Stratton opened the door enough to put his head through the gap, and found himself looking along a corridor, the elevator opposite. He stepped into the corridor and Chandos followed, easing the door shut behind them. The ceiling was twice the height or more of the floor below and a confusion of air-conditioning piping and conduits. Beyond the end of the short corridor he could see a large space, almost warehouse-sized. A large piece of machinery hummed on the far side of the room and what looked like a couple of generators were against a wall.
They stepped as quietly as they could in the near darkness to the end of the corridor and looked around the corner as the voices became clearer. Half a dozen men in one-piece black fatigues were gathered around a large table. A handful of others sat operating radios and other technical equipment.
Jeff Wheeland was holding court, and every word was being interpreted by another of the men into Russian. Chandos nudged Stratton and indicated a set of metal steps behind them leading up to a walled storage platform. He saw a slatted opening in the wall. Stratton nodded and they eased their way back to the steps and climbed up onto the platform to the opening and looked down onto the meeting through the slats.
A scale model of a built-up section of Manhattan covered most of the table. On a board nearby lay a vast map of the same section zoomed down onto Chinatown, south Manhattan.
‘Team Alpha will assemble here on Chrystie,’ Wheeland said, indicating a road on the model. He paused so that the translator could repeat what he’d said in Russian.
‘Team Bravo, here on Canal. Team Charlie, opposite them here on Bowery. Air cav and the sky cranes will maintain positions here over the water west of the 9/11 rebuild site. We have a licence to provide air-crane construction support to the site all day, so nobody’s going to question any of our air assets in that location.’
Wheeland turned to the large map. ‘The bullion trucks will have only two options,’ he continued. ‘Both routes have to converge here at the Manhattan Bridge approach. It’s the bottleneck where we’ll set up our impact point.’
One of the Russians said something.
‘When will the general public hear about the nuclear device?’ the translator said.
‘Pretty soon. The New York City Radiation Detection Agency has already recorded traces from the bomb, aided by a small teaser we provided an hour ago. The agency has verified its findings and informed the White House and the Pentagon of a nuclear spike in the city.’
Another Russian asked a question that was translated. ‘The plan depends on the public being told about the bomb,’ the translator said. ‘How can we be sure they’ll be told?’
‘This ain’t Russia. If a bomb were to go off in this city and someone found out that the authorities knew about it, the President could end up in jail. The public will have to be told.’
‘Why haven’t they found the bomb already?’ an American asked. He looked towards a corner of the room as he spoke.
Stratton followed the man’s gaze to the now familiar black crate on its trolley. He nudged Chandos, who, despite the warning, was still surprised to see it.
‘We didn’t choose this tower block just because it’s close to the impact point,’ Wheeland said. ‘The first wave of detection systems will be ground units. They outnumber air detection assets ten to one. They won’t be able to find the device this high up and by the time the air assets are airborne, we’ll be on the road and the bomb will be on its way uptown.
‘By now the Treasury and the banks will have received a Protocol Notification Communication from the Pentagon and the Federal Gold Reserve will be moving out. The last thing any of them want is trillions of dollars’ worth of gold they can’t touch for fifty years because of contamination. There’s only so much security available to protect those convoys. And even less when there are desperate terrorists like us at large with an atomic weapon. All resources will be directed at finding the bomb.’
He checked his watch. ‘The media will be learning all about the bomb about now. When that news hits, it’ll provide the panic exodus we need. That’s not only going to absorb more security, it’ll greatly reduce their ability to move across town.’
‘The federal trucks will have a helluva lot more gold than HSBC,’ an American said.
‘More than we can carry too. The Federal Reserve can employ not only city police but home guard units. HSBC won’t be able to provide the same level of security because they draw on the same resources and the Federal Reserve has priority. HSBC have used the covert technique before and it’s worked for them. They’ll rely on secrecy, as well as the expectation that everyone else, criminals included, will be too busy trying to escape from the city to notice them. We can only hit one of the convoys anyway, so we’re going for the weakest. But don’t worry, gentlemen. The value of the gold in that convoy, along with a couple bags of diamonds, is estimated to be in the region of 2.8 billion dollars. Let’s not be greedy.’
