by Matt Hilton
The rattle of a machine pistol rang out, followed by a shriek of pain, and all whimsical thought fled.
It was time to get deadly serious.
Chapter 46
Public access to the statue halted at six p.m. sharp but the National Park Rangers and support staff responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the site stayed on hand later into the evening. Luckily for Gant, by the time he’d decided on his target and had steered the yacht to its cumbersome arrival at the island, only a skeleton crew was left behind. He killed one stetson-wearing Ranger down on the dock, and a black woman lugging a cart full of cleaning materials at the entrance to the foyer to Old Fort Wood, the eleven-pointed star that Lady Liberty loomed over. Luckier still, the cleaning woman had been on her way out of the door, because passing through the portal he found it to be at least four inches thick and even his machine pistol wouldn’t have been enough firepower to gain entrance.
He had visited here once, back when he was a gooey-eyed kid, blinded by the lies told to him by his schoolteachers, the government and even his parents. The original torch had been relocated to the lobby at some point in the past and he’d joined the throng of school brats oohing and aahing at it. Following stairs to the second floor, he’d found an exhibition hall where he recalled marvelling at full-sized replicas of Lady Liberty’s face and one of her feet. Now, as an adult, with the blinkers lifted, none of this mattered to him, and he went up the stairs at a run, heading for the tenth-floor observation platform where he could get a good view of Liberty Island all the way back down to the abandoned yacht.
He exited through of a door fitted with push bars. There he pulled off the cumbersome rucksack he’d brought from the boat and wedged it against one of the doors so it wouldn’t close on him. It was good to drop the heavy weight for a while, and he worked the kinks out of his muscles, then crept out on to the balcony and scanned the area below him. He thought he heard a motor, but it idled and then went silent. He tried to peer through the rain and was sure he saw someone clamber over the gunwale of the yacht. He blinked raindrops from his lashes, stared but couldn’t see movement now. Deciding it was more than likely just a play of the shadows caused by the shifting of the rain, he shifted his gaze across the harbour towards Manhattan. The downtown financial district dominated the skyline, but since the Twin Towers had come down it just wasn’t as impressive any more. He wished he’d been responsible for 9/11 instead of goddamn bin Laden, but then thought, to hell with it. Ground Zero still attracted thousands of visitors; in contrast no one would be coming to Liberty Island for a long time.
He smiled, holding it until it slipped into a grimace. He’d never planned on being a suicide bomber like one of them Islamic zealots, but it could come to that now. Fuck it. It’ll be worth it. His name would be revered in the white supremacist movement: he’d be bigger than McVeigh, Matthews, Dr Pierce and even James Earl Ray.
He took one last look, searching the heavens for helicopters swooping his way, or boats racing across New York Harbor, but it looked like he had a few minutes’ grace yet. He didn’t doubt that Darley had run squealing like a pig to the cops, but the advantage was still his: they didn’t know where he was.
‘Excuse me, sir. The attractions are closed for the day. Uh… can I ask you what you are doing here?’
Gant heard the voice and his grimace became a rictus smile. Slowly he turned and looked at the tall black man standing with one hand on the open door. Rent-a-cop or domestic staff, Gant couldn’t immediately tell. The man was in a beige shirt and trousers, a broad leather belt holding nothing more dangerous than a walkie-talkie.
As the man got his first good look at Gant’s face he was at first offering up a genial enough smile. Christ, he’d just caught a terrorist and he was still being polite. Ain’t that just the state of things these days? In the next second the man took in the tattooed visage, the shaved head, the gun in Gant’s hand and the smile flickered and disappeared.
‘What I’m doing, nigger,’ Gant said, ‘is what every good white man should’ve done a long time ago. I’m making a stand against the likes of you.’
The man knew he was going to die, and all he could do was throw up his hands. Little good they did against the nine mm hollow-points that tore through his body. The man was thrown back into the interior of the building, a shrill scream following him inside.
