Code White Part 4

"Had the privilege," said Harry, without moving a muscle. Lee said nothing at all.

It had happened on the FBI's turf. Harry had just been appointed to lead the Tactical Unit of the Nacogdoches Police Department, and his chief had sent him out to the Hazardous Devices School at Redstone a.r.s.enal, in Alabama, "to find out what those FBI folks know about dynamite." Lee taught a course there in psychological profiling. He was the kind of teacher who was more feared than liked, his great failing being that he was too doctrinaire for someone who was, after all, in the guessing-game business. He did not like to be questioned, and if you forgot that, he would use all his logical and rhetorical skill to flay you alive, Only a stubborn Texan would come back for a second or third helping of that piccalilli.

But the field, not the cla.s.sroom, was where things really went sour between them. Lee was the mastermind behind the HDS Final Practical Exam, a simulated render-safe procedure at a mock drug lab in a trailer in the woods. Each examinee went out there solo, knowing that every square inch of the site was b.o.o.by-trapped. One slip-up, and he'd get his face splattered with red ink from one of those little dye packs that bank tellers sneak into the loot during a holdup. It took days to wash the stuff off. During exam week, as Harry waited his turn, he noticed how the barracks began to fill up with a lot of very red-faced young men. It seemed that no one came back from that Practical Exam unscathed. It was said, in fact, that no one had ever beaten it-that it could not be beaten, that it was designed to be unbeatable, so as to give you a sense of your own mortality when going up against something as cold and capricious as a bomb.

Which meant nothing to Harry. He still remembered the day of his exam, down to the smell of the dew-damp honeysuckle on the edge of the clearing. The mission was to bring back a briefcase full of "evidence" from inside the trailer. Harry had already officiated at busts at real drug labs in the woods, so it was a cakewalk for him to evade the pathetically obvious trip wires and step fuses along the path to the site. He knew by instinct, too, that there would be a pressure-plate waiting for him outside the door, and contact switches under every window sash. These things were all fair game. But what incensed him was that, when he peered into the windows, he could see that the door and windows had also been b.o.o.by-trapped from the inside, completely out of reach. In laying out the exam, Lee must have exited the trailer from a small skylight-but even there, traces of red paint in the overhanging branches told the story of the last poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d smart enough to figure that out. It was a s.a.d.i.s.tic setup. And in those days, when he was still young and c.o.c.ky, Harry's favorite pastime was teaching bullies a lesson.

So Harry bribed a groundskeeper to open a tool shed, borrowed a chainsaw and used it to cut a two-by-two foot hole through the side of the trailer. When he marched into Lee's office and triumphantly presented him with that briefcase full of fake cocaine, Lee scoffed at first. Not believing his own eyes, he dragged Harry back to the trailer for a look. There was the hole, like a humongous mouth laughing at Lee to his face. Words cannot describe the shade of red he turned. He had a security officer escort Harry to the school administrator's office, and demanded that he be prosecuted for destruction of Federal property. The administrator, fortunately, was a more cool-headed sort. Harry just c.o.c.ked his head and gave a redneck grin, like it was nothing but an overgrown schoolboy prank. And the administrator of the school let it go at that.

But from the look on Lee's face today, Harry could tell that Lee had not let it go.

Just then, the green-suited bomb tech stepped into the hallway, holding a silver laptop computer. He walked toward Avery with a wide-straddling Frankenstein gait.

"How bad is it?" asked Avery.

The tech ripped away the velcro flaps that held his helmet and visor in place. He seemed relieved to be breathing room air.

"It's not a working bomb."

"You mean it's a hoax?"

"Not exactly. The bag has all the components of a bomb-timer, detonator, even a mercury switch for a motion sensor. There's a block of something that's almost certainly C4. Enough to blow a canyon right through this section of the hospital. The strange thing is that the components aren't a.s.sembled. They're just lying about loose in the bottom of the bag."

"What's the point of that?" asked Harry.

Lee studied the image on the screen. "It's obviously a demo, to get our attention. Our bomber probably wanted to make sure the thing didn't go off accidentally."

"Maybe he was afraid to wire it together," said Avery. "Afraid he'd blow himself up."