Some of the men around the table laughed.
‘Shortly after we depart, the bomb will be relocated to Central Park,’ Wheeland said. ‘Once the RDA gets a reading on it, it’ll attract cops like the biggest doughnut this side of Brooklyn. More panic means less organised response when we make our move. If all goes to plan, gentlemen, we won’t even see a cop. An atomic weapon is way too high a priority over a street robbery. That, my friends, is the whole beauty of the plan.
‘But don’t get complacent. On completion of removal, on my command, all teams dump any clothing, weapons and equipment and join the crowds escaping from the city. All of your equipment, including the helicopters, is untraceable. And if any one of you is caught, just remember the money will be waiting for you on release.’
‘What about the gold?’ one of them called out.
‘The gold will be flown directly to a ship in the bay, and the rest, I’m afraid, is confidential, just in case one of you does decide to tell stories. No offence, I’m sure you understand.’
An encrypted voice boomed over a loudspeaker. A second later it was decrypted and audible. ‘This is OP Jake at HSBC. We’re observing heightened activity at the departure airlocks. Three bullion vehicles have rotated out of the loading bays and are in the departure port.’
An operator seated at a communications console looked to Wheeland for a reply.
‘Does he have an estimated departure time?’ Wheeland asked.
The operator asked the OP the same question.
‘OP Jake estimates potential for departure in fifteen minutes. Will advise and update as and when.’
‘We’re ten minutes from the impact point,’ Wheeland said, looking at the map. ‘The HSBC convoy will take fifteen minutes minimum from their departure point. The media will make an announcement any time now. That’ll add an estimated 20 to 40 per cent extra traffic density on Route Gold. Within twenty-five minutes this city will be in gridlock and no vehicle will be able to move anywhere. Everyone knows what they have to do. Let me reiterate one thing. Anyone who falls and is injured is lifted out. Anyone dead is left behind. Anyone seriously injured, I leave it to you to decide but termination is advised. We’re playing for big stakes. We expect to pay them too.’
The men looked resolute.
‘Be ready to move in five. And gentlemen, good luck to you all, not that it’s a factor.’
The men dispersed to half a dozen large plastic containers along one wall. They pulled on weapons harnesses, ballistic helmets, gas masks, belt equipment and ammunition. Everything was black nylon, plastic or leather. Each man had an M4 assault rifle and a pistol in a holster. Webbing harnesses were stuffed with smoke and shrag grenades. Stratton now saw that the black one-piece battle suits they were all wearing each bore the same badge on arms and backs.
A badge declaring them to be members of the New York City Police SWAT team.
‘Team commanders muster by the elevator,’ a voice called out. It was shouted out with equal vigour in Russian. They all walked out of sight from Stratton and Chandos into the short corridor that
led to the elevators.
Half a minute later, the room was suddenly quiet, except for radio messages coming over the speakers. Only three of the men remained, one at the communications console.
Stratton and Chandos looked at each other, both stupefied. Stratton mouthed a silent ‘wow’. He eased his way down the steps and back into the corridor. He quickly went back through the emergency exit door and onto the fire escape landing. Chandos followed and Stratton carefully closed the door behind them.
‘My god,’ Chandos said. ‘This whole thing is about robbing gold bullion reserves.’
‘An atomic bomb threat against the city would be enough to get them to move it,’ Stratton said.
‘And quickly.’
‘And without all the security they’d like in place.’
‘And through a city in chaos,’ Chandos added. ‘It’s bloody genius. And to have the balls to pull it off, now that’s something else.’
‘I underestimated Wheeland.’
‘Wheeland?’
‘The one doing all the talking. Betregard’s number two.’
