The Janus Reprisal

by Robert Ludlum

  “Will that work?”

  Rajiid nodded. “The infrastructure is old and this and three other stations are vulnerable to flooding. We’re flooding two stops in a row in addition to Seventy-second Street. It won’t take long.” Manhar listened to the water flowing.

  “I can hear it, it’s true, but you’re thinking they’ll shut down the whole station?”

  Rajiid smiled. “I’ve been planning this for two years. They’ll shut it down. Go get the poles and canvas. We’ll need to screen off a portion of the platform downstairs.”

  One hour later an employee of the MTA drove up to the truck. Rajiid slipped a gun into his waistband, covered it with the edge of the reflective vest, and strolled out to greet him before he could walk behind the barrier. The employee waved at the canvas.

  “The station is flooding.” The man pointed to the sky. “But there’s no rain.”

  “Water main leak. We’re working on it. Have them shut down the power. Should only take twenty minutes at the most.”

  The employee sighed. “I’ll let the Rail Control Center know. Give me a little time.”

  Rajiid shrugged. “We’ll wait. Water will short out the switches.”

  The man sighed. “I’ll let ’em know to send out a crew.”

  Rajiid nodded. “Good enough.”

  The man walked away. Rajiid stepped back into the barrier. “Get the coolers. You,” he indicated Manhar, “come with me. The rest stay up here and keep pumping that water.”

  Manhar watched as the flunky he’d ridden with in the back of the truck grabbed two coolers and followed Rajiid into the station. Manhar paused. He couldn’t decide. Run now? But to where? In which direction? He still had no idea what Rajiid was planning. After a moment he headed downstairs. The station smelled of wet mud overlaid with the scent of old garbage. Water pounded from the grate above, the deluge hitting the third rail in a stream. The area around the track was filling fast. Manhar looked up at a camera.

  “What about those?”

  Rajiid shook his head. “We knocked them out.”

  “Turned off the electricity?”

  “No. That would raise suspicion. Just disconnected the cable line at a source that feeds into the station.”

  “Why is the water rising so quickly?” Manhar asked.

  “We also knocked out two sump pumps. This will overload the track.” Rajiid smiled. The water kept pouring down. Portions of the stream let off a rising vapor.

  “Is that steam?” Manhar said.

  Rajiid nodded. “Six hundred volts in the third rail. It’s heating the water, which will eventually start to boil. When it does, the switches will short out.” He looked at his watch. “An hour at the most. Less if that rail employee does his job and arranges to shut down this section.”

  He waved at the flunky. “Put the coolers there and set up the screen. Help him,” he said to Manhar.

  The flunky dropped the cooler and began to arrange the poles. A train rumbled into the station, driving right through the flow of water and splattering it in all directions. The doors opened with a swish. Several people got off and hurried to the exit, barely sparing a glance at Manhar. The train doors closed and the car rumbled away. The screen was up, the coolers stashed behind it, and Manhar headed to where Rajiid was watching the waterfall.

  “But if you’re going to use sarin or mustard gas, shouldn’t you do it while the station is full? It won’t be if it’s shut down.” Manhar hoped his question about sarin gas would prompt Rajiid to tell him what he really had planned.

  Rajiid raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think we’re using gas?”

  “I saw containers of mustard gas in the trucks. And then you have these.” Manhar indicated the coolers.

  “We have the gas, yes, but only for an emergency. If we used that, they’d shut the subway once it was discovered and most would flee. We’d end up killing only a few. This is much more efficient. It will kill thousands. But the electricity to the rail has to be turned off first. So, we wait.”

  Rajiid walked to the far end and crouched down, watching the water flow. Manhar crouched next to him, sweating as he watched the water rise.

  41

  DATTAR HAULED BACK HIS FIST and punched Nolan in the face. Khalil was holding her in place by grasping both of her arms behind her back. They were in the rear of a van, heading toward the 191st Street station where Rajiid waited for the subway tracks to short-circuit.

  “Give me the location and access to my money.”

