Hard Road (30 page)

“Freeze that, Roy!”

Meyerstein pointed at the screen. “Excellent. Now run the plates of that cab, Roy.”

Stamper scribbled the details and handed it to one of his team.

Meyerstein said, “OK, Roy, let's roll the footage to Lower Manhattan.”

The footage picked up Caan as he got out of the same cab. “OK,” Meyerstein said, “This is Caan arriving in Tribeca. Kinda upscale these days. Let's pay attention.”

The footage showed Caan carrying a holdall walking across the street at the corner of Duane and Greenwich. “Freeze that, if you will,” she said. She turned to look at her team. “He is carrying a bag. Go back to the airport footage, Roy. I'm sure he wasn't carrying anything.”

Roy rewound the footage. It confirmed that Meyerstein was right. No holdall.

“Where did the holdall come from? Was this placed in the taxi for him? We need to know, people.”

Meyerstein faced the freeze-framed screen showing Caan at the airport. “Go back to Tribeca.” She shifted in her seat aware she was snapping at her team. She needed to calm down.

They watched Caan again emerge from the cab in Tribeca. “I want our guys in New York to swamp the area around Duane and Greenwich, and start asking questions. I want every resident within one block of there to be shown a picture of Caan. Do they know him? Have they seen him out and about? Was he staying there? Visiting someone? Check all the hotels within a mile. I want to know the instant we have a breakthrough.”

Stamper groaned. “This footage is a month old, Martha.”

“It's all we have. It's a start.”

Meyerstein wasn't as pessimistic as Stamper. He viewed himself as a realist and a pragmatist. And it was true. But sometimes he didn't view small breakthroughs in the same light as she did. To her it was concrete proof that they were on the right track. She learned that as a child watching her father in his studying. The forensic way he pieced together the smallest facts, and constructed a rational and plausible case as part of his preparations. Nothing was too small to overlook. She was doing the same. The FBI now knew Caan had visited New York and when. They had something to work with, even if it was one month old.

Meyerstein sank back in her seat. She was so tired she couldn't sleep. It was pure adrenaline that was keeping her going. She was certain her heart rate was constantly beating faster these days.

She looked around at her team again. Exhausted faces, all running on empty. “We're getting close now. I want every FBI field office, police force and all government agencies to be made aware of Caan and his image. I want every avenue explored, and leads followed up.”

Roy gave a wry smile from his seat in the opposite aisle and got up, before taking a seat beside her. He leaned in close. “Martha,” he said, his voice low, “you need to ease up. You're gonna give yourself a heart attack.”

Meyerstein nodded, knowing he was right. She needed to slow down. Maybe even take time off. But that wasn't a realistic option until the investigation was concluded. Too much was at stake. “The bastard is out there. We'll get him. Make sure the New York field office has the footage. I want to know what the hell he was doing in Manhattan. Was this reconnaissance? Meeting with people who may have conceived of a bio-terror plot?”

“They know what to do. We're getting there. We'll find the son-of-a-bitch.”

The team started firing out instructions via secure email and encrypted phones.

Within five minutes, Martha had Tom Callaghan, the Special Agent in Charge of New York City, on the phone.

“Where's this come from?” Callaghan asked.

“We got lucky. It's footage from CCTV taken at Terminal 5 at JFK on November 19. Have you watched the footage?”

“My guys are watching it just now.”

“We need to throw everything at this, Tom. He was in Tribeca.”

“Leave it with me, Martha. You en route?”

“I'll be with you in under an hour.”

Meyerstein and five of her team took the elevator to the twenty-third floor of the FBI's New York field office, located in a monolithic forty-one storey glass-walled slab in Lower Manhattan. She had visited numerous times and was always impressed by the high quality of the Special Agents.

In a conference room, she joined nine of the Joint Terrorism Task force – including Tom Callaghan – around the table for an emergency meeting, and once again hooked up with the high-tech operations room at the National Counterterrorism Center in McLean, Virginia for a secure video teleconference. She brought everyone up to speed. On the plasma screen she could see four men and a woman at the NCTC.