Lee arched his eyebrows. "Perhaps, but I doubt it. I think it's more of a gesture of contempt. It's a way of saying that we aren't worth the trouble to put together a real bomb. If that's true, we're dealing with someone with a highly exaggerated sense of superiority. Also someone unwilling to show his true hand."

"Well, one thing is certain," said Scopes. "Whoever left this is telling us that they know how to make a bomb. Judging by the mercury switch, they know how to b.o.o.by-trap it, too."

"Sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d," said Avery.

"So what happens now?" asked Harry.

"Ransom demand, most likely," said Avery. "You said on the phone that another message was coming?"

"Yes. Eight-thirty. Right about now."

The four men-Harry, Avery, Lee, and Scopes-turned to watch as the render-safe tech strapped his helmet back on and returned to the lobby. In a moment, he reemerged, gingerly pus.h.i.+ng a three-foot blue metal container studded with U-shaped bolts and handles, like a naval contact mine on wheels. All gave him a wide berth as he pa.s.sed on his way to the elevator.

As the tech went by, Harry switched on the two-way intercom that connected to his diving helmet. "Make sure you take that out through the rear door, next to the ambulance dock. We have a TV crew in the hospital, and I'd rather not let them get you in their camera sights."

Lee motioned for Harry to hand him the intercom. "Where are you taking it?" he asked the bomb tech.

"To the Bat Cave. That's our disposal site down on the South Side."

"Hold the bomb in the lab when you get there," said Lee. "We want to look it over before you go all Fourth of July on it. Special Agent Scopes will follow you. He has a direct clearance and pa.s.sword to AEXIS."

"What's AEXIS?" asked Harry.

"It's a restricted computer database-the Arson and Explosives Information System-that the ATF maintains at the U.S. Bomb Data Center in Was.h.i.+ngton. There's a good chance that we can trace this material. Detonators usually carry origin codes and serial numbers. The C4 may be traceable, too. Since 9/11, the military's been tagging explosives with gla.s.s microspheres. They're too small to be seen with the naked eye, but they contain microscopic ID chips that can be read with a special infrared scanner. Same principle as the chip you implant in a dog's ear."

As the elevator doors clanged shut, the fire door opened, and Harry heard the sounds of "Foggy Mountain Breakdown." A young blond woman in the white blouse and black trousers of the hospital security staff held up a cell phone.

"That's my phone," Harry explained. "I didn't want it going off near the bomb."

As the woman handed him the phone, Harry saw a text display, consisting of a single line: YOU HAVE MAIL.

"Eight-thirty, on the dot," said Lee, checking his own watch.

"Let's go to my office," said Harry. After giving orders to reopen the corridor, he led Lee and Avery down one floor in the elevator, and then into a suite of rooms in a rear corridor, which he accessed by swiping the ID card he wore around his neck. They pa.s.sed through a large room filled with cubicles and cupboards, then a smaller room filled with banks of CATV monitors, and lastly into the innermost keep of the castle-Harry's office. To enter the office required both a card swipe and a thumb scan.

The three men sat down close together behind Harry's desk, while Harry tapped his keyboard to bring up his e-mail queue. The queue was empty.

"Let's give it a minute," said Harry.

"Impressive control room back there," said Avery. "Beats what we have downtown."

"Nowadays a hospital is a pretty controversial place," said Harry without taking his eyes from the monitor. "We get targeted by abortion groups, animal rights groups, patient rights groups, unions, neo-Luddites of all persuasions. I'm sure you noticed those picketers as you came in. Plus we're a target for old-fas.h.i.+oned theft. We have half a billion dollars worth of equipment to keep an eye on-microscopes, computers, you name it. The narcotics stashed in our pharmacies could supply every junkie in Chicago for the next six months."

"No such thing as too much security, huh?" said Avery.

"Not for us, anyway. We just spent fourteen million dollars on an upgrade of Cerberus, our automated security system. From this command center, I have an overview of everything that goes on in this hospital. There are cameras and sensors in every public area. If a window or door is ajar, I know it. If an emergency alarm goes off, I can press a b.u.t.ton and lock or unlock any fire door or any exit to contain the problem. I can override controls to any critical plant function-elevators, electricity, water, thermal regulation, ventilation. I can call up a list of every card used to swipe any scanner in the medical center at any time over the past three months. And I can tell you that, at this exact moment, there are, uh..." Harry hit a couple of keys on the keyboard at his desk, bringing a column of numbers to the screen. "There are ... two thousand eight hundred and sixty-two people inside these buildings, including the three of us ... and, uh, two babies born on Tower B this morning."

