Unacceptable Risk (44 page)

"She can do all that?"

"I'm betting the farm on it."

"So, this is really about the redemption of Benoit Moreau."

"And the beatification of the careers of Dennis and Ernie. Don't forget that."

Benoit Moreau was losing her faith.
We pac maw
would not save her from an enraged Gaudet. Once the French discovered the truth, it would take Gaudet only minutes on the e-mail to find out that the French were after his ass and assume that she was up to something. Trotsky's suggestion that she be killed sounded appealing in comparison to what Gaudet was capable of.

This bathroom had a window that was latched with rubber-handled, L-shaped locks. Quickly she experimented—they opened enough for her to crawl out and jump, but it was twenty stories down and there were no ledges. She pressed her face to the glass and looked up for a ledge of some sort. What she saw shocked her. A rope led upward to a horizontal surface, apparently the aluminum carriage of a window cleaner's platform.

"Is anybody up there?" she called.

"Yeah. Sam's window washers."

Oh, thank god,
she thought. "Hurry!"

After the video conference Sam walked out the door of the FBI building and took a cab. In the cab he placed three calls. One was to the vice president's staff to grease the skids and to get them reaching down the chain of command, even as Ernie and Dennis were crawling up. The second was to Dr. Carl Fielding. Although he was a Harvard applied mathematician whose expertise was modeling brain function, he was familiar with the technology in question and was Sam's go-between with the internal medicine people interested in Chaperone. Never in Sam's career had he so seriously risked his reputation. If this didn't work, he would be finished with big government contracts. And the world would have even greater concerns, he reminded himself.

The third was to Jill.

"Benoit and Gaudet have now moved to a Trump condominium complex. I had probably twenty men around the St. Regis."

"Sam, you—"

"In three minutes, call Whalen for all the details. He knows more than I do." He hung up.

Sam dialed Whalen.

"The guys were hanging just above the bathroom window like you said, about to put a mike on the window, and Benoit Moreau called to us. Then somebody grabbed her and that was that."

"What do you mean somebody grabbed her?"

"Someone inside the apartment. We couldn't get in touch with you, so we just took a chance and sent everybody out in the open and one team right through the front door."

"What happened?"

"They were gone."

"Did you check for laundry chutes, under the floor, the walls? They gotta be there."

"We're checking. I'll call and mention laundry chutes and the rest. Shall we rip up the floor and the walls?"

"Tear the place apart."

* * *

"Who the heck is that?" Chandler, one of the guards, asked Michael on a handheld radio.

Michael was looking through the binoculars.

"A tourist?"

"Who goes sightseeing in November?"

"The way he moves, I'd say we're looking at a she," Michael observed.

"Yeah, she looks like a kitten in a toilet. Never seen anything so miserable in my life."

"How long you think she's been there?"

"Not long, maybe ten minutes."

"We'd better send the car over."

"It would be a dumb-ass kind of trap, but just don't forget Mr. Gaudet."

"How could I forget him?"

"I'll see if I can make the satellite phone work," Yodo spoke up. "Before you move, we need to tell Sam."

Yodo went out the door to a small fortification, where another man sat hidden, caressing a BAR .30-caliber machine gun. In seconds he had Sam on the phone. Sam advised that Grady was due to arrive, but they should trust nothing and take all due security measures in bringing her across.

There were eight guards at the compound, all armed and trained. They had four outposts fortified with sandbags and rock, and each bunker contained handheld rockets, grenade launchers, and a BAR machine gun. They created a square around the cabins and they were the first line of defense. But they were not always occupied. The men moved around the perimeter and watched, keeping in mind the location of the nearest fortification. There was always one man within twenty yards of each outpost. Although the houses were used during the day, at night they were quietly abandoned for camouflage tents hidden in the dense forest against the mountain. Welcome to paradise.

When the bear leaves its cave, the village hides its food.

—Tilok proverb

Trotsky nearly dislocated Benoit's shoulder when he dragged her out of the bathroom.

"You've probably killed me," Gaudet said in an even tone that chilled her more than the most hysterical cry. "The French have held up fifty million dollars. Now they'll hunt you and me both, you fucking bitch."

"We've got to go," said Trotsky. His pragmatism immediately affected Gaudet, who turned away without another word.

