Once he held the Smith & Wesson firmly, he pointed it at Victor and demanded that he stand.
“I was going to give it to you,” Victor said, his hands trembling. “Marina, Mina, I was bringing it to you.”
Marina turned away. She didn’t know whether he was lying, but she was past caring. Either way, it didn’t matter. She would walk away and, if she got out of here alive, this man would play no part in her life.
Gabe moved past Victor as if he hadn’t spoken. His stride was awkward, and he held his arm against his chest, but he was mobile. He clutched the gun in one hand, and the phone in the hand curled against his ribs. “Come on, Marina. You lead the way.”
She followed and left Victor staring after them: a shell of a man.
43
Helen had always pictured Detroit as a danger-infested urban location with murders on every street corner; but the downtown area where the General Motors Building was located looked peaceful, clean, and busy.
July 14 was a Friday morning and the streets were packed with businesspeople and tourists alike; Comerica Park — where the Tigers played — was crowded with fans coming in for the first of a double-header, and the Fisher Theater was hosting a production of Wicked. Nearby, the MGM Grand Casino flashed lights and gaudily-dressed people as they hurried in to lose their hard-earned money. And it was nearly eleven o’clock.
The Detroit River gleamed gently in the low light, separating Detroit and the United States from Windsor and Canada. The five silver towers of the Renaissance Center, previously an office complex and now home to the largest automobile company in the world, loomed over the river and completed the skyline.
And if Helen didn’t find a way to stop it, those towers would split and tip and collapse.
If she was right about the target.
Pray God her instincts were right.
“How big of a radius do we need to evacuate?” She had to be right. “We have two other sites to secure.”
The Ford Motor Company World Headquarters was located twenty miles away in nearby Dearborn; an area, she’d learned, that contained a large shopping mall and the heavily-traveled Ford Freeway, among other things — including the Henry Ford Museum and the Detroit area’s only Ritz Carlton.
The third site, the North American Headquarters for the former Daimler-Chrysler, was situated thirty miles north of Detroit in the suburb of Auburn Hills — a mainly residential area, but also near the entertainment complex where the Detroit Pistons played. And also situated within half a mile of a busy freeway, appropriately named the Chrysler Freeway.
Detroit certainly loved its autos.
If any or all three — God forbid — of these planned explosions detonated, the damage would be much more severe and widespread than the four AvaChem factories. The explosives would have been designed as larger and more powerful to be placed under such massive structures.
“Ten miles, at least. We’ve already begun to give the orders,” Detroit Police Chief Harold Benning told her. “But we can’t evacuate the entire area; the traffic alone would be phenomenal. Instead, we’re securing people in safe areas and we can’t do anything but hope our buildings are strong enough to withstand the force.”
Since Detroit hadn’t known many — perhaps any — earthquakes, Helen rather doubted the buildings had been built with that potential problem in mind.
Helen looked at her watch, willing the hands to stop turning. It was nearly 10:45. Eighty-five minutes until the explosions would detonate, and they were powerless to stop them unless they found the person with the control box — which was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Still. Helen wasn’t about to give up.
Her fingers tingled. She had to be on track. And that was what she was counting on today. Little more than her instinct.
Determined and certain as she was, Helen hadn’t been foolish enough to pull the Feds and local cops from other potential targets … but she’d chosen to come to Detroit to oversee because it had to be here.
With the help of Dr. Everett, on-staff geologists had determined that the controller must be within ten miles of the explosion detonation; yet, he wouldn’t want to be too close, or he’d be caught in the destruction. So, the bomb experts and the geologists had done some rough calculating and pinpointed an outer radius of two miles wide where the searches were contained — at all three locations.
Three hundred law enforcement officials combed the areas; checking cars, buildings, shops; everywhere.
Someone had to find something.
The tingling in her fingers told Helen it was a matter of time.
She just hoped that time would come in the next eighty minutes.
At that moment, Colin Bergstrom ran up to her “Helen!” he shouted. “I’ve got them! MacNeil!”
“Tell me it’s Detroit.”
“It’s Detroit.”
She almost grinned, but there was no time. Hope, now, yes, but no time. “What else?”
“He called from his sat phone. I could barely hear him but he told me he and Marina Alexander were with the Skaladeskas.”
“What else? Do they know how to stop this?”
“He said they moved up the time. Forty minutes from now. We lost connection, but I know he will try and call back.”
“Forty minutes? Do they know how to stop this? Get him on the damned phone!”
Frustration crawled into her belly, gnawed there. It was close … so close. Gabe was still alive and on the job. And there was even someone who might be able to help them ….might. But couldn’t.
“Get him back on the phone. See if he knows anything!” She stalked away, ignoring the fact that she’d just snapped orders to a senior CIA director.
She didn’t care, because the tingling in her fingers was beginning to wane.
44
As they hurried along the hall, as quickly as Gabe could move, Marina felt the desperation climbing inside her. “Give me the phone. We need to try and get through again. I have some information that will help—” She wanted to scream in frustration; it took too long to get the words out. “Dial Bergstrom. I hope to God he’s in Detroit.”
Gabe handed her the phone. The ring sounded tinny and far away, but when the voice boomed on the line, it came through loud and clear. “MacNeil?”
“This is Marina Alexander. Are you in Detroit?
“Yes.”
“The man who is going to detonate the bombs — I can tell you where he is. You have to pick him up and get the box.”
“Wait.” There was silence, a scuffle, and then a female voice came on. “Helen Darrow speaking. Gabe? Am I to understand you’re with the Skaladeskas?”
“This is Marina. Yes. The man you want, who has the control, is in Windsor. He’s across the river from Detroit, directly across from the RenCen. You have about twenty minutes to apprehend him and for me to give you the code to stop it. If I can get to it.”
“In Windsor? Jesus, God, we hardly have anyone over there—” Darrow’s voice stopped abruptly, and Marina could hear her shouting orders, and the bumps as she moved herself, obviously running.
“Helen! Listen,” she yelled into the phone. “Before we cut out again — he’s got dark hair and he’s wearing a blue shirt with green stripes, and he’s right by the river. I couldn’t see if there was a vehicle—”
The phone bleeped in her ear, and Marina knew it had cut out. She pulled it away and looked to see how many battery lines were left. One.
The next time she called, they had to have the man, and she had to have the code.