Lee was unimpressed. "Quite a rung up for a small-town Texas cop. But fancy technology is no subst.i.tute for old-fas.h.i.+oned a.n.a.lysis and clarity of thinking."

Harry shrugged. "Never said it was."

Avery ignored them both and looked over the row of monitors on the counter behind the desk. "Are there surveillance tapes of the lobby where the bomb was found?"

"Certainly."

"I'd like to have a look at those."

Poink! A water-drop alert sounded from the computer, and Lee pointed at the monitor with his index finger. "Mr. Lewton, I think you have mail."

"Ah, yes. Here we are." Harry scooted his chair forward, and clicked on the boldfaced line that had just appeared on his e-mail queue: "NOW THAT WE HAVE BEEN INTRODUCED."

A rectangle crammed with capital letters filled the center of the screen: PRAISE BE TO G.o.d, THE ALL-MERCIFUL, AND TO HIS PROPHET. THE DAY OF REPENTANCE OF ALL UNBELIEVERS IS AT HAND. SHOW CONTRITION AND YOU WILL OBTAIN PARDON. DEFY THOSE WHO FIGHT FOR G.o.d AND YOUR DESTRUCTION IS SURE. BY 18:00 CENTRAL STANDARD TIME TODAY MARTYRS MOHAMMED METEB AND Ha.s.sAN ABO MOSSALAM SHALL BOARD GULF AIR FLIGHT 401 TO SANAA YEMEN FROM NEW YORK. SIGNAL WILLINGNESS BY PAYMENT AS FOLLOWS. FLETCHER MEMORIAL MEDICAL CENTER. NORTHWEST CITY BANK. ILLINOIS STATE TEACHERS PENSION AND RETIREMENT FUND. CHICAGO HOUSING AUTHORITY. ILLINOIS STATE LOTTERY. ROSENBACH FOUNDATION. CHICAGO BOARD OF TRADE. CHICAGO TRANSIT AUTHORITY. FROM EACH $25,000 TO EACH OF TWO ACCOUNTS PAID AT 12:00 AND 12:05 EXACTLY. ACCOUNT NUMBERS WILL BE PROVIDED. DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE OUR RESOLVE. THE LIVES OF MANY ARE IN YOUR HANDS. G.o.d IS GREAT."

"What's the return address?" asked Avery.

"Uh, rudi-at-bethshalom-dot-org."

"What's that? Beth Shalom. It sounds like a synagogue."

"Give me a minute." Harry typed the name into his Web browser. "Yes, it's a synagogue in Evanston. There's, uh, there's a youth director on staff named Rudi Kern."

"A synagogue?" said Lee, shaking his head. "Not likely. It's got to be a redirect. A fake address."

"Sons of b.i.t.c.hes!" said Avery.

Harry smiled. "Well, we know they have a sense of humor. Meteb and Mossalam? Who are they?"

Lee tapped his forefinger against his upper lip. "Foot soldiers of the Al-Quds Martyrs' Brigade, an offshoot of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood. Right now, they're being held at Rikers Island, pending trial for the murder of a city councillor in New York."

"Gives us an idea who we're dealing with, anyway," said Avery. "Another bunch of those d.a.m.ned Middle Eastern fanatics."

"Possibly," said Lee.

Harry looked at the FBI agent curiously. "Not necessarily?"

"As I pointed out in my lectures, if you were listening, one must always be cautious in interpreting these things. It's best to avoid premature a.s.sumptions."

Avery scoffed. "Who else?"

"I don't know."

Harry trained his gaze on Lee. "Can we meet these demands? Any chance these two will be released?"

"Was.h.i.+ngton will decide that," said Lee. "The money is actually easier to deal with, although our bomber has made it complicated by asking for all these different payers. That will take some coordination."

"Why don't they just ask for a lump sum?" asked Harry.

