

“Don’t?”

“That’s exactly the thing I
don’t
want you to do. The perpetrator could be one of your men,” Alan said. “I’m not saying it is, but it could be. It could be anyone.”

Alan looked around at the roomful of doubtful faces.

One of these men could be in on it,
Alan thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
If Morrie Arti’s motive is to instill paranoia, then it’s working.

“So what then? We’re supposed to sit on our hands?”

“No. We’re going to be proactive, but we’re going to do it without sounding the alarm. Rome Airways departs at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“I want you to do everything the way you would do it any other day. Board the passengers as usual.” Alan glanced at the Air Marshall. “Tetrault, you’ll be on board the plane. Keep your eyes open for anyone suspicious.”

“And what if we get everyone on board and nothing’s out of the ordinary?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Alan said.

His answer didn’t sit well with the others. He didn’t like it much himself, but he was thinking that this was the endgame. If they didn’t catch their man this time, they might not get another chance.

“That’s wonderful,” Wiens said, slapping his hand down on the table. “You don’t want me to issue any alerts. You want me to put passengers on a flight that, according to your information, has been targeted for a terrorist attack. And then what? You want me to have it take off and risk it blowing up halfway across the Atlantic?”

“If we have to, we’ll cancel it. But that’s the last resort. Say there’s a mechanical issue if you have to. In each of the related cases, someone that worked for the company perpetrated the crime. They were all employees, including top ranking officers. They were able to pull it off without raising suspicion because they were all
above
suspicion. That’s been the game so far. There’s no reason to believe it would change now.”

“What are you thinking?” Tetrault asked. He was leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. His hair was starting to gray, but he looked formidable enough. “What’s the reasoning behind them providing you the intel?”

“I’m not sure. My guess is that they’re getting cocky. They’ve managed to get past us so far, and they don’t think it’s possible to get caught. Pointing us in the right direction amps up the risk level. They’re trying to make a statement.”

“Which is?” Wiens asked.

“That they’re smarter than we are.”

His cell phone rang around nine-thirty that evening. By that time, Alan had showered, shaved, and was sprawled out on the bed with the hotel TV playing in the background as he went over everything in his head. He couldn’t stifle the feeling that they were putting all their eggs in one basket. If they had been correct in deciphering Morrie Arti’s message, then the target was the single flight that departed JFK daily at 10:00 A.M. and landed in Rome eight hours later. Everything hinged on the assumption that they had interpreted the clue correctly. But even assuming that, the clue hadn’t provided a timeline. It could happen tomorrow or it could happen a month from now. That it hadn’t occurred on the day Alan had been given the letter meant that Morrie Arti had purposely given them enough time to decode the message. Alan kept coming back to the Sherlock Holmes story that the man had left for them on one of the confiscated computer hard drives. It had provided a clue just as he had known it would, but there hadn’t been a bomb. It was simply a clue that had led to another clue.

He tried to shove these thoughts out of his mind as he reached toward the end table and grabbed his ringing phone. It wouldn’t do any good to let doubt take over. They had a credible threat, and normal operating procedure dictated that they deal with it in the necessary manner. If it turned out to be a hoax…well, no harm, no foul.

Except it won’t be that easy. If I’m wrong…shit rolls downhill, and it runs
fast
. The guys that get the big paychecks don’t stand for embarrassment.

It was Lucy calling. As he answered it, he remembered that she had asked him to call her after he landed so that she would know that he was safe. The request had completely slipped his mind. He had been on the go ever since his plane had landed at LaGuardia.

Alan said, “I’m sorry,” when he answered the phone.

“I was worried,” Lucy said. “When you didn’t call…”

“I got wrapped up in things.”

“How are things going?”

“I feel like a man walking on thin ice that could break at any moment. I’m out of my element. What about you?”

“We’ve all got our fingers crossed. When I was leaving the office today, I’m pretty sure I saw Gant praying. I can’t say for sure, but that’s what it looked like.”

