An eye for an eye.
CHAPTER 68
Kaplan woke up in pain but with a clear head. With every heartbeat, every pulse of blood through his body, his leg throbbed.
“Isabella?” Kaplan called out.
No answer.
He’d slept several hours, he didn’t know how long but it was much needed rest. It had been the early hours of the morning when they’d dropped Bentley and his bodyguards off at Langley and Isabella had driven him home.
While he slept, he dreamt of the night he and Isabella made love. The romantic atmosphere of the Mediterranean was overwhelming and perhaps underestimated. Doors to the balcony opened to their adobe style villa in Tripoli, the warm breezes from the blue sea washed over their naked bodies. The private balcony in the bedroom offered spectacular views as the full moon bounced beams across the water illuminating every curve on her dark skin. The balmy night turned steamy as they made love, exploring each other as new lovers do, passionately and longingly.
He’d battled his feelings for her the entire time she was in Yemen, a trip he didn’t want her to take. He knew she’d been ill after that night in Tripoli. Food poisoning she’d tried to tell him. Stood to reason since he’d been plagued with stomach issues after that trip as well. Then she was gone, just like that, off to Yemen. He knew it was one of the many drawbacks of working for the Clandestine Service, no normal life. No time to foster personal relationships.
Somehow they could make it work. They could both resign and live comfortably on contract jobs. In effect, they would still be working for Bentley, just not on the United States Government payroll.
“Isabella?” Kaplan called out again.
Nothing.
He rolled off the couch using his crutches to hoist him onto his foot. He positioned them under his armpits and hobbled around the room.
“Isabella.”
He turned toward the front door and saw the note folded tent style on the dining table. He figured she went back to Langley anticipating he would sleep longer and would return soon. But that wasn’t what the letter read. Not even close. After he read her words, he felt light-headed. He grabbed a chair, letting his clutches fall to the ground, and plopped into the seat.
He let the note slip from his fingers. It floated to the floor.
He lowered his head.
Isabella Hunt was gone.
Khan ground the gears to the truck every time he started to move forward. He’d always had trouble operating a stick shift and now he wished he’d learned the intricacies of using a clutch.
The light turned green, Khan pressed heavy on the accelerator, and then let go of the clutch. The truck bucked again and moved forward slowly gaining speed.
The next light was green, one block to go. He saw the service delivery entrance sign for the American Museum of Natural History located at the rear of the museum. He cleared the guard post with his identification then pulled past the delivery ramp. Now he had the challenge of backing it down the ramp, between two other trucks, and not smash into the concrete abutment at the bottom of the ramp.
A young man walked out on the loading dock and waved him directions, guiding him between the two trucks. Slow and steady. He didn’t know how truck drivers negotiated hills of any kind. Three pedals and only two feet. He kept a foot on the brake and a foot on the gas, which worked fine until he stopped and the engine ground to a halt. The young man looked perturbed, hands propped on his hips and a frustrated look on his face.
Khan restarted the truck, feet on the clutch and the brake when he realized he could let gravity roll the truck down to the loading dock. Fortunately, he thought, he didn’t have to worry about driving the truck out.
Khan had researched the architectural layout of the museum, specifically for structural integrity and located the four most critical load-bearing points under the museum. The destruction of those, coupled with the blast from the truck would ensure the collapse of the museum onto its own footprint.
After Khan opened the cargo door the young man approached with a hand truck, Khan pointed to the boxes. “Only the ones marked AMNH are yours. The rest are my next delivery.”
“You’re late.”
The young man’s sarcastic tone caused Khan to smile knowing soon the young man would be buried beneath tons of rubble.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Khan asked.
The young man pointed. “Down that hallway on the left.”
“Thanks.”
Khan waited until the young man left with his first load and then reached into the smaller boxes, pulled out the devices and placed them in a large backpack. He headed for the sub-basement to install the explosives.
Jake rounded the corner to the loading dock and saw Khan disappear into the building with a pack strapped on his back. He was winded but he knew what he had to do. He found his way from the ramp to the loading dock, then walked over and looked inside the back of Khan’s truck.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” A voice said from behind him.
“Where did the driver of this truck go?”
“You can’t be here. This is a secure area.” The young man said.
“Look, kid. I don’t have time for games. One more time, where is the driver of this truck?”
“I don’t know. He asked about the bathroom. Now you have to leave or I’m calling security.” The young man grabbed the radio from his belt. “Now leave.” He used the antenna to point the way for Jake to get off the loading dock.
With as much force as he could muster, Jake’s right fist punched forward, slamming into the young man’s solar plexus rendering him unconscious. The radio flew from his hand as he flew backwards. Jake watched the young man slide across the smooth concrete. He grabbed the young man by the ankles and dragged him into the cargo bed of the truck and wedged him behind the large box.
He opened the small boxes. Empty. Next he opened the large box, the one concealing the young man from view and found what he needed. From his tradecraft training Jake knew the box contained enough explosives to nearly level the entire museum, but he noticed something else. Something he’d already found indicative of Khan’s traits. Khan’s overconfidence made him neglect a small detail. The explosives were not tamper resistant. It was a careless mistake.
Jake removed the cell phone and disabled the explosive by removing the blasting caps. Four small boxes. Four smaller explosives. Khan was probably installing the devices somewhere in the substructure of the building. Jake needed to find out where and fast.
He ran in the direction of the restrooms. When the young man was talking to him on the loading dock, he had noticed a fire evacuation plan mounted on the wall. It was a large diagram of the level he was on and smaller diagrams of all floors, including a subbasement below him. That would be where Khan would plant the explosives. He knew it as soon as he saw the diagram.
He had one last thing to do. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his own cell phone, punched in the secret number, the one only a select few people knew, and hit send.
He located the door to the basement and descended into the lowest level. It was musty and dank. The hum of machinery used to keep the museum operating drowned out most noise. Although not an architect, he had earned a degree in aerospace engineering at Annapolis and had worked on the structures team several times while employed by the National Transportation Safety Board. He scanned the large diagram next to the exit and located the four most probable structural points for Khan to use. Jake knew if Khan blew out the main supports, the superstructure of the museum could collapse. He ripped the diagram from the wall and set out to locate the bombs, or Khan, but preferably, both.