Lee shrugged. "I suspect it's a way of flaunting their power. Bombers tend to be bitter, brooding types. Authority figures are a favorite target. Look at all these payers: government agencies, banks, unions-pillars of the establishment. This isn't a ransom demand. It's tribute. Submission."

Harry looked over the message on the screen once again. "Can we a.s.sume they mean business?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

Avery shrugged. "I'll notify the mayor and the governor's office. They can help us move the money, if we have to."

"Twenty-five thousand dollars doesn't seem like a lot, does it?" said Harry, turning toward Lee. "The whole amount comes to, what, four hundred thousand? That's about two hours' worth of the operating revenue of this medical center."

"Well, these Al-Quds Martyrs are a pretty rinky-d.i.n.k operation," said Lee. "It could be that they're scared by what they're getting into. They may want to make a quick haul and be done with it."

"Sure they're scared," said Avery. "The f.u.c.kers don't even have the b.a.l.l.s to wire up their own bomb."

"Well, this is my hospital," said Harry, "and I'm inclined to take them seriously. Let's just a.s.sume that there is a fully functional bomb somewhere, and that it can do as much damage as they say it can. Protocol says we start a search for it."

"I think that's wise," said Lee.

Avery nodded in agreement. "All right. Let's go to OPCON Level Three. Do you know what that means, Mr. Lewton?"

Harry was being challenged-challenged in his own G.o.dd.a.m.ned office. He swung his chair around and looked Avery in the eye. "OPCON Three: a credible threat. Special resources deployed to the scene to watch, stand by, or a.s.sist as necessary in investigation. That would include bomb squad, fire department, SWAT, HAZMAT, and FBI or ATF in a case like this."

"That's right," said Avery, a little curtly. Turning to Lee, he became more cordial. "Would you like to take charge, Ray?"

"No, I'm here just as an observer, for the moment."

Some observer, thought Harry. The FBI could take over anytime it wanted. Every cop knew that. If Lee offered to sit on the sidelines, it was because he liked to exercise authority discreetly and without the ha.s.sles of direct command. But Harry wasn't fooled. There was no doubt about who was top dog in this pack.

Avery seemed content with the charade. "Then I'll act as Incident Commander," he said. "Mr. Lewton, are you and your people up to conducting the search?"

"You bet we are."

"Then let's get on it."

"Wait a sec. I have an idea," said Harry. He turned around and picked up a black digital clock from a bookshelf beside his desk. "It's now, what, about a quarter of nine? Plane boards at six Eastern Standard Time?" After Harry had fiddled with some b.u.t.tons, the clock showed "8:15" in red LED numbers about three inches high. "I've set it to time remaining mode," said Harry, displaying the clockface to each of the three men in turn. "That's what we have left, gentlemen. Eight hours, fifteen minutes. We neutralize the threat by then, or the s.h.i.+t hits the fan."

Ten minutes later, Harry, Avery, and Lee were standing in a green-tiled, concrete-floored room in the second sub-bas.e.m.e.nt of the hospital. About thirty maintenance workers in khakis, jeans or blue gray overalls, some still wearing yellow hard hats, had been shepherded into this place by a dozen uniformed security officers. Harry recognized only a few of the maintenance workers. In fact, in the three months he had been at Fletcher Memorial he had barely gotten to know his own security staff. He was keenly aware that this would be the first time any of these people would see him take charge in a crisis.

The room had been used for linen storage, but was now nearly cleared for renovations. The air was filled with the smells of mildew, bleach, and drying grout.

"Listen up, people!" shouted Harry. "Come on, quiet down and listen!" The murmur of the crowd subsided as Harry held up his hands. "With me here are Special Agent Raymond Lee, from the FBI's Critical Incident Response Group, and Captain Glenn Avery, from the Chicago Police Department's Bomb Squad. We have a credible bomb threat to the Medical Center. I repeat, this is a credible threat. We're going to conduct a search, and it needs to be done quietly and without starting a panic. We drilled for this a couple of months ago, remember?" He scanned the room, gathering nods here and there. He was glad now that he had made a point of testing the hospital's emergency readiness protocols as soon as he had arrived. It had earned him the nickname "Captain Doomsday" among some of the staff, but at least he had something to fall back on now. "Okay? We'll run it just like we did then."