Gant went quickly after him, scooping up the rucksack and its weighty contents with a grunt. He swung it on to one shoulder, as he covered the man with his Ruger MP9. The man’s scream of agony petered out, sputtered and went silent.
Below him other voices were raised in question, more of the night crew responding to the shocking sound of death inside such a sanctified place. Give them their due, they were no cowards. He heard footsteps from below. Gant loped to the head of the stairs, looked down and thought he saw movement. He aimed and fired a short burst downwards. He was rewarded by shouts of alarm, followed by running footsteps as the once brave hearts made a dash for freedom. He heard squawks of alarm bleating from the radio on the dead man’s belt.
‘Oh, well, the cops will be on their way now.’ His voice reverberated back to him from the hollow shell of Lady Liberty above. He went up a short flight of stairs, looked up into the dimness. The lights that adorned the steel structure inside the statue had been turned off hours ago. Only an occasional security light offered a dim glow on each landing of the stairs that wound up inside the body to the observation platform in the crowned head. He took one last look down, before turning his attention to the spiral stair. It was going to be difficult lugging the cumbersome rucksack, but as a soldier he’d carried heavier packs and for much further.
He recalled this climb from his youth, charging in noisy abandon up the steel staircase alongside a crowd of his school mates. Back then they’d been forbidden from using the elevators, but as kids they didn’t mind. Going all the way to the top was a challenge that young Sammy had relished. He was only pissed when on reaching where the arm stretched into the sky he was halted. Only maintenance personnel were allowed up into the torch these days, he’d been told by a member of staff. Well, there was no one around to stop him this time.
He found the entrance to the arm, looked up the undulating tunnel. What if he lit a real flame up there inside Liberty’s torch? He could imagine the after-effects posted on the internet for the entire world to see. It would be iconic, like the Berlin Wall coming down, the Twin Towers collapsing. But he decided, no. He wanted to poison the entire monument, and if he blew the torch most of the fallout would drift away on the wind and rain. He continued towards the next landing and the observation deck in Liberty’s crown.
From one of the twenty-five windows in the crown, he peered out towards Manhattan as he caught his breath. Lights darted high over the tall buildings, there one second, gone the next as they streaked through the tattered low-lying clouds. Either he was witness to an alien invasion, or these UFOs were police helicopters responding to the calls for assistance from the maintenance crew who’d fled earlier. For a second he glanced down, saw the tablet held in Lady Liberty’s left hand. Roman numerals depicted the date July 4th, 1776. Independence Day, my ass! More like the beginning of the end. He spat at his feet, saying out loud, ‘The white man built this nation. We allowed others to come in. That was our mistake, and now it’s our duty to put things right.’
He looked for the lights again, and others had joined them, this time on the water. They were coming. Time to get this done.
He crouched down and pulled the contents from the rucksack he’d lugged here. The two flasks of plutonium he placed carefully on the floor, but then yanked out the makings of an IED he’d scrounged from the engine room and galley of the yacht. There was nothing fancy about it, nothing as glamorous as plastic explosive or Semtex, just gasoline in a large tin container, rags, gaffer tape and a lighter. Exploded here inside the head of Lady Liberty the highly inflammable fuel would erupt everywhere, spill down the stairs and over the
copper sheets and steel structure, spreading and poisoning the entire statue with the radioactive particles.
He laid out his materials and reached for the first flask. He unscrewed the cap and teased out the glass vial inside, placed it down gently. He repeated the process with the second one, then gaffer-taped the two vials to the outer surface of the gas can. He started wondering: can I do this without killing myself?
He looked down at his high-top boots and the red laces he wore with pride. Quickly he crouched down, unfastening each lace until he had enough. He cut them away with a knife he carried, leaving just enough to tie over his insteps to keep his boots on. He knotted the strands together, dipped them into the neck of the gasoline can. He was careful not to get too much fuel on them, just enough to ensure a constant flame, and ended up with almost two yards of fuse. That should do it.