Trotsky pushed a hidden button in the library and a panel opened. They entered a sizable room with vanity photos of the apartment's owner and all manner of memorabilia: books, wine, signed baseballs, various sabers, as well as cigar humidors by the dozen, each carefully labeled. Trotsky closed the panel just as they heard a crash at the front door of the apartment. In one corner of the room there was a solid wood panel. Trotsky pushed another hidden button and a spiral staircase appeared. On the floor below was a large wine cellar with wine in glass cases and adjoining the wine a
large room full of old books. Obviously, the man who owned the place was a wealthy collector. Quickly the two put on white hazmat uniforms. There was a very large cart labeled hazardous materials. When they opened the bin, it was full of white material that had the appearance of old bandages. However, when they lifted up a wooden piece, the bin was actually empty, the bandagelike material having been affixed to the wood. Inside the small compartment Benoit recognized a scuba tank and regulator. They handcuffed her hands in front of her.

"One word and I will kill you instantly." Gaudet showed her a pen. "It shoots a pellet of ricin that is instantly lethal. I promise you, Benoit, one small sound and I won't hesitate."

They put the oxygen regulator in her mouth and closed the lid.

Despite nearly overwhelming panic, Benoit felt the cart rolling forward and imagined they left the room and entered a hallway. After a minute or two they stopped; she supposed to wait for an elevator.

"Hey, would you mind showing me your credentials?" a voice said.

"Hey, why don't you show us yours?" Gaudet said with unflappable confidence.

"We asked you first."

There was silence and she couldn't discern what was happening. Perhaps Gaudet was showing them something.

"Can we look in there?"

"Hell no. Can't you read? It's asbestos shavings. You wanna die?" That was Trotsky, his accentless voice sounding absolutely authoritative.

More silence.

"I think we'll just take a look."

The board didn't move, so they were obviously deterred by the white stuff.

"You are breaking the law." Trotsky paused and clicked open a cell phone. "We are a hazmat team, contractor's license number 9859432d, and we need a squad car at the Trump International. We are being accosted by civilians who are endangering themselves and everyone in the vicinity...."

"Keep your shirt on and hang up the phone. You can go. We just had to check."

They clicked over the metal threshold of an elevator. She heard the doors close and they were going down. When the elevator opened, there were more men. The same procedure was repeated, only this time Trotsky was even more indignant and she didn't hear him purporting to call the police. With a heavy sigh she resigned herself to the fact that they were leaving the building. She felt and heard the lift on the back of a truck and soon she felt the vehicle moving slowly ahead in New York traffic.

Desperate, she pushed up on the lid. It wouldn't move. They had somehow locked it. In a way that was good. They obviously didn't expect her to get out, so they might leave her alone. The container was heavy plastic. She lay on her back and used her feet to push on the lid, but even with all her strength she couldn't budge it.

"Only a few people have left the building. We found one room off the library hidden behind a panel, but it goes no place. One way in and one way out. On the floor below there was a hazmat team with asbestos. We saw credentials and looked in their hamper and it was full of asbestos. They left in a truck. Just to make sure we have somebody on their tail."

"How do you know the hamper was full of asbestos?"

"I see what you mean. The guys said they took off the lid. But I don't know if they reached down inside."

"After being told it's hazardous? Give me a break. They're not gonna put their hand in that stuff if it looks official. They wouldn't know that it's not that easy to get mesothelioma."

"I'll check already."

"Fine. Get me to that truck. I think they're in it."

"But it was the floor below."

"Tear the walls apart."

"We pretty much have."

"The walls of the secret room?"

"Jeez, it's got display cases."

"Keep looking. You'll find a way to the lower floor. How about windows?"

"Shit, Sam. You can imagine anything... but okay."

"Have the guys on the truck's ass call me."

It wasn't a minute until Sam's phone rang. It was nearly dark.

"They're headed down Wall Street toward the water."

"I'm Jack. I'll be with you as fast as I can."

"Roger that, you with Whalen?"

"No. Whalen sent me to assist."

"We're doing fine."

"Talk to Whalen. I just follow orders." Sam stayed on the line and moved through traffic as fast as he could.

"Hey, Jack. You're not gonna believe this. They just drove onto State Street down to the new construction at the ferry terminal, crashed the barricades, and then went plunging into the river."

"I believe it."

"What do we do?"

"Watch me."