A rapt silence now hung on Harry's words. "Security staff will function as team leaders, each accompanied by four to six maintenance personnel who will physically conduct the search. Stay together in your groups. No one goes off on his own. On that back table are spools of white ribbon. Tie a white ribbon to your hospital ID tag. Do not-I repeat, do not-discuss any aspect of the search with anyone not wearing a white ribbon. Any inquiries get directed to this command center.

"Team leaders have master keys that should get you almost everywhere. If a door needs to be forced, consult with the command center first. Use your flashlights! I don't want anyone turning on any light switches. A switch could be rigged to detonate a bomb. Search with your eyes and ears only. Don't move anything! Don't touch anything!

"We'll start with the grounds and courtyards. That includes the liquid oxygen tanks, Dumpsters, and any vehicles parked on the service road behind the hospital. Get me license numbers of any vehicles you find. Pay special attention to trash cans and planters near the entrances. Next move indoors-lobbies, bathrooms, stairways, and elevators. Angelo, your team will check out the sandwich shop in the main lobby, and then the cafeteria and the doctors' dining room. Get the managers to help guide you. Meanwhile, the rest of you will move to the second bas.e.m.e.nt level, and work your way up, floor by floor. Do things in stages: a floor search, a waist-level search, an eye-level search, and then a ceiling search. Don't forget to have a look above the ceiling tiles. When you clear a room, tape an X on the door with masking tape. I'll be making the rounds from time to time to check your progress, and I want to know what's been cleared and what hasn't. No one's being graded on speed. A hasty search is worse than useless. Any questions?"

Hesitant glances were traded among the crowd. One pot-bellied man in overalls and a plumber's belt moved to the front. "What are we looking for exactly?"

Harry spread his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "Anything out of the ordinary. An unfamiliar container. Equipment that's been moved or stacked as if to hide something. Sc.r.a.ps of wire tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Paint flakes on the floor. Most of you will be in your usual work areas, so you know how things should be." Harry turned to Lee. "Anything to add?" he asked, knowing that he had covered all the bases pretty d.a.m.n well. Even Lee would have to admit it.

Lee stepped forward, with a stiff, military bearing. He spoke precisely, with a rhythm that could have been counted off on a metronome. But his voice did not carry well in the large room, and those in the back had to strain to hear him. "It's best to proceed without preconceptions," he said. "We're dealing with an explosive that can be molded to any shape. It can be made to look like anything. Bombs of this type will usually be concealed, either in an inaccessible place, or inside of something ordinary and easily overlooked. Although we have reason to believe that a large and highly destructive bomb may be on the premises, there may be other, perhaps smaller, bombs, either planted as decoys or as b.o.o.by-traps to protect the primary installation."

A tall young man from the HVAC division looked at Lee intently. "What do we do if we find something?"

"Rule number one: don't touch it," said Lee. "Notify the command center-Mr. Lewton's office-by telephone. That means a land line, no cell phones. Cell phones are often used to detonate bombs. Next, move everyone out of the area. Captain Avery will be the Incident Commander on site. He and the bomb squad will be standing by, and will take over if you do find anything."

From the back of the room, a raspy man's voice called out. "What kind of twisted mind would plant a bomb in a hospital?"

Lee lifted his chin, as though trying to pitch his voice toward the back. "We don't know who's done it at this point. Whoever it is, there's a good chance they're not far away, keeping an eye on all of us. So be watchful."

"And calm," added Harry. "For G.o.d's sake, stay calm-and very, very careful."

Judy Wolper, Harry's cell phone bearer, was standing not far away. "What about these TV cameras?" she asked in a timid voice. "There's reporters all over the place."

"Let that be my problem," said Harry. "If they start to get nosy, don't try to BS 'em. They can smell a cover-up a mile away, and you have no idea how bad they can bite you when they think you're not telling the truth. Just say there's an alert in progress, and send them to me. I'll be preparing a statement later this morning, once we have a better idea of what's going on." Judy nodded, and Harry turned to the man at his side. "Captain Avery, anything you'd like to add?"

Avery had been slouching against a canvas laundry cart, which wobbled slightly as he straightened up. "Just don't try to be heroes," he said, clearing his throat. "We have guys who get paid to be heroes. You do your part, and we'll do ours. Okay?"