“OK folks,” she said, “we're all coming at this from a multitude of angles. But we need to focus on not only tracking down Caan and trying to establish where he went in Lower Manhattan, but what the possible targets are.”

Callaghan piped up, “My team are swarming all over Lower Manhattan as we speak. But this ain't gonna be easy.”

Meyerstein looked up at the screen, which showed the counterterrorism experts staring back at her. “These images are from a month ago, but I believe that Caan is a serious threat. Potential threats don't always originate from outside the US. We only have to think back to spring 2010, to remember the bombing in Times Square. The threat was from within. The fact that these devices have been planted in a government protected building, housing numerous agencies, may indicate the militia movement. We all remember Waco. The Oklahoma bombing, by Timothy McVeigh. However, we most certainly can't rule out the possibility that Caan is receiving help, either from inside or outside the US. I've got to be frank with you, this investigation is morphing into something much more significant and potentially much more catastrophic than I could have imagined.”

On the screen from the NCTC, a middle-aged grey-haired man, Principal Deputy Director Arthur Black, put up his hand. “If I could just inject here, Martha. I just want to say that in all my years in this business, I think the way this is developing is very unsettling. This all points to a mass terror attack. And I think none of us should be in any doubt about the changing face and increasing complexity of modern terrorism. But Caan, to me, doesn't add up. Army government scientist. Has he gone rogue? For whom? Who's behind this? This clearly is not just a lone man with a grievance. My question is, Martha, why do you think he was in New York on 19 November?”

Meyerstein nodded. “I don't think anyone could say for sure, Arthur, but if pressed, I would say that Caan was doing reconnaissance, perhaps acquainting himself with a target or targets. As we are all acutely aware, New York City is the number one target for terrorists. There have been nine known plots involving targets in New York unearthed since 9/11, including a couple in the last three months. They included plans to detonate fuel tanks at JFK, plant explosives in the Holland Tunnel and several plots to attack subway stations. You can take your pick. If we also factor in that it is the largest city in the United States, not to mention a global financial and media center, you can see why it is like a magnet for terrorists.”

Black and his NCC colleagues nodded, as did those round the table in New York, acutely aware of Manhattan's position as the number one target in the country.

A sharp knock at the door and Roy Stamper popped his head round the conference room door, face drawn. “Excuse me, ma'am. Freddie needs to speak. It's urgent.”

Martha leaned back in her seat. “Roy, we're in the middle of a video teleconference, can't it wait?”

“Afraid not.”

Martha looked around the table and then up at the faces on the huge screen. “Sorry,” she said, “I'll be back with you in a couple of minutes. Take five.”

She went outside. “This better be good,” she said, as Stamper held the phone.

“He says it can't wait.”

Stamper handed Meyerstein the phone. “Yeah, talk to me, Freddie.”

Simonton was breathing heavy down the phone. “We've been running the software on Caan, face recognition, retinal scans, trying to track his movements over the last month,” he said.

“What've you got?”

“Two things. Firstly, we've got a perfect match on Caan on November 19
th
from cameras outside The Food Emporium, nearby. And we've pinpointed a location.”

Meyerstein clenched her fist and grinned at Stamper who shrugged his shoulders. “What was the second thing?”

A long sigh. “He's been here in New York in the last couple of days.”

“What?”

“I've just sent you a picture. He's dressed as a maintenance man and is carrying a bag.”

Meyerstein went over to her temporary desk and sat down and pulled up the image from her laptop inbox. She scanned the picture. He was the same man who was walking through Terminal 5 of JFK a month earlier. He had an easy smile, olive complexion. “This is him?”

“Perfect match.”

“So, where was this taken?”

He let out another long sigh. “Martha, this picture was taken by a surveillance camera outside 26 Federal Plaza, as he entered the building you're in.”

