“I’m in front of a pawn shop in Inwood. Harcourt is the mole and he’s in there with Nolan, moving around Dattar’s money. I called the police, but got one car. Can you get them to send more?”
“The report I’m getting is that the NYPD can’t find anything wrong at the 215th Street station and are heading down to 72nd Street, where a new report claims a sighting of Dattar and two others. They’ve got thirty cruisers and FBI on the scene.”
“Why would Dattar head into the subway? He’d get infected.”
“It’s an anonymous report, but it sounds promising. There’s a dead man name of Manhar who appears to be of Pakistani origin at the top of the stairs, and they received an eyewitness report that someone matching Dattar’s description and two others hustled down the stairs. Dattar was carrying a cooler.”
Smith hesitated. It all sounded correct, yet he still doubted that Dattar would be anywhere near a subway station after the bacteria were placed.
“You’re aware that we think Harcourt is a mole and he’s got a connection to the NYPD? The report could be a plant.”
“We’re aware, but it’s clear that they’ve been pumping water into the 72nd Street station for a while, and it shut down first. Add a dead man’s body and they’re duty bound to investigate.”
“I see your point. It sounds like there’s not much I can do to help down there, but the situation here is bizarre. Only one car when a possible kidnapping is called in? Once Harcourt strong-arms Nolan into handing over the money, he’s going to kill her. He needs to be stopped.”
“I agree, but who called in the report? Perhaps you should confirm that before you go in there with guns blazing.”
“I have no idea who called it in. Where’s Howell?”
“Off to a place where he can recuperate. He’s in bad shape, but the dispatcher told me that he should be dead. Seems the measures you took helped him.”
“Here’s hoping he’s okay. And I agree that going in with guns blazing isn’t the way here. Harcourt will only hold her hostage. Let me reconnoiter. She told me this Bilal has an entire arsenal in there. Maybe he’s already disposed of the Harcourt problem.”
“Fine. Proceed with caution. And remember, they’re going to need you to assist with the decontamination once Dattar is contained.” When Klein rang off, Smith called Marty.
“Can you track Nolan’s computer?” he said.
“It’s off. I’m sorry, Jon.”
Smith’s right wrist began to burn, and he gritted his teeth to stop groaning with the pain. His right eye itched, but he resisted the urge to rub it, since it might increase the swelling that was already occurring.
“What about her accounts? Can you see if there’s any activity?”
“I’ve been only able to access one main offshore account. I’ll pull it up. Hang tight.”
Smith remained silent, listening while Marty typed on his keyboard. The burning in his wrist progressed to his elbow and he felt the nerves on his arm begin to react. Then the vision in his right eye began to blur. The blindness was setting in. He felt the beginnings of panic, both at the idea of the pain that he knew was coming and at the thought that he might be completely blind before he could assist Nolan.
“Hurry. I’m in bad shape and getting worse. Dattar used mustard gas on me.” He heard Marty gasp.
“Where are you?”
“At the northern tip of Manhattan. Outside a building that I think has Nolan in it.”
“I’ve got it. Yes, the payments and transfer page is being accessed. Someone’s filling in an online wire transfer form.”
For a moment Smith was distracted from his injuries. “Can you access the source computer?”
“I’m tracking back the cookies now. Hold tight.”
Smith held his breath. In contrast he heard Marty’s heavy breathing through the phone.
“It’s coming from a PC located in the Inwood area of Manhattan.”
“The minute she finishes that transaction, they’ll kill her. Call this in. Get me police backup. Tell them silent approach — there’s a hostage and I don’t want Harcourt to know we’re on the way and possibly kill her, but also warn them that a member of the military is inside so they don’t shoot me.”
“I’ll…”
Smith didn’t wait for the rest. He started running toward the building, shoving the phone into his pocket. His arms burned and his eyes were blurring. He felt the skin of his lids puffing and saw the edge of the blister that was forming at the corner of his right eye. Through all the scorching heat in his arms he still shivered as a chill passed through his body. He was ten feet from the entrance when the staccato sound of gunfire came from within the building.
He hit the door and it swung open, making the same beeping noise that it had when he’d come the first time. The interior hallway was dark and the building silent. There were four doors on either side of the long hallway and at the end Bilal’s office door was open, with light pouring onto the carpeting. He ran to the first entrance and crouched behind the door. He put his eye to the crack at the doorjamb and saw a man’s figure in the hall. He paused in the room’s doorway for a moment and then continued down the hall.
Smith felt a hand wrap around his ankle. He froze and looked to his right. He saw that it was Bilal, lying on his side with a gun in his right hand. The man’s harsh breathing sounded loud in the room.
“Are you hit?” he whispered.
“Side. Miss Rebecca.” He made a slight coughing sound that Smith didn’t like at all. As a medical doctor, he’d heard it too many times right before someone died.
“Where is she?”
“Office. Go armed. They’re guarding the entrance. Cowards won’t come down the hall to fight me. They have all my gold,” Bilal said. “I can’t let them take it.”
Smith laid his gun on the carpeting and began to run his hands over Bilal. He found the wound and heard Bilal’s sharp intake of breath as he probed it.
“My gold,” Bilal said.
“Forget about the gold. I’m calling for an ambulance.” Smith pulled out his phone and prepared to text Marty.
“Those stinking sheepherders aren’t taking my gold,” Bilal said. Smith tried to send the text, but it failed. He had no service. “My phone isn’t working.” Bilal made a sound that Smith thought might have been a chuckle, if the man hadn’t been near death.
“Roof is metal. It’s safer,” Bilal rasped.
“Is there a phone in this room?”
“On the desk, but I called the police. Told them they have her as a hostage. They caught me doing it and shot me. Bastards think they’ve killed me.”
Smith began to rise and Bilal grabbed his sleeve. “Be careful. It’s a business phone, many lines. If you pick it up, they’ll see the light and know someone’s using it.” Smith lowered back down. “They sent the skinny one to pour their chemicals on my solar panels.”
Smith stilled. “Were the chemicals from a cooler?”
“Yes. Kill them. Get me my gold.” Smith wanted to tell the man that the gold would be worthless if the entire city was dying from a pandemic. He also wished he knew how often the panels kicked back electricity to the grid.
“How many?” Smith asked.
“Four.” Bilal made a choking sound. “One is Dattar. I know of him from the old country. The skinny one is on the roof. There’s an Uzi in the cabinet here. Back right shelf. And a flamethrower in the safe across the hall. The one on the right. The gold is there as well, but not enough to satisfy them. I emptied the rest three days ago and moved it to another location. There’s fifty thousand dollars’ worth left here. Combination six — twenty-five — six for the weapons safe. Burn the building down. The gold will melt, but it will survive.”