  Nolan’s head hung down and she remained that way. For a moment Dattar thought that perhaps she was unconscious, but Khalil wrenched one of her arms tighter behind her and she gave a moan. Dattar took out a knife from his boot.

  “Put her hand down.” Khalil switched up his position and held Nolan’s palm against the bottom of the van. Dattar stabbed downward, and the knife pierced the meat of her hand between the first finger and thumb. The point went clean through. She jerked, but didn’t make a sound.

  “I want my money. You have ten minutes to tell me where it is. If you don’t, we kill Smith.”

  She looked up.

  Ahh, so that’s what gets to her, Dattar thought.

  He could see the enormous effort that she was exerting not to react to the pain from the knife. The van lurched to a stop. Dattar yanked the point from her hand.

  “Get out.” He waved at her and Khalil opened the back doors and dragged her from the vehicle. Her hand bled profusely but she ignored it.

  Dattar was pleased to see that the canvas screen functioned well, shielding the work area from prying eyes. He stepped behind it and found a man sitting on the fire hydrant and smoking a cigarette. He snapped to attention when he saw Dattar.

  “Where’s Rajiid?”

  “Down. Waiting for the short.”

  “Any civilians on the platform?”

  “None.”

  “What about the elevators?”

  “We’ve strung some more tape on either end. They break so often, no one seems surprised.”

  “And employees?”

  “One. We disposed of him already.”

  Dattar waved at Khalil.

  “We’ll enter off Broadway. Bring her. She can plant the bacteria.”

  He headed to the station entrance on Broadway. His men had strung yellow caution tape across the entrance. Few people were on the street and none used the subway entrance. Those that came close took one look at the yellow tape and veered off.

  Dattar climbed over it and headed down a short stairway, ignoring the connected ramp, and into a long, narrow, dark tunnel with arched ceilings and dirty yellow walls marked with graffiti. The walls were marred by gang symbols, crudely drawn flowers and words, including a long quote by some writer that Dattar didn’t bother to read. Fluorescent light fixtures spaced evenly along the tunnel’s ceiling created pools of harsh illumination followed by sections in shadow. The tunnel continued for three city blocks. His shoes rang on the concrete floor. The tunnel smelled musty and felt damp.

  Dattar reached the turnstile and clambered over it. The air was heavy with humidity, and steam hung in the area around the tracks. The entire group walked to the edge and looked down.

  The platform stood about four feet above the bottom of the rails. Water filled the tunnel, most of it simmering, and some nearest the third rail was beginning to boil. Dattar glanced left and saw Rajiid at the platform’s end crouching next to Manhar, the one who was so quick to sell out Khalil. This should be interesting, Dattar thought. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Khalil straighten. He’d spotted Manhar. At the same instant Manhar looked up and an almost comical expression of dread crossed his face.

  “What are you doing here?” Khalil said.

  Manhar stood. “Helping.” He looked at Nolan’s swelling black eye and mangled still-bleeding hand and his face turned an even lighter shade. “I’m glad to see you survived Smith’s attack,” he said to Khalil, almost as an afterthought.

  “No th
anks to you,” Khalil said.

  Rajiid looked at Nolan, and Dattar saw a small smile cross his face.

  “As you can see, Rajiid, all our problems will soon be solved,” Dattar said. “She’s going to return to me what is rightfully mine, and then I think she should be the one to place the bacteria. Along with that one.” He pointed at Manhar. “Since you are so busy helping.” Manhar looked sick, and Khalil snickered.

  “What’s happening at Seventy-second?” Dattar asked Rajiid.

  “MTA shut down the rail. It flooded fast, just as I predicted. Our crew said that the MTA is there already, crawling all over the station, removing passengers from trains. That should keep them busy for a while.” Rajiid smiled.

  “So? When does this one go off?”

  “Soon. It’s almost flooded. When it does, I expect a second, much smaller crew to be dispatched here, but I think we’ll have time. Twenty minutes at the least.”

  Dattar heard a small, explosive sound and the station signals blinked off.

  Rajiid stood with a triumphant expression on his face. “The third rail is down. Tell them to shut the hydrant and bring the pump.”

