Targets of Revenge (46 page)

Now Lasco could not resist peeking at the attaché.

“Nor is your role being diminished in any way, if that is your concern.”

Lasco’s face said there were other concerns. “These couriers from the mosque, I have been told they are carrying detonation devices.”

“They are,” Adina reluctantly admitted. Another breach in the chain of communication. “Why should that be a concern for you or your people?”

Lasco drew a deep breath. “Please be assured that our respect for you is of the highest order. We have taken risks and will be taking even greater risks, as you know. But our young men,” he continued, his voice even quieter now, “they are not suicide bombers.”

“Please,” Adina said with some alarm as he quickly looked around them, “be careful.”

“My apologies.” Lasco lowered his voice to a whisper. “All I am trying to say is that we have designed an operation from which all of us should walk away unscathed. The last-minute introduction of detonators, for purposes that have not been shared with us, is a matter of grave concern to the members of my inner circle.”

Adina sat back against the hard bench. The assault to be carried out by Lasco involved numerous automobiles, some of which had been rigged with combustibles that would only be triggered once his drivers were safely distanced from the point of attack. He could understand why the sudden appearance of detonators, especially in the hands of extremists, was troublesome. Perhaps Lasco’s men feared
they were to be made human sacrifices as the final stages of this terrorist strike were played out.

Adina actually began laughing just as the waitress brought his wine and placed two menus on the table.

Interrupting what she thought to be a jovial exchange between two friends, she said, “We have some specials, if you’d like to hear them now.”

“Later,” Adina said as he waved her away, then turned back to his companion. “I see why you are worried, I do, but be assured you have nothing to concern yourself about. The detonators are intended for another target entirely.” He was not about to divulge his plans for the six Al Qaeda operatives or the use of those timers with the cases of toxin.

It was evident that Lasco was not satisfied. “I take it you are not prepared to tell me about this other phase of your operation.”

Adina looked him squarely in the eyes, quickly gauging the impact of either refusing the man’s request or granting it. He said, “I trust you, and you must trust me. These items have nothing whatever to do with your objectives.” Now it was his turn to lower his voice. “Once you have accomplished what you set out to do, I have men setting up these devices within the financial district,” he lied. “To add to the destruction.”

Lasco nodded, wanting to believe him. “The financial district,” he repeated.

“Don’t you see, once your men have done their job, that area will be especially vulnerable. We could not bring those sorts of devices through Customs, so we enlisted the aid of our friends in the Bronx.” As Lasco mulled it over, Adina added, “I entrust this information to you and you alone. For the security of my men, it would be best if you did not tell anyone else.”

“Of course. You have my word.”

Adina tried to appear relieved at having put Lasco’s mind at ease. What Lasco was thinking, however, was something else entirely.

“Now let us talk about something pleasant. You have something for me,” Adina said as he gestured at the paper bag beside Lasco. “And I have your money.”

T
IMUR
V
AKNIN RECEIVED
word from his bouncers that it was safe to return to his nightclub. The authorities had made their move, as expected. Ferriello had arrived in the company of that annoying federal agent Sandor, this time brandishing a search warrant. After rummaging around his private office, they took Ivan in handcuffs and left.

Sudakov was an imbecile, he grumbled to himself as his driver turned onto the street behind the old building that housed Little Siberia. What sort of fool would endanger a hugely profitable business by becoming involved with the likes of Rafael Cabello? Did Sudakov really believe that the infamous Adina had abandoned terrorism for narcotics smuggling? What a jackass.

Now Vaknin and his club were being targeted by every federal authority from the FBI to the DHS. His organization and their operations had been placed under a microscope as never before.

Sudakov, you stupid bastard
.

The car came to a stop by the alley that led to the basement entrance. Vaknin needed to get to his office to see what had been taken and, perhaps more important, what remained. Not even Ivan knew of the existence of the safe he had installed beneath the floor. Hopefully that was intact, along with all the cash he kept there.

Taking the driver with him he strode quickly down the long, dark passage, removing the key from his pocket as he approached the rear door to the building.

