Alex Kava - Black Friday

There were a lot of things about this case that didn't add up, no matter how hard she tried to look for the obvious. Smokescreens, kidnapping, hired bombers and secret organizations.

Kunze had mentioned Occam's razor and now Maggie remembered another adage: Don't speculate about hypothetical components. The simplest answer was usually the correct one. Was Phoenix the simplest answer or mere speculation? Was it possible that they were headed to the wrong airport? Could the Project Manager have chosen Las Vegas?

She shifted in her captain's chair, sank the back of her head into the soft leather and closed her eyes. One thing A.D. Kunze didn't quite understand and William of Occam would never have considered or included in his principle was exactly what Maggie counted on—gut instinct. She'd bet her life on it any day of the week and hopefully she could count on it one more time.

Everything had gone smoothly. No more glitches. Asante was pleased.

The crew in Minneapolis had disbanded, destroying or taking with them anything that could be incriminating. And if they had gotten sloppy, or even if they were detained, it didn't matter. None of them had met him or seen what he looked like. They knew absolutely nothing about him. He had a new SIM card in his cell phone. He'd even reprogrammed his computer. The numbers they had been using to reach him, no longer existed. There was no way to connect any of them to Asante, which was just another mark of a brilliant project manager. Even members of his crew were cutaways. No one would be able to reach him now. Not the people he'd hired, nor the men who had hired him. Everything was in place.

The white Chevy TrailBlazer he'd chosen from the Las Vegas airport's long-term parking lot had proven to be a comfortable ride. It had also been a plus that the SUV didn't have an OnStar navigation system. The owner had accidentally left a printout of his flight itinerary on the passenger seat. He wouldn't be returning until the following week.

As extra insurance, before Asante left the parking lot he drove around until he found another white Chevy SUV. The second one was an older model Chevy Blazer, but it had served his purpose. He exchanged the two SUVs' license plates easily in the middle of the night with no one around to notice.

Asante had driven straight through, all three hundred and fifty-nine miles with only one interruption. He'd exited his route to stop at a storage facility a few minutes after crossing the Nevada/Arizona border. The entire trip had taken him just over six hours.

Now he ate dinner in his hotel room, a feast by room service standards. He could see the airport from his window, continuous blinking lights as the last of the evening flights came in and went out. That was one thing he liked about Phoenix. You could see forever without buildings getting in the way. He wondered if the blast tomorrow morning could be seen from this very window.

Asante finished the last of his dessert, wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin and shoved the tray aside. Standing, he could see the hotel's parking lot from this window, too. The Pullmans were in the Chevy TrailBlazer, packed and ready. Everything else he needed for tomorrow he had pulled from his duffel bag and laid out on the second double bed.

He fingered the Carolina Panthers baseball cap. It was beginning to show some wear though he'd taken good care of it over the years. He'd never watched a Panthers game in his life. In fact, he'd bought the cap at a convenience store in Junction City, Kansas. It had been an impulse buy at the time. Asante didn't believe in lucky charms but this ordinary ball cap had come close to being one.

He rubbed his hands together and glanced around the room. Everything was in place. No glitches. He'd get a good night's sleep.

Sunday, November 25

Sky Harbor International Airport

Phoenix, Arizona

Nick wished he had Jerry Yarden here to help him. The quirky little man had an eye for details and a knack for electronic security equipment. He would have had everything in place by now. Instead Nick had been at it since midnight, working with two security technicians, installing and preparing equipment he'd only just learned to operate a few weeks ago.

Because Sky Harbor had been one of the airports on UAS's list for equipment upgrades they had also been sent samples of the new system. Last night when they arrived at the airport, Nick had contacted UAS's manager on-site. The man had been taken off guard by the surprise visit but impressed with Nick's credentials. That he had the Deputy Director of Homeland Security along with him had probably helped. Nick obtained the sample equipment and the two technicians with only the explanation that they would be conducting a test. Then he set out to install the wireless cameras in the areas he and Charlie Wurth had selected. Areas that up until now didn't have cameras.

These new models were small but if the Project Manager was the professional they all expected him to be, Nick didn't want to take any chances that he'd notice them. His technicians took on the challenge with enthusiasm, looking for ways to hide or obscure the cameras while allowing them to have full functionality. Nick was pleased with the results, though none of the cameras would matter if he wasn't able to identify the Project Manager from the police artist's sketch. Just the thought made his heart pound and his palms sweat.

Wurth was being selective as to who he alerted and he'd convinced Nick that no one else under the employment of UAS should be included. Other than Henry Lee, they had no evidence that anyone at UAS was involved in the attack, but Wurth insisted they take the extra precaution. He didn't want to risk word trickling through the ranks and getting to the Project Manager. Nick agreed.

Wurth did, however, warn TSA. He had air marshals on-site. He had arranged for a bomb squad and sniper unit from Quantico to arrive last night. In the early morning hours while Nick and Wurth roamed around the airport, Wurth pointed out team coordinators for the bomb squad. They were dressed as housekeeping, busy securing their stations. Their carts were identical to the airport housekeeping staff, only—according to Wurth—these carts contained what Wurth called "safe containers" instead of bathroom cleaner.

Wurth had also pointed out a hallway that now was blocked off with UNDER CONSTRUCTION signs and sawhorses.

"There's an exit and armored vehicle stationed and ready to take the bomb to a vacant airstrip."

Nick liked how Charlie Wurth made it all sound so organized and simple. Like maybe it could really work, they could actually prevent this attack.

"We'll have all three terminals covered," Nick told Wurth as they finished their final pass-through. "We'll have limited views of the ticketing areas. Once he leaves those areas I won't be able to follow him."

"Understood."

"Here in Terminal 4 there are ticket kiosks on the second level." Nick pointed up the escalators. "The one to the right of the escalator is sort of hidden out of view. It'd be easy to leave a bag there and not have anyone notice for a short while."

"I'll get someone stationed to watch."

The two stood in front of the long line of US Airways counters. Both of them had their arms crossed over their chests, feet spread apart, standing tall and straight as they took one last look around. Staff had started to come in, opening doors, turning on computers. But it was still quiet compared to what it would be like an hour from now.

"We're ready," Wurth said without moving from his stance and sounding confident.

Nick simply nodded. He wondered if Charlie Wurth had problems with his heart banging against his rib cage.