“There are thirteen in all,” Hartwell revealed. “I’ve already faxed the list to the head of your New York office, and there’s a copy for you on my desk. As for talking with the chef, he’s supposed to be joining us for lunch. Let’s get you settled in your cabin first. Then after lunch, you’ll be free to explore the ship and initiate any further investigative work.”
The much anticipated phone call from the BATF’s director, Lawrence McShane, found Thomas Kellogg seated alongside Mike Galloway, inside the senior postal inspector’s office. Army M. Sgt. Danny Lane had just arrived from Fort Meade, and the explosives-ordnance expert was showing them the latest in bomb-disposal fashions.
The director relayed his decision in his usual clipped fashion. “You’ve got a green light to defuse, Thomas. So get on with it, work safely, and find something we can use to catch this guy.”
Thomas had to hurry his thanks before the line went dead. Then he flashed a triumphant thumbs-up to his associates.
Sergeant Lane seemed particularly delighted with the news, and he addressed Mike Galloway sarcastically. “I sure hope your insurance is paid up on that holding structure, Mike.”
Galloway didn’t laugh. “Though I still think you guys are crazy for risking your lives, you’ve got my full cooperation.”
“That’s much appreciated, Mike,” replied Thomas. “Since the Sarge here brought along all the latest gear, all we’re going to need from you is to evacuate the facility.”
Galloway looked at his wristwatch, then reached out to pick up the phone and notify his workers of this shortened workday. “If my folks hurry, looks like we can get off one last truckload of gifts for the White House before closing up the place.”
Less than an hour later, the mood of those left at the mail-sorting facility was noticeably more tense. The time for humor and excitement was over, as Thomas, Sergeant Lane, and his two assistants made the final adjustments to their gear. With Mike Galloway manning the phones inside the warehouse, the quartet of explosives experts waddled out to the isolated, concrete block holding structure, looking like astronauts in their bulky, fireproof jumpsuits.
The game plan for the operation was relatively simple despite the danger. Since the goal was to reap the benefit of a complete set of evidence, the objective was to render the IED harmless. The easiest way to accomplish this feat was to disconnect the device’s power source.
Without its two nine-volt batteries, the photoelectric circuit they expected to find based on the design of the bomber’s first package could not generate the spark needed to trigger the primer, and in turn, ignite the main charge. Since X-rays of the IED had already determined the exact position of these batteries, all that remained for them to do was to open the Priority Mail box and disconnect the fusing wires from the battery terminals. However, a life-or-death question remained: how could they penetrate the parcel without activating the light-sensitive photocell and triggering an explosion themselves?
Both Thomas and Danny Lane had worked together on several previous occasions, and they decided on a two prong attack. Their first priority was to complete the installation of a portable, red-tinted safelight.
This allowed them to illuminate the interior of the holding cell with the same setup a photographer used to develop film inside a darkroom.
Danny Lane was fearful that the photocell could be sensitive enough to trigger regardless of this safelight array, and he brought along what he fondly called their “supplementary insurance policy.” This novel technique, developed by Lane himself, involved using liquid nitrogen to freeze the unopened box and drain the charge from the batteries, thus deadening them permanently.
The final adjustments to the safelight were completed with the invaluable help of Lane’s two assistants. The specially designed, pressurized canister holding the liquid nitrogen was then carried inside the holding structure. Meanwhile Thomas readied the instruments for actually cutting into the box.
Completely lit in dim red light now, the interior of the concrete blockhouse took on a sinister appearance. The thick, protective suits were making the men extremely hot, and they decided to start without further delay. The two assistants were excused, and with the room’s sole doorway securely sealed, they went to work in earnest.
His hands protected by heavily quilted asbestos mittens, Danny Lane carefully picked up the liquid nitrogen canister, unsealed its pressurized lid, and completely saturated the Priority Mail package with a frigid stream of supercooled vapor. Swirling white fingers of320 liquid nitrogen enveloped the cardboard parcel, and for a confusing moment, Thomas feared that it had disintegrated. Only when the icy cloud finally evaporated, revealing the now frozen package, did Thomas exhale a long breath of relief.
It was now Thomas’s turn to pick up one of the finely honed, scalpel-like instruments and begin the nerve-racking job of slicing into the frigid cardboard. Mike Galloway had previously made a hand-drawn duplicate of the parcel’s X-ray negative. This tracing was laid out on the top surface of the package, enabling them to determine that the batteries were located in the right-hand portion of the box, corresponding to a spot beside the outer edge of the address label.
His intention was to make a long incision in the cardboard, alongside the address label. This cut was to be deep enough to pierce the outer layer of cardboard, but shallow enough not to penetrate the layer of protective wrapping they expected to find inside.
To accomplish this delicate task, Thomas had to remove one of his bulky mittens, and make the cut with his hand unprotected. He seriously doubted that the glove would offer much protection should one of the blasting caps detonate; nevertheless he was careful not to allow the bare skin of his hand to touch the package. The frozen cardboard was itself dangerous, able to induce instant frostbite.
Before making the initial incision, Thomas took a second to catch the gaze of his coworker. Danny Lane had just grabbed a pair of slender, needle-nose wire cutters, and the Army EOD technician silently conveyed his own concern with a supportive wink.
The Sarge, as he was better known around the Metro area, was one of the best bomb men in the country. Career military, he learned his arcane craft in Vietnam, where his initial interest was in disarming minefields. He soon enough found that he had an almost inborn knack for this glamour less all-important work that was responsible for saving untold lives.
Thomas first met Danny three years previously, during a car comb investigation at a Falls Church abortion clinic. The Sarge had only recently transferred to Fort Meade. He showed his valor by crawling under the suspect vehicle, and removing a live pipe bomb from its muffler.
In the years since, Lane had proved himself to be an invaluable associate in the dozens of bomb and arson investigations that followed.
He always seemed to be available to help, offering his services not only to the BATF, but to any civilian or federal law enforcement agency that needed him.
His mere presence was a stabilizing factor, his calm professional manner exuding confidence, a commodity that no explosives technician could get enough of. M. Sgt. Danny Lane wasn’t about to allow anything to go wrong on his watch. With this hope in mind, Thomas positioned the razor-sharp tip of the scalpel alongside the right edge of the parcel’s address label.
“I don’t know about you, Kellogg,” said Lane, “but the sooner we get this job done the better. This new monkey suit is causing me to sweat up a storm.”
Thomas nodded somberly. His body had long since been soaked in perspiration, and he was thankful for the bandanna that he remembered to tie around his forehead.