He wadded rags and fed them into the neck of the can, letting another trail out so it gave him another few seconds of leeway, then tucked one end of the impregnated lace under the rag. He positioned himself at the head of the stairs, fed the fuse down the first four steps and left it hanging there, because flame always travelled upward.
All he had to do now was light it before running like hell.
Chapter 47
A flash of movement through the billowing rain caught my attention, and I recognised the panther-like figure of Rink as he rushed over the grassy approach to Fort Wood. There was nothing to be done for the dead Park Ranger over whom I’d stooped, checking for nonexistent vital signs. I set off after Rink. My friend had obviously responded to the rattle of gunfire, rushing to give aid.
Pounding up the shallow incline to the eleven-pointed plinth, I searched upward but got no sign of where Gant could be. Rink had already sprinted to the right and out of view. There were voices shouting in alarm, and the dulled pock-pock-pock of machine-gun fire from somewhere inside the building. I put my head down and raced hard to cover the distance. I reached the fort’s thick wall; placed it between me and a sniper’s aim from above. I followed the wall to the northern end where visitors to the landmark could file inside.
Rounding the final corner, I found Rink standing at the front of a small group of people. They were all extremely agitated, some of them wanting to flee while Rink tried to direct them around the side of the building and out of any possible line of fire.
I ran up to them, aware of but ignoring the pulling in my thigh. A couple of people flinched and were about to run, taking me for one of the mysterious gunmen assaulting the statue. Dipping my hand in my pocket, I dragged out the identification badge I’d lifted from Vince earlier. ‘Hunter, FBI,’ I called out, sounding officious. ‘Everyone listen to me. We have a situation here, people, and I need every one of you to leave the vicinity immediately. Do as my colleague says, and head around the back there. Keep close to the wall and you should be fine.’
One of the group, an older woman wearing a beige uniform, pointed at a woman lying close to the entrance door, her cleaning cart overturned next to her. She blinked raindrops or tears from her eyes. ‘What about Mrs Lopez?’
‘We have back-up coming,’ Rink reassured her with a hopeful squint towards me. ‘Mrs Lopez will be taken care of. For now, y’all are our priority and we need to get you out of here.’
‘Bill Jefferson is still inside,’ the woman said.
Recalling the machine-gun fire and the scream that followed, it wasn’t likely that Mr Jefferson would be coming out on his own two feet. I spared the woman that insight, though, saying, ‘We’ll find him. Now… have any of you any idea where the gunman is?’
A younger male who looked like he might have spent time on a football field pointed up. ‘I heard him upstairs. But he fired at me and I had to get away. Jeez, I didn’t want to run, but what could I do?’
‘You did the right thing, son.’
The youth wasn’t fully satisfied, but he went on, maybe in an effort at reconciling himself to his perceived cowardice. ‘But I didn’t keep on running. I stopped a couple flights down and I’m sure I heard him going up the metal stairs into the statue. Then I-’
He was about to launch into some tale of heroics and I cut him off. To preserve his sense of honour I gave the boy a way out. ‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Liam Walsh, sir.’
‘Well, Liam, I’m looking for a good man to help us out here. Can I rely on you?’
‘Uh, sure, sir,’ he said, while blinking at the faces of the terrified group who were now focused him.
‘This is what I need you to do, Liam: I need you to get these people safely away from here while we go and stop this maniac. They need someone they trust to lead them. Now… do as I said, OK? Keep close to the walls of the fort, then when you know you can’t be seen from any of the viewing platforms make a run for it to the far shore. From there you can backtrack down to the head of the island. The police are coming and they’ll take over from there.’
‘Won’t one of you come with us?’ asked a third member of the group, another woman, this one thin and dark-skinned. Some of the others nodded in agreement, their faces full of concern.
Rink opened his mouth, but Liam saved him the trouble. ‘Come on, you heard what they said. We’re just holding these good men back from doing their job. Follow me; I’ll get us all outa here.’