“We all deal with it in our own way, I guess,” Alan said.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” Lucy said. “I thought about consulting my psychic friend. Sometimes, he can tap into the higher energies and get a feel for things. He can sense if something bad is going to happen. I thought maybe it was worth a shot. Even though I know you don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo.”

“If it’ll help you sleep tonight, I say go for it. I need all the luck I can get.”

“I always wanted to work in the field, but things like this…I don’t know, Alan. I’m not sure I’d be cut out for it. I don’t know how you do it. Excuse my language, but I’d be scared shitless.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Just be safe. Okay?”

“I will.”

“Part of me wishes I was there with you. I probably wouldn’t be any help, but at least you wouldn’t be out there alone.”

“How’s Marvin?”

“Nice change of subject.”

“I get bored talking about myself.”

“He’s good, I guess. We’re supposed to go out tomorrow night.”

“Nervous?”

“Not really.”

“Something else to ask your psychic friend about,” Alan said. “You could kill two birds with one stone.”

“You laugh about it, but he’s saved me from a bad situation more than once.”

“I’m not laughing. Let me know what he says. Night, Lucy.”

“Goodnight, Alan.”

After he hung up the phone, Alan thought about Lucy and her psychic friend. He thought about how comforting it would be to be able to predict the future, and how maybe then he would have been able rest easy knowing his fate.

Chapter 22

5:30 A.M.

Alan woke to
the sound of his phone ringing. It should have been his alarm clock waking him at this hour, but it hadn’t been set to go off for another fifteen minutes.

“Good morning, Agent Lamb.”

It was Guy Bernard’s voice that greeted him. The man sounded a little too jovial for this early in the morning. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was up,” Alan said, sitting upright in bed, trying to shake off the grogginess.

“Bullshit. I can always tell when I’ve jolted someone out of their slumber.”

“You got me. Did you find anything?”

“
Nada
. I ran a check on every name on the manifest. Nobody stands out. A few passengers with priors, but nothing to write home about. Possession, disorderly conduct, a handful of DUIs. Otherwise, they’re all clean as a whistle.”

“It’s not what I was hoping for,” Alan said as he gathered his clothes with his free hand.

“Of course not. That would be too easy. I’ve got a guy out there I could send your way if you need the help?”

“That’s okay. It’s crowded enough. Already shaping up to be a royal clusterfuck.”

“Understood. It’s probably for the best, considering you’re already deeply indebted to me. I can only save your neck so many times.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Don’t go too far out of your way playing the hero today,” Guy said.

“Me?”

Guy chuckled. “You know what I’m saying. Watch yourself. Sounds like this guy might have it in for you.”

“I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Now you’re talking. I’ll be watching the news. I’ll even DVR it in case your ugly mug makes it on the tube. This could be your fifteen minutes.”

“If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be staying invisible.”

“This story is too full of ghosts as it is. Take care.”

There was something ominous about Guy’s parting words, but Alan couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
Ghosts, spooks, psychics, oh my!
Alan thought and finished getting dressed.

Alan could still see the security checkpoint from where he stood leaning against a marbled support beam not far from the Rome Airways departure gate. From his vantage point, he could see incoming passengers after they had gotten their shoes back on, collected their belongings, and were making their way to the gate’s waiting area. A dozen passengers were already seated in the connected chairs, and Alan scanned their faces, their clothes, and their carry-on luggage, searching for anything that might stand out. It was a useless exercise. Morrie Arti would be much too clever to reveal his hand.

One of these things is not like the other,
Alan thought as his eyes swept over the faces.

Or…

How many clones does it take to blow up an airplane?

Outside the window-walls, he could see the Rome Airways Airbus A330 taxiing up to the terminal gate.

It was 9:05 A.M.