“Right here?”

“That's not all. I've just sent two images of him taken on hidden surveillance cameras by a cleaning company who service most of the building. Have you got them?”

She scrolled through her inbox, but nothing. “It's empty.”

“Martha, I'll resend them.”

“Goddamn, what do they show?”

“He's placed devices in the air vents all over the New York field office. The goddamn office you're in. Get yourself the hell out of there.”

Meyerstein had to move fast. She gave the evacuation order after speaking to O'Donoghue and the head of the New York field office. The reason cited to evacuate and relayed to other government agencies working in the building was that there was a bomb scare. Hundreds streamed out into the plaza.

The White House, the Pentagon, and the Office of the Director of National Intelligence were all briefed.

Then she took a call from the head of the FBI's counterterrorism analytical branch, Simon Bullard, whose team had concluded that Caan was receiving outside help, and wasn't acting alone. When Meyerstein asked if there was any hint of foreign involvement, he said ominously, “It can't be ruled out.”

The more she knew about Caan and the emerging threat, the more chilling the scenario became. America was under threat. But it wasn't just Caan. Who else was involved? What foreign government, if any? Was this Iran? Syria? They had numerous links to terrorist groups. What was the motivation of Caan? The questions kept on mounting up as the pressure on her and her team intensified.

Meyerstein and her team immediately headed to an FBI safe house in a suite of offices in the Upper East Side to remotely view the work of a Hazmat team scouring the air vents of the building in New York, whilst on another screen they reconvened the secure video teleconference with the National Counterterrorism Center on huge plasma screen TV.

This time, the FBI Deputy Director, Bill O'Donoghue, was sitting in. She hadn't heard anything since she flat-out refused to obey his order to stand aside.

“Martha,” O'Donoghue said, leaning back in his seat, “I'm glad everyone got out safe. OK, what's the latest?”

“Thank you, sir.” Meyerstein felt a headache coming on. She let out a long sigh. “Sir, we're searching an apartment in Tribeca as we speak. This is an emerging threat.”

“Is this some an anti-government thing? Are we talking militia?”

“We can't rule anything in or out at this stage, sir. The questions keep mounting up. How could this have been allowed to happen?”

O'Donoghue was nodding.

“Caan has, in effect, wandered into a highly guarded government building and possibly planted biomaterials. It's appalling. We could be talking about worst case scenarios.”

O'Donoghue was scribbling some notes. “Go on, Martha.”

“Look, sir, we still don't know what the risks are as we haven't established what has been planted. Secondly, if this is a real bio-threat, under current guidelines, we do not instigate panic. Telling the public there are bio-bombs would turn New York into anarchy. But what I would say is that this threat is far too sophisticated to be just one lone nut. I'm not buying that.”

“What are Counterterrorism saying on this?”

Meyerstein reiterated what she had been told. “And it raises the spectre that he is receiving outside help.”

O'Donoghue leaned back in his seat and pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I've got to say, whilst we are behind the curve, I'm impressed that we are on this. So what are you saying? Is this a network?”

“Very much so, sir. I think they are clearly a sophisticated and powerful network. And I don't just mean some dangerous amateurs. I'm talking about an individual, in this case Caan, who may be working in cahoots with, or under direct orders from, a nation state, we just can't rule that out.”

Meyerstein saw on the big screen that the NCTC people were nodding at her comments.

Principal Assistant Director Arthur Black put up his hand to speak.

“Go right ahead, Arthur,” she said.

“Thank you. America has many enemies. But I don't think it's helpful to speculate as to who could be behind this at this stage.”

Meyerstein nodded. “I agree. But I think we have to assume the worst, that Caan has planted devices within these air vents. The motivation? We just don't know.”

A man on the screen from the National Counterterrorism Center piped up. “Hi, Martha, Ray Malone, of NCTC. I hear what you're saying, Martha, but haven't the FBI got a moral obligation to let the people of Manhattan know what it is that's inside the vents?”