The boy couldn’t know how right he was. I nodded at him, respect. He gave me a lopsided grin, pushed his hand through his hair, then led the group away, round the nearest point and out of sight. Not a one of them challenged his leadership, though someone was yelling frantically into a radio and I caught an incredulous squawk in response.
‘Maybe we shoulda took their radios,’ Rink said. ‘They’re shouting for help and that only lessens our chances of getting to Gant first.’
I was in agreement, but I looked up at the statue looming overhead. ‘This isn’t about revenge, or even Don and his family any more. This is about stopping an attack on the USA itself.’
‘So we gonna get on with it?’
‘Ready when you are.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
Going first, I jogged through a short passage and into a foyer of the large building. A barrier used for controlling the flow of visitors had been knocked over, but that was the only sign that something out of the ordinary had occurred here. I scanned the room, ignoring the exhibits, searching for movement. Using hand-speak I motioned Rink forward, and then went on into the room. Rink came in behind me, moving off at an angle, covering while I searched for a way up into the bowels of the building.
In a brick vault-work passage on the right, there was a way up. We were taking much on faith when we assumed that Gant had indeed continued upwards as the youth said, because there was no way we could follow normal procedure and clear each level as we went. I started up the stairs and heard the scuff of feet as Rink followed. Taking it in turn to advance then cover for the other, we worked our way up through the original fort to the statue’s pedestal and found another chamber where doors led out on to the promenade that once held gun platforms. We ignored them and went again for the next set of stairs. There was an elevator up to the top of the pedestal but neither of us wanted to confine ourselves in an enclosed space that could be hosed down by bullets at any of the stops.
We went up in absolute silence but for one time, when Rink was passing to take the lead. He whispered, ‘If we get out of this alive, I’m definitely renewing my gym membership. I suggest you do too.’
I didn’t reply; I was too busy sucking in oxygen. As Rink reached the next point, I headed up once more, legs feeling like I was wearing lead-soled boots. I came to a standstill when we found Jefferson, and saw that the man was beyond help. There was a new spring in my heels when I set off again.
Finally we came out into an area that took me by surprise. I’d never been in the statue before. Like a lot of people I expected that it was solid but found it to be a large empty space, sheets of copper over a steel frame. It was like standing under
the vaulted ceiling of a cathedral, that same hushed sense of awe thick in the atmosphere. From somewhere overhead there came a dull clink, followed moments later by a shuffle of movement that was multiplied by the echoing effect of the massive bell-shaped construction. We searched above us for the source of the sounds, but the reverberation made that impossible.
Speaking was unworkable now. Even at a whisper our voices would carry to Gant. Our saving grace was the rain pattering against the outer shell of the statue, a drum roll to hide our advance up the stairs. Each step needed to be measured, and we kept our elbows clear of the rails of the spiral staircase. Its design, like those found in medieval castles, made it difficult for more than one of us to advance at a time, so I stayed in the lead. The way I saw it, I’d led Rink here, so if anyone should be shot first it wasn’t going to be my friend.
We’d made it almost to the top when the sounds emanating from the observation point in the statue’s diadem grew louder. There were a couple of clunks, some metal being dragged, a few more indistinguishable sounds, followed by a thunder of feet pounding downwards. The stairs beneath our feet shook under the tread and we prepared ourselves.
Rink, being the taller of us, could angle his arm over my shoulder without impeding my aim. I also levelled my SIG at the stairwell above.
It would have been different if the staircase had come with walls, we’d have easily ambushed Gant as he ran into our line of sight, but the stairs were open for the purposes of visitors marvelling at the construction from within. Above us Gant skidded to a halt. He swore savagely, leaned out over the railing and fired his machine pistol.
We had nowhere to go, so we stood our ground. We returned fire as bullets spanged off the railings and steps. The angle saved us, but ricochets were a dire threat. A couple of bullets bounced off the steps and punctured the copper sheeting like moths had holed Lady Liberty’s robes.