There were 152 passengers scheduled to be on that days’ Rome Airways flight. According to Guy Bernard, he had run a background check on all 152 of them and had turned up nothing besides a handful of simple misdemeanors. Nothing that would cause them to scrutinize any of the passengers more closely. That had been another dead end in a seemingly never ending series of them.

Alan watched the faces as they passed through the security checkpoint. Not all of them were headed for the Rome Airways terminal gate, but he watched them anyway, searching for the slightest clue that one of them might be the person they were looking for.

Wiens’s words from the day before echoed through his brain like an omen.
Needle in a haystack,
Alan thought.

He glanced around at the passengers that were already seated in the gate’s waiting area. Among them, he saw Air Marshall Tetrault, who had busied himself with ostensibly skimming through a magazine, but Alan caught the man stealing glances every so often, keeping an eye on the other passengers as they arrived at the gate.

Where are you?
Alan thought.
Better yet,
who
are you?

He shifted his weight to his other foot as he leaned against the pillar.

How long had he been standing there? Forty-five minutes? An hour?

At least that.

When he had first arrived, the waiting area had been entirely empty. Now there were over a dozen souls occupying the seats. Several teenagers were sitting at one of the tables, their tablets plugged into the outlets, earbuds poking out of their ears as they moved their heads to whatever music they were listening to.

Alan had spent a good deal of this time questioning his own judgment. Maybe Orin Wiens had been right; maybe they should have canceled the flight altogether. Whether the threat turned out to be credible or not, it would have been the safest play.

But Alan had had his own reason for wanting to keep it business as usual. He wanted Morrie Arti and he wanted him badly. And not only because he wanted to see justice done, but also because he wanted answers. He wanted to know why the man had singled him out; why he had addressed a letter to Alan personally and provided them clues on where to find it.

Why wouldn’t he single you out? You’re the lead investigator in the case. Who else would he leave a letter for?

While it was true that he was the lead investigator, he was most definitely not the man in charge. If he wanted to ruffle feathers, he could have addressed the letter to Gant, or, better yet, Deputy Director Strickland. Those were the men in charge; the actual decision makers. If your intent was to make waves, you started at the top of the totem pole.

But he chose you…

Alan was all too aware of that fact.

Maybe he’s looking for his next fall guy,
a soft voice whispered in Alan’s head.
He’s got McKay by the twig and berries, maybe you’re next.

When things went sideways, shit tended to roll downhill. Strickland would know how to squirm out of a tight spot. Gant might be in the line of fire, but all eyes would be on Alan. The mastermind behind all of this had left a letter for him specifically. If he successfully completed his endgame, Alan had a feeling that most of the tough questions would be directed at him. And he wouldn’t have any answers.

9:20.

The waiting area seats had started to fill up. Alan hadn’t noticed anything suspicious. His eyes flicked over luggage, backpacks, laptop cases, electronic devices.

Who was it? Who would Morrie Arti choose?

152 passengers. 152 potential suspects.

Which one?

Who are you?

It would have been easier to cancel the flight. It was senseless to take risks with innocent lives.

There’s still time,
Alan thought.
If they get everyone on board and we’ve still come up empty, I can still give the order to cancel the flight. There’ll be some pissed off folks, but pissed off is better than dead.

All of this rested on the belief that the attack would be carried out that day; that Morrie Arti wasn’t pulling a bait-and-switch, and instead of a day, maybe the attack would come at some point in the future. Tomorrow, the next day, or next week. Or, worse yet, maybe he had targeted another flight altogether.

Alan didn’t believe it. The man had always been one step ahead, but he had always played fair. The man wasn’t a cheater. Somehow, Alan was sure of that. As sure of it as he was that the attack would happen today and not tomorrow or at some random point in the future.

Alan glanced in Tetrault’s direction. Tetrault was staring at him. When he saw Alan, he gave him a little nod of his head. Almost imperceptible, but Alan caught it nonetheless. The gesture said,
All’s quiet on the western front.

He went back to watching the faces as they passed him.

Where are you?

It’s was now 9:40.