————

From the rooftop across the street, the lookout for the third SWAT team spotted him. “We have visual confirmation,” the officer advised into his microphone.

“Is it Vaknin?” the team leader asked.

“That would be affirmative. Looks just like his picture. Walking toward the rear entrance with one other man.”

“Let’s move out,” the leader ordered.

Within moments Ferriello’s backup team, which had been parked down the street, was on foot with guns drawn, circling to the back of the building. The nearest SWAT team raced down from their third-floor rooftop for backup.

The four men from NYPD converged on the Russian just as he was putting his key in the basement door.

“Don’t make another move, Vaknin,” the lead officer said. “You’re coming with us.”

————

Sandor chose Ferriello’s car for their transportation, just in case they needed to get through any sort of secure area that became cordoned off. Even though it was unmarked, Ferriello’s car was credentialed. Trying to get through in Sandor’s old Land Rover would have wasted time.

They were sitting curbside in Foley Square, waiting for more information on the whereabouts of the six men from the South Bronx. Sandor looked around at the streetlamp-lit plaza, where any number of vans and trucks were parked. The scene provoked the thought that regularly haunted him—how do you protect a country as large and trusting and open-armed as the United States of America when any sick bastard can load a vehicle with explosives or biological weapons or even containers of gasoline, and then detonate it to murder and maim innocent people?

“It’s a sick world,” he said more to himself than to Ferriello.

“Tell me about it,” the policeman agreed.

Then Craig Raabe called.

“Talk to me.”

“The six suspects exited the subway at Times Square,” Raabe told him. “Crowded this time of night, so it’s been easy for the boys from DHS to keep tabs. They followed them directly to a hotel on Broadway.” He recited the name and address.

“That’s good work,” Sandor said. “Where are they now?”

“In the lobby. Just got word one of them is on the house phone.”

“We’re on our way.” He gave Ferriello the address and the detective threw the car in gear and pulled away.

“I’ve got more,” Raabe said. “A possible lead on Adina.”

“Go.”

“Hold on, the DD is joining us for this. Also patching in Bebon from the FBI.”

After a short pause, Sandor could hear a door closing in the background, then Byrnes was on the call with them. “You there Dick?” Byrnes asked the man from the Bureau.

“I’m on,” Bebon said.

“Go ahead,” the DD told Raabe.

“We got a hit from the CBP. They’ve been helping us with the airports, checking out private flights. We just got word that three men with passports from the Dominican Republic landed in a Citation at Wilmington this afternoon.”

“Wilmington as in North Carolina?” Sandor asked.

“Check. The passengers and crew went through Customs without a hitch. Flew on to Stewart Airport, up in Newburgh. We confirmed arrival about four hours ago.”

“Photos? Descriptions?”

“Hispanics. One middle-aged guy and two young bucks. We have photos, just had them circulated to everyone. You’ll get them on your phone.”

“No one’s had a picture of Adina for more than ten years,” Sandor reminded them. “For all we know he’s had plastic surgery.”

“Listen up,” Raabe said. “There was nothing suspicious about this flight, the crew, or the passengers. Nothing unusual found on the plane. But try this one on for size. Once we had the intel, we brought in State. One of our big boys contacted his opposite number in Santo
Domingo. Grabbed some mucky-muck away from dinner and had him run down the three names on their passports.”

“Don’t tell me. All phony?”

“Bingo. But the folks in Wilmington insist the passports were in order.”

“Meaning they could have been created by someone on the inside.”

“Tinkers to Evers to Chance,” Raabe said. “Maybe someone in Santo Domingo owed someone in Caracas a favor, and Adina needed an ID that would get him through Immigration.”

“Forgeries straight from the source. And the in-flight phone call that was intercepted . . .”

“Was to an airplane we fixed as someplace off the coast of South Carolina.”

“So the timing fits?”

“Like a glove. The call was made less than an hour before this Citation touched down in Wilmington.”

As Ferriello sped north on Centre Street he was getting the gist of this new intel. “Where are these three now?” he asked.

