Should they leave the van and try to get on a train? Martin thought, staring at the gas gauge again. He let out another long breath as he bit at his lower lip. It was impossible to know what to do.
“Martin?” Jane called from the back, distress in her voice.
“What is it?” Martin said, trying to keep his tone light for the children.
“Bad news, Martin,” she said.
“How is that even possible?” Martin said under his breath.
“It’s Jasper. I think... well, I think he has to tinkle.”
“You want to walk the dog out there in the ’hood?” Seamus said, turning around in the passenger seat with a flabbergasted look.
“It’s either out there, Gramps,” said Jane, shrugging, “or right here in the van.”
“Okay, okay. Brian and Eddie and Ricky and — what the heck — you, too, Trent. Look lively and get the leash. I have an important mission for you boys. You’re all on Jasper tinkle patrol,” Seamus said.
“Yes!” said Brian, putting the now-moaning Jasper on the leash. “Finally something to do!”
“Buddy system, okay, boys?” Martin said. “Leave no man behind.”
“Or dog!” said Chrissy frantically. “Or dog!”
“Exactly. No man or dog, okay? Now hit it!”
They burst out of the van and ran with Jasper through the traffic to a concrete wall beside a run-down tenement.
“I see them,” said Bridget, cupping her hands over her eyes and looking out the window. “He’s tinkling! Jasper is tinkling!”
“Yay!” said Fiona.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day, isn’t it, Father?” said Martin.
Seamus rolled his eyes.
The van burst into applause as the boys arrived back, breathless, with the pup. The happy, excited dog started barking like mad as Chrissy grabbed him to her chest in a bear hug while Socky, the cat, remained aloof, snuggled in one of Shawna’s sweatshirts on the floor of the van.
“We’re clear,” said Brian, slamming the door. “Quick! Martin! Hit the gas!”
If only, Martin thought as he stared out at the sea of brake lights.
Chapter 84
There had to be well over a hundred military people scurrying around three large cargo planes on the tarmac of Teterboro Airport in northern New Jersey when we landed in the helicopter ten minutes later.
And it wasn’t just men being moved in and out of the C-130s. As we landed, I watched a Jeep drive up a ramp into the plane’s belly, followed quickly by a small tractor towing in a Black Hawk helicopter with its rotors folded back.
“The US military is truly incredible, isn’t it?” I said to Emily. “I mean, the mayor made the call — what? Four hours ago? Now look at this! It’s unbelievable how quickly this thing is being mobilized.”
“Let’s just hope it’s fast enough,” Emily said.
We asked around, then met up with Lieutenant Commander Nate Gardner, the leader of the SEALs team that had been assigned to head up the mission. Nate was a tall, fit, clean-cut guy around thirty, with light-blue eyes and black hair. He was sitting on a four-wheeler under the wing of one of the planes eating pizza with his team of commandos.
He and his thirty or so SEALs were sitting beside their weapons and kit bags talking quietly with one another or napping. They seemed to be the only still and calm people in the whole airport.
Make that the tristate area, I thought as we walked up.
“NYPD!” Nate said, smiling and wiping pizza grease on the thighs of his olive-drab desert-camo uniform before standing up to shake our hands. “Now we’re talking. I love you guys. I’m from Rochester, but I lived in a shit hole in Alphabet City with my friends after college and saw up close how you guys operate. I was actually on the cop list before deciding to join the navy.”
“Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Commander,” Emily jumped in. “But what are we supposed to do now?”
“Please, it’s Nate,” the soldier said, grinning. “Or Commander Nate, if you must. Basically, ma’am, we’ll board after the toys are packed. You got my two teams as well as five of the army’s explosive ordnance disposal teams en route.”
“Right, but how are we going to play this?” she said. “What’s the strategy? Just head to Árvore Preta and start looking?”
“The US ambassador to Cape Verde will meet us at the airport on the other side to smooth things out with the locals,” Nate said. “They will provide us with island guides, and we’ll locate these bombs. Once we find them, we let the EOD teams do their thing disarming them. My team will provide security for everybody. I recommend you guys try to get some sleep on the flight.”
“That’s it?” said Dr. Bower.
“That’s all she wrote, ma’am,” Nate said, winking one of his baby blues.
“How to save the world in three easy steps,” Emily said as the tall, energetic SEAL rejoined his men. “I admire his confidence. If only I shared it.”
“You and me both,” I said as I took out my phone to check on my guys for the eleven billionth time.
Chapter 85
Coming on six hours later, I woke up sweating as someone two or three seats down along the vibrating metal wall of the loudly buzzing cargo plane started coughing uncontrollably.
More than seventy people were strapped into the benches along both walls of the military plane. There were SEALs, army explosives techs, a fully staffed medical unit, several plane refueling techs, and pilots and crew from the 160th.
I didn’t know what the weight limit for the C-130 was, but it had to be massive, since between the rows of soldiers, tied down with heavy canvas straps in the middle of the plane, was a Black Hawk helicopter bookended by a couple of Jeeps.
It was the same deal in the two other planes flying alongside us. More than a hundred highly trained men and women along with who knows how many millions of dollars’ worth of equipment.
When the US military went for it, they apparently went all the way.
I glanced over at a wired-looking Emily beside me. She was reading the Cape Verde info packet the CIA had provided for the hundredth time. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all. She glanced at her watch, then back at me uneasily. I checked the time on my phone and joined her in wincing.
We had just eight hours left before the 1:00 p.m. deadline, and we hadn’t even landed yet.
I checked my phone for any messages from Robertson or Brooklyn. About an hour into the flight, they had contacted me with the great idea to cross-reference our suspects with the manifests from any and all flights from the New York City area to Cape Verde over the previous six months.
It only made sense. If the bombs were on Cape Verde, that is.
In the front of the plane, past the nose of the Black Hawk, daylight was spilling into the cabin through the open door of the cockpit. I unclipped my belt and decided to join SEAL commander Nate, who was standing by the cockpit door.
As I got to the doorway, the plane swung left, then down below, through the windshield, islands suddenly appeared — small oblong islands with rims of beach standing very white against the dark teal of the Atlantic.
“Fifteen minutes!” the female pilot called back.
I stared down at the bright, sandy flat strips of land. I’d already read the info packet. It said that, like a lot of the islands in the eastern Atlantic near Africa, Cape Verde had originally been settled in the 1500s by the Portuguese. Once an important hub of the African slave trade and a notorious haunt of pirates, it had gained its national independence in the early 1970s, when a Marxist revolutionary — a Fidel Castro — like figure named Amilcar Cabral — had fought for its independence.