At the far end of the tunnel, Grale removed another cover and motioned for Jojola to look through the opening. Below him more men were rolling fifty-gallon drums into place, hundreds of barrels it seemed, though it was tough to tell in the light thrown by the workers' lanterns. Above the center of the drums, a scaffold had been erected on which several foot-locker-size boxes had been placed.
Jojola backed away from the view port; then he and Grale retreated until they stood again in the access tunnel. "What are they doing?" he asked.
"We suspect that the barrels contain fuel oil to be mixed with those bags of ammonium nitrate you could see stacked up in that far corner," Grale said. "As best we can tell, there's between three and four hundred fifty-pound bags, which is about four times the amount Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols used to blow up the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. As I told you, that tunnel runs directly beneath the north end of Times Square."
"They're planning on blowing up Times Square?" Jojola said, alarmed.
Grale nodded. "I'd guess on New Year's Eve," he said. "The blast, according to one of our former engineers-a good man but a cocaine addict who suffers from extreme paranoia and simply can't handle the up-world-should be enough to blow through the other subway lines that bracket Times Square and create one hell of a hole. And I mean that literally: fires, buildings collapsing, and tens of thousands of people trapped in the middle of it. The initial blast will probably cause the most casualties, but it's not necessarily the worst of it."
Stunned, Jojola heard himself ask, "What would that be?"
"Two weeks ago, we found two dead men-bearded, obviously Arabs-at the bottom of a pit," Grale said. "They showed all the signs of having died of radiation poisoning. We believe they were probably the couriers who brought the material into the country."
"The material?" Jojola asked. Then the answer dawned on him. "The dirty bomb in my dream. They're planning on blowing up Times Square and releasing radiation into the air."
"Yes, killing thousands more and making Manhattan unlivable for the next hundred years," Grale said. "Of course, the real purpose of the atomic weapon is to sow fear. The use of such a weapon on a city in the United States will cause widespread panic."
As he spoke, Grale's voice grew increasingly prophetic, and he began to pace. The change disturbed Jojola. He's losing it.
"The economy will plunge," Grale continued. "Our allies will be afraid to do business with us for fear that it could happen to them."
"You've got to tell the police," Jojola said.
Grale stopped short, his eyes blazing as he turned toward Jojola. "I'm sorry, my brother, but we can't do that."
I was afraid this is where that was leading, Jojola thought. "Why not? As you said, thousands will die. How can you let that happen?"
"We are aware of that," Grale said. "But if we tell the police, they will discover our down-world and that will be the end of us."
"What does that matter when so many lives are at stake?" Jojola said, aghast.
"Maybe not much to you," Grale said. "But everything to those who live here."
"But they'll all die, too, if that bomb goes off."
"If we don't succeed in stopping them ourselves, then yes," Grale said. "We don't have the strength of arms to take them on. So we've been trying to narrow the odds a few at a time."
"The beheadings."
"Yes, those and others down here where our little life-and-death struggles go on unnoticed by the up-world. We kill them. They kill those of us they catch. The beheadings are our attempt to terrorize the terrorists into abandoning their plans and hamper their recruiting efforts. Some of the more superstitious have even taken to calling me Shaitan; I think it's rather ironic that such evil men would call me Satan. Or sometimes they use the fallen one's true Islamic name, Iblis."
Grale sighed as if talking about recalcitrant school bullies. "They are right about one thing: they refer to the 'others'-the so-called morlocks, though I prefer the term demons-as rajim, the cursed ones. Unfortunately, they have been led to believe that our efforts in the up-world are the work of a few racists, and their plans are going forward."
"Then you have to go to the police, get help. Surely, something can be done for your people."
"Like all the wonderful things that are done for the homeless and insane now?" Grale said. "No, my friend, we will defeat them ourselves, or we will all die. As the Muslims say, In sha' Allah, 'God's will be done.'"
"What do you mean?" Jojola said angrily. "How could God want such an evil thing?"
"It isn't a matter of what God wants, but it is all according to His plan. It's the beginning of the end…of Armageddon…the United States will react to this act by lashing out and attacking Muslim countries that have any link at all to Islamic extremists. Other western countries will either join them or, fearing a U.S. hegemony in the Middle East and a threat to their oil supplies, will support the Arab nations. Muslims around the world will react, entire generations will dedicate themselves to suicide bombings. Starting with the Middle East, the world will convulse in flames and death. As it foretells in the Bible, the nations of the world will divide along the lines of those on the side of God and those on the side of Satan. The temple will be restored in Jerusalem and the Messiah will return to establish his kingdom on Earth."
"You're insane," Jojola said.
"Probably," Grale said. "But I might also be right."
"If you won't go to the police, I will."
"I thought you'd probably say that, John," Grale replied. "But I'm afraid I can't allow it."
Jojola heard the sound behind him, but too late. A blow struck him on the side of the head and then the world went black.
24
Monday, December 27
Karp stopped at Dirty Warren's newsstand outside 100 Centre Street and regretted it immediately when the man shouted, "Morning, Karp. Did you have a…damn shit…great Christmas?"
"Great, Warren. And you?" He really wasn't in the mood for light, epithet-filled conversation. Kipman had called Sunday, apologized for bothering him at home, then asked for a meeting between just himself, Karp, and Rachman. The way old Hotspur said it, Karp knew it wasn't going to be pretty. So he'd decided that they'd meet Monday. It was officially a legal holiday because Christmas had fallen on a Saturday, but he preferred that the rest of the staff not be around if things got ugly.
"Went and saw my…oh crap…mother in Queens. Thanks for asking."
Karp turned to go, but Warren called out to him. "Okay, smart guy, in It's a Wonderful Life, what film is showing at the movie theater in Bedford Falls as George runs down the street?"
Answering Warren's film trivia questions had been an ongoing contest between the two of them for years. Warren had yet to stump him and wasn't going to with this question. "Too easy, pal, you're slipping," he said. "I just watched It's a Wonderful Life with the family Christmas night."
"So what's the answer…bitch?"
"The Bells of St. Mary's," Karp replied. He expected Warren to be disappointed and launch into one of his expletive-enhanced tirades, but instead the little man just smiled.
"Okay, genius," he said, "but what's the other connection between the two films?"
"Now that's a good one," Karp admitted. "How many tries do I get?"
Warren grinned. "No way, Karp. This isn't some…piss shit…guessing game. You either know or you don't."
"Oh, well in that case…Henry Travers, who played Clarence the Angel in Wonderful Life, also starred in Bells as Horace P. Bogardus."
"Goddammit!" Warren howled. "It's not…fuck you…natural for someone to have all that crap swimming around in his head."