  Khalil waved at Rajiid. “Let him do it.”

  “Not unless you want to place the bacteria, eh?” Dattar said.

  Khalil frowned and sauntered off to deliver the news. Through it all Nolan stood to the right of Manhar, her eyes downcast and her shoulders hunched. Dattar walked over to her.

  “Tell me where the money is.”

  She raised her head. He could see the pain on her face, but also something else. Dattar had chosen her as his investment advisor due to her single-minded focus on all things financial. She’d come highly recommended as a market wizard, one of Wall Street’s finest. It was said that she had nerves of steel and remained composed even as the worldwide markets gyrated wildly. She would trade her way out of a morass that sucked others down with it. Now he saw her preternatural intensity at work and it made him nervous. So, he did what he always did when someone made him nervous; he hit her. His fist landed in the same place as before and her body swayed back. She stumbled and fell. Manhar stood to Dattar’s right and watched. Rajiid, looking slightly bored, returned his gaze to the third rail.

  “I said, tell me where the money is.”

  She raised her head.

  “No,” she said. Manhar’s mouth fell open and he gaped at her. Rajiid shifted on his feet so that he faced them, but remained in a crouch, staring. “Not until you prove to me that Smith is still alive.”

  Dattar felt a slight thrill at the idea of using some of his torture techniques on her. No one, male or female, had ever held back on information after he’d started and no one survived them. He took a step toward her.

  “Before you start, let’s place the bacteria,” Rajiid said. “I know she’ll be in no condition to do anything afterward.” Dattar reined himself in and nodded. Rajiid went to the first cooler and opened it. He sucked in a breath.

  “What is it?” Dattar said. Rajiid pulled out a flask containing a cloudy, viscous liquid.

  “The color is off. This batch could be dead.” He reached across and opened the second cooler, removing another flask.

  “And?” Dattar said.

  Rajiid shrugged. “This looks better. Obviously I can’t be sure without a microscope, but I assume it’s still alive.”

  “Is there enough in the one cooler?”

  Rajiid nodded. “It will have to do. And remember, once it starts, it spreads. Rapidly.” Rajiid pointed to Manhar and Nolan. “Put on some gloves.”

  Nolan looked grim. “I won’t put your bacteria anywhere except down your throat,” she said.

  Dattar was done with her. He pulled out his knife and stepped in, getting close. Rajiid grabbed his arm before he could stab her.

  “Leave off,” Rajiid said. Dattar paused, but he could feel a vein in his head pulsing. Rajiid looked at Nolan. “Either place the bacteria or we kill Smith.”

  She shook her head. “‘Either place the bacteria or we’ll kill Smith.’ ‘Tell me where the money is or we’ll kill Smith.’ Sounds like you are both planning on killing him no matter what. Do you expect me to believe anything you say? I won’t help you. You want to implement some grand scheme to kill thousands, you’ll have to do it yourself and die along with them.” Dattar jerked toward her and winced as Rajiid tightened his grip.

  “I’ll kill you,” Dattar said to Nolan. She looked him straight in the eye. Her own was turning purple with some black edges.

  “And I’ll die with all your money safely tucked away. Then who’s going to pay for the guns and ammo and that huge estate in Pakistan? For all the wives? You forget that I know what it costs to be you.”

  “Once this bacteria is placed and my plan is working, I’ll have enough money to buy and sell the world. The accounts will be returned to me as well as my country. My mine alone has enough stones to pay for all that and more.”

  She snorted in derision. “If it works. You’ve emptied the Redding mines, so there won’t be any more coming from that quarter, and you managed to kill the only man who knew how to operate the utility facility. Your men can’t get it to work. I don’t know what plan you have going here, but it had better be simpler than running a utility company, or it won’t work either. Whatever happens, you’ll be out your two hundred million. Kill me and it will take a long while to replace that sum. You need me, Dattar. And I’ll make you a trade.”

  Dattar swallowed the building rage. “You despicable money trader. What makes you think you’re in any position to deal?”

  She laughed in his face.

