Bob retreated a couple of feet and lay down. Ten minutes later he was back, and this time he placed a paw on Stone’s knee.
Stone looked at his watch; the stroke of noon. He buzzed Joan.
“Yes, boss?”
“Bob says it’s lunchtime, and he’s giving me the paw.”
“Oh, no, not the dreaded paw! I’ll be right in.”
Joan came in, got a scoop of dog food from a cabinet and tipped it into Bob’s dish, then she refilled his water bowl. Bob inhaled the food, then nudged Joan.
“He wants his cookie,” Stone said, and she gave it to him.
Bob went to his bed near the door, climbed into it, curled up, and began his after-lunch nap.
Late in the afternoon, Joan buzzed Stone. “Dino for you on one.”
Stone picked up the phone. “I’m here.”
“Macher is in Arlington,” Dino said, “parked at his office address.”
“Great. What do we do now?”
“I haven’t been able to think of anything,” Dino said. “How about you?”
“Not a thing.”
50
Erik Macher arrived at his office an hour earlier than his small staff, after a fitful night’s sleep. Barrington was an itch he couldn’t seem to scratch, and the thought of him, alive and well in New York, was too much to bear.
He went into his office, locked the door, and opened the walk-in safe in a corner of the room. His firm’s weapons were kept there — handguns, holsters, assault rifles, and a couple of fully automatic machine guns. In a rear corner was a wooden case, and he opened that. It was half-full of plastic explosive bricks, each weighing one kilogram, or 2.2 pounds. Next to that box was another, containing detonators and timers.
He spread a plastic cloth on his desk, pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and retrieved two of the explosive bricks, setting them on the plastic sheet on his desk. This time he was taking no chances.
He pressed two detonators into the plastique and attached wires from them to an empty battery holder, then attached another two wires running from there to the terminals on a timer. He didn’t set the timer yet. He pressed a fresh lithium-ion battery against his tongue and felt the tiny shock. Good battery. He clipped it into the holder, and he had himself one hell of a bomb.
He stepped outside into the alley, where a box held packaging materials, and selected a heavy, two-ply cardboard box and a bag of foam peanuts, then took them back into his office. He laid a layer of foam at the bottom of the box, then pressed the two bricks into the yielding material, then filled the box with peanuts, leaving only the timer exposed. For added impact, he took two boxes of double-ought shotgun shells from the safe and with a craft knife cut each of the two dozen shells open and poured the shot into the box. He also scattered the powder over the foam.
He found a shipping label in a storage cabinet and snipped off the return address and waybill number, then affixed it to the top of the box, then he sprayed the container with Windex to remove any fingerprints or DNA. All that remained was to set the timer, tape the box shut, and send it on its way. He heard the outside door to the building open and close, and someone tried his office door, then knocked.
“Erik,” Jake said, “it’s me.”
Macher let him in. “Sit down, Jake,” he said.
Jake sat. “What’s in the box?”
“Think of it as a gift.” He went back to the safe and found an explosive-suppressing woven steel blanket and set it on his desk. “What we’ve got here is two kilos of plastique, a lot of buckshot, and a timer,” he said.
“You’re going to try this again?” Jake asked doubtfully.
“Just once — once and for all,” Macher replied.
“And you want me to deliver it?”
“No, I don’t want that, you’re going to need an iron-clad alibi.”
Jake looked relieved.
“Name a man who can be trusted to deliver this and to do it right.”
“Swenson,” Jake said without hesitation. “He’s young, but reliable. He did two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and he knows what it means to follow orders precisely.”
“All right, Swenson,” Macher said. “He’s single, isn’t he? Lives alone?”
“Yes. How do you want him to handle this?”
“I want the package placed outside the street entrance to Barrington’s office, which is downstairs in his house.”
“Right.”
“I want it set in place at three tomorrow morning. That will give Swenson plenty of time to drive up there, place the package, and drive back, arriving at work at his usual time.”
“Got it. What’s the steel blanket for?”
“I want Swenson to wrap it around the box on the street side, like this.” Macher demonstrated how to do it. “That will help direct the explosive force away from the street and into Barrington’s office. There’s enough explosive here to destroy the secretary’s office near the street, then push into Barrington’s office, destroying it and him, and I anticipate that the force of the explosion will cause his house to collapse on top of his office. That way, in the unlikely event that he survives the explosion, he’ll die in the rubble while the fire department is trying to dig him out.”
“That sounds thorough, Erik. I assume you’ve taken steps not to leave any prints or DNA on the box.”
Macher held up his gloved hands.
“Got it,” Jake said.
“When we had his house under surveillance before, our men determined that Barrington’s secretary gets to her office around eight-thirty, and that Barrington comes downstairs between nine and nine-thirty, so I’m setting the timer for ten.”
“Suppose someone tries to enter from the street and discovers the box?”
Macher grabbed a pencil and pad. “The front of the office entrance protrudes from the house, like this.” He drew the outline. “There are concrete flower boxes under the windows on either side of the entrance. I want Swenson to pull one of them out far enough to place the package behind it, along with the steel blanket. The flower box will hide the package from the street and help the blanket do its job.”
“I see.” Jake sat immobile and silent.
“What is it, Jake?”
“I’m just running through it in my mind. When the secretary comes to work, she might notice the new position of the flower box.”
“She lives next door, and she enters the Barrington house from there and goes into her office from inside the house. Should FedEx or some other person get buzzed in from inside, he won’t notice the position of the concrete flower box.”
“That’s good,” Jake said. “You appear to have thought of everything.”
“I believe I have,” Macher replied. He got up from his seat, opened the box, and began to set the timer. “I’m setting the timer now, for ten AM, tomorrow’s date.” He did so, then closed the box and taped it securely shut.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Macher handed him a box of latex gloves. “Now put these on and take the box and the blanket down to your office. You can explain it to Swenson there, and make sure he has gloves for handling the material. All he has to do is stop at the curb, get the box out of his trunk, place it and the blanket, and he’s out of there in a minute or so. Also, while he’s at it, tell him to tape his license plate and leave the tape on until he’s well clear of the house.”
Jake picked up the box. “I’ll keep thinking about it and see if there are any other possible hitches.”
“You do that,” Macher said. He sat down, feeling much better than he had an hour before.
51
Dan Swenson was sitting at his desk, reading a gun magazine, when his phone rang. “Swenson.”