The tracking signal on Diane’s phone was strong. He followed a course parallel to the one the dozen men were on. Before long he could see that they were heading northeast consistently, not speeding or taking reckless chances. The symbol of Stahl’s phone stopped at some intersections and went steadily through others, which meant they were obeying traffic signals. They were being careful not to appear to be fleeing.
They crossed Wilshire Boulevard, Sunset Boulevard, and Hollywood Boulevard. They climbed into the hills at Crescent Heights, and stayed on the road as it became Laurel Canyon. He checked the screen of Diane’s phone often as he drove, careful on the winding road to stay back where the vehicles he was following couldn’t see him.
He couldn’t be sure the vehicles were together anymore. He had slid his phone into the dead man’s clothes. All he had was a fairly reliable indication that he was following a corpse.
44
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“This is Sergeant Diane Hines, badge two eight nine six three. I’m at the home of police captain Richard Stahl, Seven Twenty-Three Anthony Drive. We’ve been attacked by several men armed with fully automatic AK-47 rifles. They killed two security guards here in order to gain entry. They’ve driven off in three black SUVs, and Captain Stahl is following them using a cell phone GPS program. It’s essential that you transmit this call to Captain Bart Almanzo, the commander of Homicide Special.”
“Are you in a safe place right now?”
“Safe enough. I’m inside the condominium.”
“Then stay where you are until the officers get there.”
“I don’t plan to go anywhere.” She was sitting in the corner of the kitchen using the house phone. Dick was using her cell phone to track his phone, so there had been no better way to call the police to reach Almanzo.
Diane wasn’t sure why the police weren’t here already. She’d assumed the guards had called 911 right away, but now she thought probably they hadn’t. There must not have been time before they were killed. She had called during the thirty seconds or so while she waited in her car for Dick, but nobody seemed to know that either. Had her first call broken up because she was underground in the garage?
Using the house phone was the best way. The computer program that ran the emergency communication system had a reverse phone book, so it identified where a call had originated. The cops would be here soon.
She waited, holding the phone and listening to dead air. Now and then the emergency operator said, “Are you still there, Sergeant?”
She would answer, “Still here.”
The operator would say, “Keep standing by. I’ll be here with you.”
“I’m here,” Diane said. “If I have to hang up I’ll warn you.”
She switched the phone to speaker and set it on the kitchen table where she could hear it without pressing it to her ear. She wanted to keep both ears uncovered so if anything happened in the condominium building she would hear. She kept the M4 she had used to shoot the terrorist on the table with her hand near the trigger guard.
When had she decided to call him a terrorist? she wondered. She deduced that it was when she’d identified the AK-47.
The time seemed too long. She said, “Did I neglect to tell you that this is a life-and-death emergency? Where are they?”
“I’m showing them as all around you, pretty much,” the operator said. “They’re closing in.”
“Tell them I’m coming out.” She hung up.
She removed the magazines from the rifle and her Glock, left the guns and ammunition on the table, stood, and walked to the front door. She switched on the porch light over the front steps and opened the door wide without standing in it. She waited until a number of bright spotlights from the cars and police officers all converged on the spot, and then she stepped out with her hands high in the air.
When she got a few steps from the door and onto the lawn she knelt there to wait, her hands still high. She judged it was safe to look around, so she tried, but the bright lights made it impossible. She knew there was a SWAT team out there in the dark behind the lights.
Seconds later she heard the sound of men running in combat boots. The first shout was: “Lie down where you are with your arms spread.”
She eased herself forward onto her stomach and let the first SWAT team members approach.
As they dragged her to her feet, she said in a loud, clear voice, “I’m Sergeant Diane Hines, LAPD Bomb Squad, and I need to talk to Captain Almanzo, Homicide Special. It’s a Code Three.”
They ushered her toward the row of police vehicles that clogged the street. She knew she had to think of a way to force things to start happening. “Get him on the phone now!”
45
The bomb maker had been sleeping soundly for several hours. He had worked longer and harder than he considered wise. For several weeks he’d been stockpiling all the Semtex he could make. Since the night the terrorists said they were ready, he had been building explosive devices.
He had not wanted to deal with these men any longer than he had to. He was sure the terrorists were getting more volatile and dangerous each day. They’d been waiting for a year, and now that they had the guns and ammunition and had practiced in the desert, they were terribly impatient. They could hardly wait to kill someone.
He would once have said they could hardly wait to die but was no longer sure they were a suicide squad. During the last visit the bald man had told him they’d assembled things intended for survival—cars and food. Dead men didn’t need food. They seemed to have some notion that they could attack Los Angeles and live. It wasn’t a likely outcome, since the city was protected by about ten kinds of local, state, and federal cops, and the terrorists’ ignorance about that seemed to be causing cognitive dissonance among them. It seemed to him the reason they were so eager to launch their attack must be that the longer they waited the more likely they would be to lose their nerve.
For the past few days he had been working to shape and wire the immense new batch of Semtex into the right containers. He wanted the smaller ones to look like harmless objects, so they would be easy to leave in the open. Waste containers could go almost anywhere. Luggage could be left in and around airports, train stations, parking lots, bus depots. Potted plants could be placed near houses or in public buildings. Cardboard boxes inside shopping bags with the names of stores printed on them could be left in or around malls, stores, or restaurants. He had been collecting containers ever since he’d begun leaving bombs for the police. He had a good supply of yard ornaments, birdbaths, plaster trolls and statues, electrical fixtures and appliances. He had toys and games, basketballs and hollow aluminum bats. He had a few dozen orange traffic cones that could be filled and armed. He had bought two fire hydrants from a scrap yard and left their faded paint jobs intact so they wouldn’t be noticed. All of these devices required extra work, and all required that he see the object as part of a scene and an action, almost like a small play, ending in the triggering of the initiator.
Some of the larger devices had taken the most effort for him. They needed to contain very large quantities of Semtex—tens of pounds and up. They had to be delivered to sites, but some were too heavy to carry. He had loaded one charge into a portable electric cement mixer that had a tow hitch and wheels. He put one batch into a generator made for construction projects. Another he built into the van he used, all set into the bay and then covered with a false floor. There were seven blockbusters in all, each containing five hundred to a thousand pounds of high explosives. He was ready to blow up bridges and buildings, not just a few curious civilians.