Silent Night

FOURTEEN

Archer and Josh watched as the two CRT specialists carried the glass container across Macy’s third floor, stopping outside the lifts. One of them pushed the button and the doors to a cart slid open immediately. The two men moved inside, the boxed virus between them. One of them jabbed the button for the ground floor and the doors shut, the two men disappearing out of sight.

Across the level, members of the ESU team, HAZMAT and store security had gathered, talking quietly with each other. The area had been cordoned off and HAZMAT were preparing to screen it to ensure there was no toxicity or any traces of the virus in the air. It was a set procedure which had to followed, but they were fully aware that if even a tiny amount of the virus had escaped they’d have known all about it by now.

Josh pulled his cell phone out and called Shepherd as Archer stood watching the group.

‘Sir, we found the device,’ he said. ‘The son of a bitch hid it in a panel in a changing room.’

‘Defused?’

‘No, but it’s secured. The CRT team put it in a protective casing just before it detonated.’

‘But it went off?’

‘Yes. It did.’

‘Jesus.’ He paused. ‘Good job, but listen. We’re not done with this yet.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This guy isn’t working alone. Before we found him, he was with two other men inside the subway at Times Square. Each of them was carrying a bag which we’re certain contains a box. We think each one is a bomb. We’re working on finding the other two now.’

Josh swore, then turned to Archer.

‘There could be two more of these things.’

‘Aside from the guy in red, none of them are wearing distinctive clothing. Rach is having a hard time tracking them. They also used the subway so could have stepped off at any station. I’ll call you back.’

Josh lowered the phone as Shepherd ended the call.

‘Two more. Shit, we only just got to this one.’

Archer nodded grimly, looking around the store. ‘Something about this is weird.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You saw that bomb. It wasn’t high tech. It was homemade, same as the one in the Park. Crude as hell. It was in a shoebox for Christ’s sake.’

‘So?’

‘How the hell does someone so amateurish get hold of something so dangerous?’

‘He wasn’t exactly amateur, Arch. He was thirty seconds from succeeding.’

Archer went to answer, but Josh’s phone rang. He answered immediately.

‘Sir?’

‘Got one! He stepped off a 6 train and headed towards the South Street Seaport ten minutes ago. Rach is alerting the area response teams.’

Josh started running for the escalator, Archer close on his heels.



Forty three blocks uptown, completely unaware of events in Midtown, Marquez and Jorgensen walked down the fourth-floor corridor of a five-storey apartment building on the Upper West Side, on 77Street between Amsterdam and Broadway. They weren’t far from Flood Microbiology, which made sense as this was where Dr Kruger’s apartment was located. He didn’t have a police file but Rach had found his address via the DMV.

They came to a stop outside 4D. The corridor either side of them was long and empty.

Jorgensen looked at Marquez, who nodded, and he knocked on the door a couple of times.

‘Dr Kruger? This is the NYPD. Open up, please sir.’

Nothing.

‘Dr Kruger?’

He looked at Marquez.

‘Dr Kruger?’ she called.

Nothing.

Jorgensen thought for a moment, then stepped back. He dipped his shoulder and suddenly rammed into the door. Given his size and muscle memory from days on the Rutgers defensive line, the lock was no match for the force that all two hundred and twenty pounds of him generated. The door splintered open, smashed back like so many quarterbacks who’d played against him back in the day.

He recovered his balance and together, the two detectives moved inside.

The apartment was lavish, the living area straight ahead, the kitchen to the left.

But it was also empty.

They separated, checking the place, then met up a few moments later.

‘No sign,’ Marquez said.

‘You think he left town?’ Jorgensen said.

She shook her head. Looking around, she saw a wallet on the mantelpiece and a set of car keys on the marble counter-top. She pointed at them.

‘His stuff is still here.’

‘Maybe he stepped out. Maybe he’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, pulling her cell phone and calling Shepherd. As she did so, she opened the wallet on the counter and pulled out Kruger’s driver’s licence. The photo showed a handsome man, tanned and blond with a square jaw.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘We’re up at Dr Kruger’s,’ she said, passing the licence to Jorgensen. She looked around the empty apartment. ‘He’s not here.’

‘OK.’

‘Want us to stay and wait? See if he comes back?’

‘No. Get over to Dr Tibbs’,’ Shepherd said abruptly.

‘Everything OK, sir? How are Archer and Josh getting on?’

‘I’ll update you later. I don’t have time right now. But find me these other doctors.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The call ended. Marquez slid the phone back into her pocket, then turned to Jorgensen, who was examining the driver’s licence.

‘We’re out of here. Dr Tibbs is next. Got his address?’

Jorgensen nodded, still looking around. ‘Be nice to have a place like this.’

‘With your salary? Maybe in twenty years.’

Jorgensen returned the licence to the wallet, then the two detectives turned and made their way out of the empty apartment. Marquez looked at the lock as she stepped outside. Jorgensen had annihilated it.

‘Make it twenty one years. They’re gonna make you pay for that.’

Jorgensen pulled the door back into place behind them, and jiggled it, trying to keep it closed.

Eventually it held and he slowly withdrew his hand. Then he looked at her and shrugged.

‘I tripped.’



Sitting in the back of a taxi, his heart pounding, Donnie looked back over his shoulder as the cab headed over the Brooklyn Bridge out of Manhattan. He couldn’t have felt more relieved to have planted the bomb and got away. Carrying it around, he’d just been waiting for a cop to stop him.

He watched as Lower Manhattan moved further and further away.

It would go off any second now.