  He broke away from Rajiid and lunged at her, slashing with his knife. He sliced at her right shoulder and slit open a long line along the sweater. Blood poured from it. He moved in for the kill, and Rajiid grabbed at him.

  “Help me hold him back!” Rajiid yelled at Manhar. Dattar felt the younger man wrap an arm around his neck and pull. Nolan was against the wall. She looked over his left shoulder and her gaze locked there.

  Khalil stepped into view. He held his own knife and walked calmly to Nolan. She pressed back against the wall as he approached. He placed the knife against her neck, right under her left ear, and turned it so that it cut her. Yet more of her blood ran. He moved the tip of the knife to the edge of her right eye.

  “The money that you retain is interesting, yes, but if you continue to anger me, I’d just as soon kill you. Don’t push me over the edge. Understand that you have nothing that I need so desperately that I’ll put up with you. Get to work on the bacteria or this will be the first to go. Say one more word and I’ll take both. If you don’t place the bacteria we have several more that will, so your resistance is worthless and will accomplish nothing except your blindness.” He stepped out of her way.

  She stared at him. After a moment she dropped her gaze, took a deep breath, and walked to the coolers. She picked up a pair of rubber gloves and slid them over her damaged hand, wincing as she did. She went to the coolers and lifted out a tray that held several flasks, each filled with a yellow liquid.

  “What do I do?” she said to Rajiid. He let go of Dattar, walked to the cooler, and removed a tray that held six flat jars, each filled with a gelatinous base.

  “Pour the bacteria into the substance.” Nolan grasped the first jar with her good hand, but gasped when she tried to unscrew the lid with her bad one.

  “I can’t do it.”

  Rajiid reached over and unscrewed the jars, then dumped the contents of each flask on top of the gelatinous base.

  “Now we need to test the water temperature.”

  Khalil jutted his chin at Manhar. “You. Get moving.” Manhar let go of Dattar and headed to the coolers. Rajiid handed him a thermometer. Manhar looked at it with dread.

  “Are you sure the third rail is off? Is the water electrified?”

  “For the moment the rail is off. You keep wasting time, and it will eventually turn back on.” Rajiid waved him forward. Ma
nhar crawled down onto the tracks. Dattar moved closer, watching.

  “How hot do you need the water to be?” he asked. Rajiid once again crouched by the tracks’ edge.

  “It’s not how hot, but how cold. The bacteria die if the water is over thirty-five degrees centigrade. Since water boils at one hundred, I presume it hasn’t yet cooled enough, but we will see.” Manhar stuck the thermometer into the water and waited. Sixty seconds later it beeped.

  “And?” Dattar said.

  “Eighty.”

  Rajiid hissed. “Too hot. Khalil, tell the men upstairs to turn the hydrant back on. We’ll add cooler water.” Khalil left. Manhar started back to the platform, his booted feet sloshing through the blackened water.

  “If they turn the third rail back on, will we be able to place the bacteria?” Dattar asked.

  Rajiid shook his head. “No. So we’d better get this water cooled fast. Eventually someone at the MTA is going to appear and try to fix the problem.”

  Dattar snorted. “If they do, then someone at the MTA is going to die. I didn’t come this far to be stopped.” He looked at Nolan.

  “You’re a thief. We punish thieves by cutting off their hands. You give me the money, then you live, but without your hands. If you don’t, you die.”

  42

  SMITH WOKE TO FIND RUSSELL and Ohnara leaning over him. Russell looked dreadful as opposed to near death, which was actually a gain. Ohnara looked pensive and frightened. Smith shifted his head to gaze around the room. It appeared that he was flat on his back on the floor of a lab. Something soft was bunched under his head as a makeshift pillow, but it wasn’t even close to comfortable.

  “Where am I?” Smith said.

  “In the Medicon Corporation’s laboratory,” Ohnara said. “Ms. Russell brought you here. How are you feeling?”

  Smith rose to a sitting position and groaned. His head pounded, and the world went dark for a moment as the blood failed to rush upward.

  “Aspirin,” he managed to croak. Sixty seconds later, a hand holding a cup of coffee was thrust in front of his nose.