“One of the repeated threats we’ve picked up from international surveillance and through the Department of Homeland Security,” Scully went on, wiping sweat from both sides of his face, “has been to the aging system providing water to the five boroughs of this city. The original structures-Water Tunnels Number One and Two-have been in service for more than a century. They are”-he paused for emphasis-“they are extremely antiquated and terribly fragile.”
Scully turned his head to the mayor, who gave him the nod he was looking for to be the bearer of bad news. “If one of the old tunnels is breached, if one is damaged in any substantial way, then the collapse of the system will be catastrophic.”
We could hear reporters calling out to Scully from behind the wooden barricade, asking what he meant. Clearly, he was not ready to take questions from them.
“In cooperation with the Department of Environmental Protection, we have dispatched teams to every site throughout the five boroughs of the city in this monumental construction project. We are urging you at this time, however, to conserve your water usage in every way possible.” Scully went on to list how households and businesses could do that, encouraging people to stock up on bottled water as well.
The reporters were rowdy now, trying to get an explanation that would make sense to their viewers.
The mayor elbowed Commissioner Scully aside and regained the mike, speaking in his folksy way, as if his more relaxed manner would do anything to downplay the possible dangers.
“If you ladies and gents don’t remember your history, then perhaps you may not understand that New York is a great city-but it simply doesn’t have the one element we all need to survive. We can live without a lot of things, but water is not one of them. And on this island, we don’t have any source of fresh water. None at all.”
“Better learn to drink your Scotch neat,” Mercer said, leaning back and sipping his vodka. “People open their faucets every morning and never even think about where the water comes from. That’s the goddamn but about it-but, if the old tunnel system that is literally our lifeline blows up or implodes anytime soon, the NYPD has a one-word plan for the island of Manhattan.”
“And what’s that?” I asked him.
“Evacuate.”
8
“This is Teddy O’Malley,” Mike said, introducing Mercer and me to the man who followed him into my apartment a few minutes after midnight. “He’s one of the workers from the blast site. The commish teamed each detective up with one of them so we can learn our way around the tunnel system pronto.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Teddy said, standing awkwardly to the side of the Oriental rug in the hallway. “Sorry to be bringing in so much soot with me.”
“It’s not a problem. Make yourselves comfortable.” I led them into the dining room so that Mike could put the two large pizza boxes down on the table. “You must be starving.”
Teddy’s T-shirt, jeans, and steel-tipped work boots were caked with mud. His freckled skin was smudged with dirt on both his face and well-muscled arms, but his curly orange hair must have been shielded by a hard hat while he had been in the vicinity of the explosion.
“Teddy’s gonna be my guide dog for the week, starting tonight. We’re on our way to the Bronx now, so I figured we’d stop here for a snack. Can you live without me in court tomorrow?” Mike asked me.
“Absolutely. This is a hell of a lot more serious than the Quillian trial. I expect half my jurors will go into hibernation over these news accounts. You okay, Teddy?”
“I’m fine, ma’am. Wasn’t there when it happened. I’m a union rep, so I came back into town to make sure the cops had what they needed from us. Shooed me right out of there, they did, and assigned me to this character,” he said, pointing a finger at Mike. “He’s trying to make a copper out of me already.”
“May the force be with you, Teddy,” Mike said, turning to Mercer. “She hasn’t packed her bags yet, Mercer? How’d you keep her from skipping town? Any minute now I’d expect Coop to step out of those leggings and-let’s see-whose monogram is on the cuffs of that fine-looking shirt? Some jerk she kicked out of bed must have left that behind. I figured by this time she’d have traded in her civvies for the hazmat suit she keeps under her bed and headed for the border.”
“I briefly entertained the notion of leaving town, but Mercer reminded me that I’d have no one to badger me if I left you behind. Imagine how lonely I’d be.”
“What do you guys think happened?” Mercer asked, while I went into the kitchen to get plates. “Teddy, what are you drinking?”
“I’d give my right arm for a couple of beers.”
“Coming up.”
Mike took the lead answering Mercer. “Too early to tell. The shaft into the tunnel is so narrow and the smoke was so intense the fire department couldn’t even get a man in the hole by the time we left.”
Mercer served the drinks while I handed out napkins and Teddy opened the first pizza box.
“Don’t give the blonde any anchovies, O’Malley. Coop’s fine with dead bodies, but she’s squeamish about oily little fish. Pepper-oni’s for her.”
“Bomb squad there?” Mercer asked.
“Running the show,” Mike said, adding crushed red pepper to his slice. “You’ve got a school day tomorrow, little girl. You’d better get some sleep. Lem Howell’s probably deep into his REMs by now, dreaming about ways to make you look bad.”
“You must be kidding. Nobody’ll be closing their eyes tonight. I’m glued to the news. What’s going on out there?”
“Unfortunately, you got some folks taking this terror stuff seriously. Whichever idiot at City Hall came up with sending that message public has screwed us up completely.”
“Yeah,” Mercer said, “but heads would be rolling if they didn’t put it out since there have been actual threats to the water system.”
“Now there’s already a lot of traffic heading for the bridges, and the PD’s doing car checks at all the tollbooths and tunnel entrances so every skittish New Yorker trying to get to his bunker in the Hamptons or her secluded corner of Connecticut is going nowhere very fast.”
Teddy O’Malley was on his second slice.
“You don’t buy the terrorist theory?” I asked.
Mike looked at Mercer as he talked through his impressions. “I don’t know. It doesn’t fit the pattern of what we’ve been expecting, but nobody’s ready to rule it out yet. I would have thought the Al Qaeda signature would be multiple blasts in different parts of the system timed to go off at once, or following each other an hour or two apart. Besides that, it’s the original old tunnels that are their best targets. A good hit to either one of them would be cataclysmic. There’d be no water in this city for at least a year.”
Teddy’s arms bulged like those of a weight lifter on steroids as he lifted the bottle to his lips before speaking. “It ain’t outsiders. We got enough turmoil going on among ourselves to blow each other to kingdom come. I’d like to see a bin Laden-type bastard with a towel on his head try to get past the guard gate with the Daugherty brothers and the McCourts on the watch.”
“Spoken like a true sandhog,” Mike said, laughing as he reached for his second slice.
“A what?”
“Teddy’s a sandhog, Alex. It’s like Skull and Bones for micks. A very secret society that does its best work underground. You never met one before, did you?”