Raabe heard the question. “According to some guy working in the private terminal at Stewart, they picked up two rental cars and took off about three hours ago. The older man stuck around for a while, then left by himself. The other two left together shortly after they touched down.”

“I don’t want to rely on ‘some guy,’ ” Sandor said. “Sir, if this is Adina,” he said to the DD, “there’s no one in that airport that’ll be safe if he suspects we’re onto him.”

“I have a team on the way there now,” Bebon told them.

“Sir, with all respect, when your men approach they’ll need to keep an extremely low profile until we have more information. That sonuvabitch can smell trouble from a mile off.”

“Understood,” Bebon agreed.

“I assume the jet is still there,” Byrnes said.

“Correct,” Raabe told them.

“Any flight plan filed for a departure?”

“None,” Raabe said. “But the guy inside the terminal said the crew mentioned they expected to leave in the morning.”

“How big is the crew?”

“Two men.”

“Get me the names, I’ll have them checked out,” Bebon said. “Find out if they’re legit or part of Adina’s team.”

Sandor broke in again. “We’ve got to let the tower know that plane should not be permitted to take off under any circumstances. Use whatever excuse they have to.”

“Done,” Bebon responded.

Sandor still didn’t like the way things were playing out. “We need to lock the place down without Adina or his men getting a whiff of what we’re doing. That’s not going to be easy.”

Before anyone could respond, Ferriello’s phone buzzed. He connected the call, listened for a moment, then turned to Sandor. “They’ve got Vaknin,” he said.

“Keep me posted on what goes on up there,” Sandor said. “They’ve taken Vaknin into custody and I need to hear what he has to say.”

“Get back to us right away,” Byrnes said.

“We’re getting close to the hotel. I’ll report back.”

R
EGARDLESS OF THE
fact that Manhattan is the world’s most famous island, people tend to forget that it is, in fact, an island. It is joined to the outside world by four tunnels and sixteen bridges.

The Holland and Lincoln tunnels connect to New Jersey. The Brooklyn Battery Tunnel leads to Brooklyn, the Queens Midtown Tunnel to Queens.

The regal George Washington Bridge is the only over-water connection to New Jersey. Three bridges lead back and forth to Brooklyn: the eponymous Brooklyn Bridge, the Williamsburg Bridge, and the Manhattan Bridge. Only one leads directly to Queens, the 59th Street Bridge, with the Triboro Bridge connecting Manhattan with both Queens and the Bronx. Ten other bridges connect to the Bronx: the Henry Hudson, 225th Street, Alexander Hamilton, University Heights, 181st Street Washington, 145th Street, Macombs Dam, Willis Avenue, Madison Avenue, and the Third Avenue bridges.

This arrangement had long been a source of fascination for Rafael Cabello. There was obviously no airport on the island, only a couple of heliports, and a handful of water taxis and ferries. What if every one of those bridges and tunnels were suddenly and violently destroyed? Or temporarily obstructed? Where would people go, how would they escape? How would they react to the sense of isolation?

A thrilling rescue by water followed the destruction of the World Trade Center towers, but that was a unique situation, and the damage to those skyscrapers was confined to a limited area of Manhattan. If, however,
every bridge and tunnel around the island were rendered impassable in a coordinated strike, panic would reign as droves of New Yorkers would instinctively flee toward the subway and train systems. They would crowd into terminals, flood stairwells, and squeeze into subway stations.

Which would render them absolutely vulnerable to a biological attack.

That was the genius of Adina’s plan, inspired by Hurricane Sandy, when he saw the chaos after some of Manhattan’s bridges and tunnels were closed. He would now shut them
all,
a first devastating wave of terror that would set the stage for a second, even more deadly assault.

He mulled over the details once more as he sat alone, enjoying a relaxed dinner. Miguel Lasco had gone on his way with his money in hand and the assurance that his share of the cocaine would be delivered in just a few days. The important thing, Adina reminded him, was to successfully implement the first phase of this operation.

Lasco admitted that he was still worried about the involvement of this group from the Bronx, but Adina did what he could to allay those concerns. He explained again they had nothing to do with the scheduled assault on the bridges and tunnels, which was the truth.