He pushed the clip on the pen, and the tiny ping was barely audible over Medivir’s fumbling apologies. The dart found its mark and the man across the desk abruptly stopped speaking. Eyes and mouth open in astonishment, he froze, then pitched forward.
Fridkov was already moving and caught the man before he made a thump that might be heard outside the room. He laid him on the floor behind the desk and hurried over to lock the door.
Fifteen minutes, no more than twenty, and he would be finished.
He pulled a small syringe from his case, followed by a plastic bag of dark liquid that sloshed as he moved it. Five of his fifteen minutes later, Fridkov had finished with Medivir and took the man’s seat at his desk.
Clicking effortlessly on the computer keys, he made his way through Medivir’s confidential files and into the Medivir Company’s main database. As he quickly and efficiently erased every file that contained details that would identify their arrangement, the only other Arabic phrase he knew slipped into his mind: “In shallah.”
As God wills it.
And so it would be.
4
“Oh my God! It’s going to blow!”
“Get back!”
Vince Bruger grabbed the uniform sleeve of whoever happened to be standing next to him, slamming him to the ground as he dove behind a large pile of rubble. Pain fired along his shoulder, jarring his teeth and snatching away his breath. The other guy, an EMT, tumbled on top of him just as the ground erupted into flames only yards away. The shattering boom left his ears hollow and ringing.
The explosion sent debris crashing around them, raining cinder blocks, bricks, glass, and rock. Something hit Vince’s helmet, slamming his face into the ground, while another weighty object smashed into the back of his leg. Intense heat scored the air and seared his lungs. Damn lucky he wasn’t any closer, or his hair would be singed.
Spitting sand and glass from his mouth, Vince slowly got up while the pain down his leg made him wince. He looked at the spot where the plant had once stood; tall, with iron grey walls and a glassed-in front entrance that jutted out like an arrowhead.
Now it was a mass of black smoke, a jumble of rock and steel and concrete that roared with deep, angry flames. Good God. Anyone left in the plant was toast. Jesus H. Christ.
Reminded him too much of 9/11. Vince’s stomach felt like he’d drunk a whole case of beer with a plateful of tacos. He wiped a hand over his lips. Bits of glass and dirt ground into them and he spit again, tasting blood and pebbles.
He checked his waist but the radio was gone. Probably went flying when he crashed to the ground, now a melted glob of metal and plastic. Someone bumped into him and Vince turned to see Darrel Blake, the fire chief, covering his eye with a hand.
“You okay?” Vince asked.
“Got hit in the eye. Jesus, God, will you look at that?”
The inferno reached into the air like brilliant orange claws against the blue sky of early evening, and a tower of black smoke ribboned toward the puffy white clouds. They had to crane their heads back to get a good look at it.
“Any of your men in there?” Vince asked, dreading the answer.
Blake shook his head. “By some blessing, no, none of’em. Shift change.”
“One thing to be thankful for.”
“Yeah. But there’s at least five people still unaccounted for, last report I had. I hope to God they were either found or beyond help before that.”
Before Vince could reply, the renewed wail of sirens drowned out any further conversation. The fire truck that had been parked at the back of the parking lot trundled toward them as fast as its bulk would carry it. He nearly smiled, but couldn’t quite get his lips to move in that direction. Good guys, Blake’s men. Already on the scene.
Shit. He shook his head, that urge to smile evaporating. How many lives gone?
Someone handed him a cell phone, warm from overuse. “Someone from the USGS on the phone for you, Captain Bruger.”
“The who?” He took the phone. “Vince Bruger.”
“Charlotte Messing, US Geological Survey, Earthquake Hazards. Captain Bruger, I understand there’s a report of an earthquake in your precinct.”
Vince tore the phone away from his ear to stare at it. Was this some kind of fucking joke? He was about to slam the phone back into the hand of whoever’d given it to him, but figured he’d at least better find out what the lady wanted. “By the looks of the city center, and the way one of our manufacturing plants have collapsed, it sure as hell looks like you’re right. And, oh, the crevices in the ground too. Yep, looked and felt like an earthquake to me.” Jesus Christ.
“I’m calling you, Captain Bruger,” the woman continued, and she had that same tone in her voice that the wife had when she was about to lecture him about something stupid he’d done, “because we have no report of any true seismic activity in the vicinity of Allentown, and—”
“Well, I don’t know what the hell we felt here if it wasn’t seismic activity. Look, I have a fire to put out, a town to clean up, and a whole fucking crew of television and news reporters waiting for me to tell them why we just had an explosion on the top of everything else ….plus a whole slew of families who are wondering where the hell their husbands and wives are. I don’t have time to talk with you. Watch the news, and in the meantime, maybe you better check your equipment to make sure you didn’t miss it, because we sure as hell felt it here.” With that, he did jam the phone into the abdomen of the guy standing next to him, who had been barking orders into another cell phone.
Vince stormed off, not waiting to see what happened to the phone. Crazy scientist. What the hell did she mean there wasn’t any real seismic activity? It sure had felt real to him.
He tramped over to the team of rescue workers who stood watching the blaze as the fire crew blasted it with streams of water. It occurred to him, briefly, that he ought to call Maureen and let her know he was all right, but then he figured that the statement he’d given the press about an hour ago would tell her that he was alive and well — and busy. He was just glad she and the kids hadn’t been around when this all happened.
“We got one over here!”
Vince turned as a shout of triumph came from a cluster of workers on the other side of the rubble. It would be nice if he had some good news when he gave the press an update. In about, he looked at his chipped, scratched wristwatch, ten minutes.
Sure enough. A bloody, dirty figure lay on a stretcher, but the man was breathing. Thank God. One down, four to go, if Blake’s last report was still right. Maybe even less.
“Where’d you find him?” he asked one of the doctors. Couldn’t remember his name; he wasn’t from around there.
“Behind where the plant stood,” the man replied. His green eyes were piercing and serious. Man, Vince’d never seen eyes that green before. Maybe he hadn’t met him. “Down inside a big gap in the earth. He must have fallen in when it shifted. We got him out before it all blew.”
“Great news.” Vince nodded. “Any chance there’s anyone else down there, doc?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t believe so. However, it’s far enough away from the fire that we could look. By the way, my name’s Varden.” He had a faint accent that sounded European, but he spoke English fluently and easily. Must have studied here in the States.
“Dr. Varden. Vince Bruger, Chief of Police.” Vince shook his hand. He didn’t remember meeting the guy after all; he’d have remembered those eyes and that accent.
“People here are lucky. The death toll could have been a lot worse,” Varden commented, peering toward the mess.