‘Well. That’s that,’ Chandos said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘This has nothing to do with us any more,’ Chandos said. ‘I mean, we’ve no moral obligation to remain involved. It’s a simple robbery. No one’s going to detonate the bomb. It’s no longer political. It’s a handful of spooks turned rotten, that’s all.’
Stratton frowned. ‘No moral obligation?’
‘All they’re going to do is rob some gold. We can walk away. We’ll inform the authorities later who was responsible.’
‘That easy, huh?’
‘Why not? We can go directly to our own people. They’ll understand. They’ll look after us.’
‘For how long? Do you really believe you’ll make it to a courtroom to testify against them? You of all people know how dangerous Betregard is.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Our only option is to destroy the operation,’ Stratton said. ‘Expose them before they succeed.’
Chandos didn’t look pleased to hear it. ‘If we get out of the country, our problems will be about surviving weeks from now. If we stay, we might not get through today. You said yourself – there’s no one we can talk to. No one who would believe us. And we can’t stop them on our own.’
‘No, we can’t do it on our own,’ Stratton muttered, forming an idea.
‘So what’s the point in us staying?’
‘We can’t do it without help from the New York police and the military. We have to work it so they just don’t know they’re helping us.’
‘You’ve completely lost me,’ Chandos said.
‘Instead of us going to them, maybe we can lure them to us.’
‘I’m still none the wiser.’
‘Wheeland said the detection units will be all over the city, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘New York also has fixed nuclear radiation detection systems placed in key points, doesn’t it?’
‘At the ports and select bridges and intersections. But the precise locations are obviously secret.’
‘OK. But the RDA is already aware of a device, so it’ll be actively searching for it,’ Stratton said. ‘The bomb will be a magnet for the response teams. Part of Wheeland’s plan is to use it to lure the response teams away from the heist.’
Chandos was thinking. ‘Where the bomb goes, the response teams go.’
‘That’s right.’
‘It sounds simple enough.’
‘It’s all about timing.’
‘And one or two other things,’ Chandos said.
‘We could start by getting the bomb out of this building,’ Stratton said, going for the door handle. ‘You happy with that?’
‘I’d be exaggerating if I said I was.’
They stepped carefully back through the doorway into the corridor and to the end of it. The radio operator was still seated at his desk, talking to the various call-signs. The others had their backs to Stratton.
Stratton eyed the line of boxes from which the soldiers had collected their equipment. The nearest one was a few metres away. He left the cover of the corridor and inched his way across the gap. He could see the butt of a handgun.
One of the men happened to turn and see him and went for the pistol in his holster as Stratton snatched up the one from the box. Stratton had him by a second, but the gun felt light. There was no magazine attached to it. He could only hope the man didn’t know.
‘Careful, now,’ Stratton said.
The other men turned to look, both contemplating going for their own weapons.
‘The easy way or the hard way,’ Stratton said. ‘The stakes are high and I’ll shoot to kill.’
Evidently the men believed him because they slowly raised their hands.
Chandos hurried over and grabbed their weapons, tossing one to Stratton, who exchanged it with the unloaded one. The three men frowned at the bluff.
Chandos found several restraining harnesses like the one Stratton had been secured with. ‘On the floor,’ he said.
Within a minute he had them all firmly secured. For good measure he grabbed some tape off a table and bound their eyes and mouths. Stratton went to the bomb on the trolley and opened the lid of the box to find the device sitting neatly in its framework.
Chandos came over to have a look. ‘Good god,’ he muttered. ‘It’s a live one, isn’t it?’
‘Very much so.’ Stratton shut the lid and wheeled the trolley in the direction of the corridor, pausing at the model and map Wheeland had used for the briefing.
‘How well do you know New York?’ Stratton asked.
‘Not very well,’ Chandos said.
There were several folded maps on the table by the radio. Stratton opened one up and compared it to the various markers on the model. He tore away the relevant section, folded it and stuffed it in his pocket.
