The Toymaker (34 page)

“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 for 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

T
HE 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.

He strapped the third bomb into its strategic spot when he heard a noise and realized for the first time he wasn’t alone in the subbasement. Subconsciously he placed his hand on his weapon. Time was critical. Whoever had joined him down here was a potential threat. He was confident he hadn’t been followed and was certain whoever was in this foul-smelling environment with him was probably museum maintenance. But he’d been sloppy in Spain, let his guard down, left details unchecked, and was almost killed. As soon as he attached the last explosive, he planned to track down the intruder and remove him.

He moved to the fourth and final support pillar and readied the device. He detected movement along a far wall; he placed the device on the floor and leveled his gun—a rat. As he turned back to retrieve the device from the floor he detected movement in his peripheral vision, something moving toward his head.

† † †

From where Jake stood he had three choices, straight ahead into the middle of the basement, the corridor to the left, or the corridor to the right. According to the diagram, the corridor in the middle led to an electrical service unit containing breakers and the emergency shutdown panels, not a likely choice for Khan. The corridors to the left and right circled the perimeter of the basement and led to each of the main load-bearing support pillars. Which direction did Khan go?

Jake needed to deactivate as many of the devices as possible before he confronted Khan. Any slipup and Khan could send out the signal and all the remaining devices would detonate. He had to get this right the first time.

Over the course of the past few days, Jake had noticed two important characteristics about Khan’s habits; he always had a backup plan but, more important, he was predictable. Jake knew he could use that to his advantage to bring down the terrorist. Khan’s thinking was undeveloped, how he'd made it this far amazed Jake.

He knew his dilemma, did Khan go left or right? He needed to retrace Khan’s path disabling the devices along the way. Jake’s training taught him that inherent human behavior was typically predictable. When the masses came to a crossroad, 75% had a tendency to turn to the right. Odds Jake bet his life on.

He ran two hundred feet down the corridor to the right, making a counter-clockwise sweep through the subbasement to locate and neutralize the explosive devices. He located the first support column. Nothing. He didn’t know what to expect but he did expect to find something. He studied the column, tracing its lines from the floor to the black ceiling, noticing only that the top of the column appeared to be painted black. He started to move on when he realized it wasn’t paint, it was tape—black tape.

He retrieved a Maglite from a pocket of his cargo pants. He used it to locate the device and realized his next obstacle—the bomb was out of reach. How did Khan get up there? Jake looked around for something to stand on but found nothing. Just below the tape were metal electrical conduits and below that cast iron plumbing pipes. He jumped, stretching his fingertips as high as they would go but the pipes remained out of reach.

Only one thing left to do; use the column as a one-step ladder to gain the extra height he needed to grab the pipe. He stepped back five paces and ran at the column, placing the soles of his boot three feet from the floor and launching himself upward. His right hand grasped the pipe. The pipe shifted, water trickled from the joints, but he held on tight. He swung his left hand up, grasped the pipe, and pulled himself upward until he could reach the tape.

Hanging from the pipe with his left hand, Jake used his right hand to dig into his pocket and grab his knife. He opened it with the flick of his thumb, and sliced the tape. He pulled the tape loose, removed the device, disarmed it, and dropped to the floor, leaving the inert explosive device dangling from the tape at the top of the support column.

The next column in his counter-clockwise pattern was nearly four hundred feet down the dank corridor. When he reached the column he spooked a rat from its bunker and it scurried out of sight down the next corridor. He repeated the same procedure as before. In quick succession, he had defused the second apparatus and was running another four hundred feet to the next column. He realized he might be getting close enough for Khan to hear him so he altered his gait in an attempt to make less noise when he ran.

When he reached the third column, he stopped and gazed down the adjoining corridor leading to the fourth support. Khan. He noticed Khan was just over half way down the corridor with a utility ladder in one hand, a roll of tape in the other, and a backpack slung over his shoulder. He had to move fast. He’d rendered three of Khan’s bombs inoperative, one in the truck and two in the basement. Two left and then he’d worry about Khan.

Jake bolted up the third column and disarmed the device. He couldn’t run straight at Khan down the last corridor, the terrorist would see him and have time to detonate the remaining device.