Sam drove up to the smashed barricades, then followed the course of the truck on foot, stopping at the end. The truck was a bit downstream, sixty or seventy feet out from the pier—sinking fast. A boat was coming up the river. Taking off his shoes and overcoat, Sam dived in and felt the full force of 50 degree Fahrenheit water. The shock was so great it was a clamp on his chest and it stung his face and put an ache in his bones. When he surfaced, he swam hard toward the truck. Just as he arrived, the truck went under with a large burst of bubbles. He descended and could see nothing in the murk. When he surfaced, he found a trail of scuba bubbles headed downstream. Swimming just ahead of the bubbles, he dived and swam down hard. The boat was approaching. After dropping, perhaps twenty feet, he hit bodies. One of them erupted in a flurry of activity, grabbing for his throat. To even the odds, he reached about the person's head and grabbed for the regulator hose, ripping it from the diver's mouth. Sam's foe made for the surface and Sam followed, but not before he yanked on the regulator hose. It broke free in an incredible stream of bubbles. Just as he broke the surface, Sam saw the gun. The man was ten feet away and coughing badly. As the first shot went wild, Sam went under. The boat propellers screamed. If the shooter hadn't been half drowned, Sam knew he would be dead. Swimming toward the man, but deep, he made a guess as to his exact location. When he came up, he was behind and to the left. With two strokes he managed to grab the gun.

As he fought for the gun, Sam saw the boat and two people being pulled over the gunwales.

The man who fought him was strong and determined. Grappling, they went under. Both of Sam's hands were on the gun. It went off, but the bullet bit no flesh. Sam flipped head down and frog-kicked toward the bottom. He sensed his adversary yearning for the surface and kicked harder. When he felt the man start to weaken, Sam increased his determination and told himself he would swim to hell. Above, the boat props wound up and the boat went screaming away. Sam's lungs began to burn and he felt woozy from the cold and the lack of oxygen. Thoughts became jumbled. They rolled under the water, and up became almost indistinguishable from down. Finally the man released and was gone. Sam had the gun. He started up and suddenly realized his lethargy. It was hard to kick. Shoving the gun in his pants, he tried to swim. His arms were rubber. With great effort he thought his way through each stroke. When at last he took a breath of air, he was too weary to lift the gun. It didn't matter; the man was nowhere to be seen. Sam took great gasps of air, trying to recover, trying to survive the cold. He turned and the man appeared facedown. Grabbing the man by the hair, he lifted his face, rolled him over, and breathed into his lungs.

The shore was far off. There were large boats passing, but none close enough. He tried to pull the unconscious man toward shore, but it was too much. Sam could barely move his arms and feet. He knew to be still and not to thrash. He bobbed and breathed and then made gentle strokes. Someone was swimming toward him. They were trying to help but obviously didn't know how. Soon his rescuer was sputtering.

"Lie on your back," Sam said. "Put your legs around my waist." The man did it. "Now you do the backstroke." When the man complied, Sam did the breaststroke and they moved together, with Sam on his stomach and the man on his back, held together by the man's legs. It wasn't clear who was saving whom, but they made steady progress toward the dock. Another couple of men jumped in and helped them the last fifty feet to the ladder, where there were several hands to help them up. Sam lay on the dock, staring at the sky, wondering whose body was floating in the river, but knowing in his gut it wasn't Devan Gaudet's.

Sam sat down for just a moment to escape the frenetic phone calls of the last few hours. Resting was not, however, what it was cracked up to be. It was all too easy to sink back into the gloom he felt over Anna, when he wasn't obsessed with Gaudet and Benoit. Anna remained in a coma, no real changes.

Jill had come to New York, to their temporary offices, and had moved from her table over to his and he welcomed the company.

Harry lay in the middle of Sam's table, looking generally depressed despite their reunion.

"I swear, if I wanna know what you're thinking, all I have to do is look at Harry."

For the first time he noticed Jill watching him.

"I found out today that when Anna recovers, we won't have a baby. How do you think about anything, even saving the lives of millions, when you find out your baby died? I know it was a fetus, but to me, in my mind, it was a baby that I was ready to welcome into the world. I guess I was already planning trips to the zoo and wondering what it would be like to be a regular person with an identity and a child in a stroller. It's like I've been holding her on my knee. For some reason I thought it was a girl. Isn't that insane?" Sam got up from his desk, feeling that he was going to weep.

"I'll be back. I have to use the restroom."

He had lost Bud, and now this. After about fifteen minutes he called his mother.

"As we feared, we have lost our baby."

"It is a great loss for all of us. I am sorry that now is not a time for you to make your peace with this."

"No, it isn't. I don't know if I can go on."

"I wish your grandfather were here."

"What would he say?"

"Catching his mind is like trying to take a handful of wind. I'm afraid I don't know. Besides, words were different when he said them."

"That is so true."

"There might be another child, but the other can never make up for the loss of the one. We love the one, even though it was a soul that we never knew. Perhaps our love is both our pain and our consolation. When next you come home, we will express our love for this one. I will think about that and I will put flowers at Universe Rock and tell this child of my love."