‘Let’s go,’ he said as he wheeled the trolley to the elevator.
Chandos made a quick diversion and rejoined Stratton holding a couple of coats. ‘It’s a bit chilly outside,’ he said.
Stratton saw a shoulder holster hanging over a chair and quickly pulled it on, and then the jacket Chandos handed him over the top.
Chandos put his pistol into a pocket and Stratton hit the elevator call button.
22
They pushed the trolley out of the elevator and into the building’s confined lobby. The marble floor was the only touch of opulence about the place. An empty reception desk lined one wall.
A television monitor on a wall was silently playing a local news station displaying breaking news. Real-time subtitles streamed across the bottom of the screen:
‘. . . despite the panic it could cause, the people of New York City had a right to know, the governor’s spokesman said. Everything was being done to locate the device, but meanwhile the authorities had to do everything conceivably possible to facilitate the rapid exit from the city of all those who wanted to leave . . .’
It felt surreal in the quiet lobby. They heaved the trolley to a set of glass doors.
‘The panic’s started,’ Chandos said as he pushed the button to open the door. They pushed the trolley through and out onto the pavement, looking down the four-lane boulevard at people moving in all directions, some running, others ambling along, a mixture of awareness of the threat.
The street was tree-lined, high-sided by apartment blocks and offices, and busy. They heard the whine of a distant emergency siren. Stratton took a quick check of the map to get his bearings. ‘Avenue of the Americas,’ he said, reading a sign. ‘We need to head south.’
‘How far?’ Chandos asked.
‘Two, maybe three miles. If we keep up a good pace, we could be in the area in half an hour.’
‘What if the detectors ping us before we get there?’
‘That’s only one of the what-ifs I’m worried about.’
Several police vehicles escort
ing a couple of large vans between them were preceded by sirens as they turned a corner into the street. The convoy muscled its way through the traffic and disappeared down a side street.
‘This entire island is going to become a car park in a short space of time,’ Stratton said, quickening the pace.
The trolley was easy to push considering the weight it was carrying, the pneumatic wheels helping to absorb the dips and bumps, particularly when they crossed roads.
‘Stand aside!’ Chandos called out to a group of people ahead with their backs to them. ‘Please stand aside. Emergency.’
The process worked well and where there were hardly any pedestrians, they managed to break into a light jog. All the time, Stratton kept a wary eye on the passing cars, in particular any Suburbans like those at the airfield. Several people suddenly came running towards them, rudely pushing their way through people. One, a woman, stopped quickly to talk to a man. After a brief exchange the woman ran on, followed by the man. There was clearly a distinction between those who’d heard the news and those who hadn’t. That also applied to vehicles, with some drivers trying to get going while others weren’t.
‘Make way! Coming through!’ Chandos called out again to several people ahead.
The pair kept looking skywards as they hurried along the street, searching between the towering buildings for any sign of RDA aircraft.
‘Shouldn’t we find a vehicle of some sort?’ Chandos said. ‘We might get to the ambush RV before the traffic builds.’
‘I’m working on it,’ Stratton said.
‘If they find us they’ll shoot first, considering the circumstances. You know that, don’t you?’
Wheeland sat in the front passenger seat of a black Suburban, its windows darkly tinted, as it left the underground car park of the building. Two large, windowless black vans followed it and behind those came two more Suburbans. Each of the vans contained twenty men, all dressed as their team commander in black one-piece suits, body armour, webbing, ballistic helmets and goggles. They were loaded for bear.
They headed up the street towards a main intersection, where they turned left and joined busy traffic. Communications between the vehicles and observation posts blared from the radios Wheeland and the team leaders were wearing. He was a little nervous about the upcoming attack. It wasn’t his normal line of work. It was outside of his comfort zone. But he was doing this one for himself, his own personal profit. And if all went well, it would be his last ever job.
Assassin (John Stratton) Page 23