Robin Cook - Vector

“I’ll have to take off from work,” Mike said.

Curt rolled his eyes. He reminded himself he needed patience when he talked to his troops. “Whatever,” he said with a wave of his hands “The important thing is that you are there at nine-fifteen. This operation has to go like clockwork.”

“So what do I do, just stand there?” Mike questioned.

“No, you idiot,” Curt said loudly. Then he lowered his voice. “We’re going to give you a small smoke bomb that generates lots of smoke. It’s about the size of a large firecracker, and you’re to light it with a match. Most importantly it will not set off the metal detector when you go into the building.”

“I have to go inside?” Mike questioned.

“That’s right,” Curt said.

“But won’t they ask me why?”

“No! People are going in and out all day long.”

Mike raised his eyebrows.

“I’m serious,” Curt said. “You won’t have a problem as long as you look halfway decent. Hell, it probably wouldn’t matter even if you wore what you have on today.”

“All right,” Mike said. “So I’m inside. What do I do with the smoke bomb?”

“Get on the elevator and go up to the third floor,” Curt said. “When you get off, go to your right. About thirty feet down the hall is a men’s room. Got it?”

Mike nodded.

“Go inside the men’s room and make sure no one else is in there.”

Mike continued to nod.

“Actually, it probably doesn’t matter even if someone is in there,” Curt said. “Just get yourself in the last stall. There’s a vent in there against the back wall. Unscrew the cover with a coin, light the bomb, toss it inside the duct, then put the cover back on.”

“Is that all?” Mike asked.

“That’s it,” Jack said. “Then wander out of the building. The bomb’s going to set off a smoke detector in the HVAC system so there’ll be a fire alarm, but you just continue on your way. There also might be some confusion. After the alarm sounds, Steve and I will show up in minutes in our truck, and if you happen to see us, ignore us. That’s all you have to do.”

Mike gave a short laugh. He glanced around at the others. “That’s a piece of cake.”

“But it’s an important piece of cake,” Curt declared. “It’s an important mission for the PAA.”

At that moment Curt saw Yuri come in through the front door. Curt raised his hand to get Yuri’s attention, and the Russian came over. “You’re late!” Curt snapped.

“The traffic was bad getting into the Battery Tunnel,” Yuri explained.

“Jack Stapleton better still be at his work,” Curt warned. He stood up and went to the bar to pay the tab.

“All right, move out,” Curt said a few minutes later when he’d returned to the table. He had to take bottles away from Kevin and Carl, who thought they’d carry out their unfinished beers.

Outside everyone piled into the van amid lots of excited laughter. With the promise of violence, the skinheads were working themselves up to a fever pitch. Curt took the wheel and had Yuri ride shotgun so the Russian could most expediently identify the target. In the back there were some arguments about who was going to sit where among all the plumbing tools and lengths of pipe. Steve ended up having to decide.

Curt made it a point to take Worth Street west in order to pass the Jacob Javits Federal Building. He wanted to show Mike where he was to enter the building in the morning. After doing so, Curt turned north on the Bowery with the plan of getting over to First Avenue via Houston Street.

“I don’t want to take a lot of time,” Yuri said nervously. “I just want to point out Jack Stapleton, get out, and let you guys do what you have to do.”

Curt took his eyes off the traffic for a moment to cast a questioning glance at Yuri. “We’ll have to see how things work out,” he said. “We’re kinda playing this operation by ear.”

“What does that mean?” Yuri asked. He was holding on with both hands. Curt was driving aggressively in the traffic, especially now that they’d turned north on First Avenue.

“It means we’ll be making things up as we go along,” Curt said. “But why the rush? I thought you’d want to be along for the whole mission.”

“I have a lot of work to do to be ready for tomorrow,” Yuri explained.

“Oh, right,” Curt said.

In the back of the van, new arguments erupted about who was going to hold which weapon. Curt glanced in the rearview mirror and was horrified to see his troops struggling over the Kalashnikovs. “Get that ordnance out of sight,” he yelled. “Jesus Christ! We’ll have the cops pulling us over.”

Amid grumbles, the weapons were placed on the floor.

Curt caught Yuri casting anxious glances back at the troops. “They’re a little excited,” he explained. “They love this type of operation.”

“They seem more than a little excited,” Yuri responded.

“What was that address again?” Curt called back to Steve.

Steve pulled Jack’s card out of his pocket. “Five-twenty First Avenue,” Steve said. “I imagine it’s up in the hospital neighborhood.”

Curt began to slow down as they passed Bellevue Hospital on the right.

“There it is,” Steve said while pointing to a glazed, blue brick building.

Curt pulled to the left side of the road just beyond Thirtieth Street, stopped, and put on his emergency blinkers. They were on the opposite side of the street and catty-corner from the morgue’s First Avenue entrance. People were coming out of the building in clumps and either walking away or hailing taxis.

Steve came up between the front bucket seats. He, Curt, and Yuri stared at the front of the building and watched the people exit. “Looks like the employees are getting off work.”

In the back of the van the troops reopened the argument about who was going to hold the Kalashnikovs. Curt had to yell at them to shut up.

“How are we going to know if he’s not already left?” Steve asked. “We could be here for hours for nothing.”

“He better not have gone,” Curt said, glancing harshly at Yuri. “Let’s try to give him a call. Give me that direct number he put on his card.”

While Steve got the card from his pocket, Curt pulled out his cellular phone. As Steve read out the number, Curt punched it into his keypad. Then he lifted the phone to his ear.

It gave Jack a great sense of satisfaction to sign out yet another case. Marveling that he’d never been quite so caught up in his work since the day he’d been hired, he put the folder on top of the tottering completed pile. As he pulled his hand away, his phone rang.

“Jack Stapleton here,” he said in his normal fashion. Instead of a voice, Jack heard a rushing noise, as if he was listening to a distant waterfall. Then there was the unmistakable honk of an automobile horn.

“Hello, hello!” Jack said into the mouthpiece all the more loudly.

Jack was treated to a click followed by a dial tone. He tossed the handset back into its craddle with a shrug.

“What happened?” Chet asked without looking up from his work.

“Who the hell knows?” Jack said. “I could hear traffic in the background but whoever called never said a word.”

“Must have been an old girlfriend checking up on you,” Chet said.

“Oh, yeah, right!” Jack said with as much sarcasm as he could manage. He looked at his diminutive stack of uncompleted files and debated whether to continue his marathon.

Then Chet’s phone rang.

“She must have had the wrong number,” Jack said with a laugh.

Chet picked up his phone. He sat up straighter when he heard who it was. “Yes, I’m still here, Dr. Simsarian,” he said loud enough to be sure Jack could hear.