Collateral Damage (19 page)

There, she thought, standing on the platform, back to her, waiting for the train.

“That one,” she said to her man, pointing. “Approach with caution, but fast. Police!” she yelled, parting the people ahead of her on the escalator and pushing past them, the gun out now. As she hit the bottom, she flicked off the safety with her thumb; one round already in the chamber. Her man moved up beside her. The train came rumbling into the station, the air brakes hissing as it stopped. The crowd on the platform surged forward onto the car, blocking her way.

She was nearly to the car when the doors closed. Swearing under her breath, she ran alongside the car as it began to move. A woman sat down on the other side of the car, facing her. Jasmine. Holly brought up the weapon, but a wall was coming at her as the train went into the tunnel, and she had to stop.

She dug into her bag and came up with her cell phone, pressed a button.

“NYPD. Commissioner’s office,” a male voice said.

“Emergency! This is Assistant Director Holly Barker of the CIA. Give me the commissioner now!”

The commissioner came on the line five seconds later. “Holly?”

“Explosion across the street from our building—a restaurant, I think. I’ve already called it in. One of my men and I pursued Jasmine into a subway station on Lex. She’s headed downtown. Have them stop the trains.”

“It’s already being done—part of our protocol.”

The lights went off in the station, and Holly heard brakes hissing from down the tunnel. “Have them detain every unaccompanied woman who comes close to Jasmine’s description,” she said, then broke the connection and dug into her bag for the small but powerful lithium-powered flashlight she carried everywhere. She turned to the man behind her. “Come on!” She turned on the flashlight, jumped onto the tracks, and started running, the man close on her heels.

“What’s your name?” she shouted back at him.

“Troy.”

“You’ve seen the flyer with the woman’s photograph?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’re going into the last car on the train and work our way forward. She will resist, and she may have an explosive or a gun. Take no chances, be prepared to kill her.”

“I’m with you!”

Holly could see the train fifty yards ahead, now. The emergency lighting had come on in the cars, and they were dimly lit. She reached the rear car, got a foot on a step, and grabbed the door handle. Locked. She banged on the glass with the butt of her gun, and someone looked at her from inside. A man came and opened the door.

“Police!” she yelled. “Stand back!” Her man climbed in behind her, and she started moving down the packed car, the flashlight playing on each face. Nothing in the first car. She moved into the next car and searched it thoroughly, then moved on to another car. This one was very crowded, and as she opened the door, she saw a side door open ahead of her. “Police!” she kept yelling. “Everybody down!” People hit the floor in a hurry, and she could see the open door. She leaped over the prostrate people and jumped out the door, looking both ways.

Troy jumped down beside her. “I saw somebody run past the car on the tracks, headed back uptown. I couldn’t tell if it was a woman.”

“That way, then!” Holly yelled, and started to run back the way she had come. She checked between each car as she passed, then shone her small beam down the tracks. A shape was moving away from her. She ran after it.

Ahead another sixty yards or so she saw someone trying to climb onto the platform, and a couple of men were helping her. Holly sprinted toward the spot. “Troy!” she yelled. “Give me a leg up!” He did and she hit the platform on her knees and got to her feet. “Police!” she yelled at the crowd. “Which way did she go?”

Half a dozen people pointed toward the escalator. “Come on, Troy, the power is off. We’ll gain on her!” She elbowed her way through the crowd, shouting at them to get out of her way, and as she did, the station lights came on.

“Shit!” she yelled, and kept on, making her way toward the escalator, now operating. She ran up the moving steps, yelling at people, moving as fast as she could in the crowd. The station level was only a few yards ahead. She broke free of the crowd at the top of the escalator and ran toward the exit. She couldn’t see anyone who looked like Jasmine.

She got through the exit stile and ran toward the street, the daylight welcoming her. Then she was on the sidewalk, looking both ways. Traffic was at a halt. She leaped onto the hood of a taxi and climbed on top, giving her a good view in both directions.

Troy joined her, saying nothing, just looking.

“Anything?” Holly asked.

“Nothing,” Troy replied.

Holly let out a lungful of air. “That’s what I see, too,” she said.

The cabdriver got out of his cab. “Hey!” he yelled. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Tap dancing on your roof,” Holly replied.

Holly went through the building, checking who was out. “A lot of us had lunch at that place two or three times a week,” a secretary told her. Holly made a list of names of people not in the building. Finally, she went down and called the director.

“Holly, I’ve been waiting for your call. I was told you were in pursuit.”

“I was, with a security guard named Troy, and we came close. She was on the subway, but she made it back onto the tracks and to the station while we were dealing with knots of passengers. She disappeared on Lexington Avenue.”

“Casualties?”

“Don’t know yet,” Holly replied. “Fourteen people are not in the office, plus one who called in sick. The restaurant that was bombed was popular with our people, so we’re looking at losses. I haven’t heard the news reports, but I don’t see how anybody inside the place could survive that explosion. We’re going to have to keep everybody in the building for their whole shifts until we get Jasmine and her bunch.”

“Issue that order soonest,” Kate replied. “Call me back when you have a body count. I want names.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Holly hung up, wrung out from her massive expenditure of adrenaline. She closed the door and locked it, then flopped onto the sofa and was quickly asleep.

—

She was awakened later by someone hammering on her door, and she struggled to her feet and opened it. A woman she recognized as an analyst was standing there, holding a sheet of paper.

“What time is it?” Holly asked.

“Five minutes to four,” the woman replied, handing her the sheet. “This is a list of everybody who didn’t come back from lunch.”

“Sorry, I was out,” Holly said, taking the list.

“I understand.”

Holly looked at the list. “They should all be back?”

“Yes. We’ve got one out sick, the rest are all accounted for.”

“Spread the word: nobody goes out for lunch during a shift. If the food in the cafeteria isn’t good enough, I’ll do something about it.”

“I’ll do that,” the woman said, “and we could use a proper chef, instead of the dietitian. People say the food is a cross between prison and school dining hall.”

“Come on in,” Holly said. She sat down at her computer and typed for a moment, then sent it to the printer and got a couple of dozen copies. “Hand these around, and put one on every bulletin board,” she said. “I’ll do something about the food.”

The woman took the memo and left. Holly called the director.

“Yes, Holly?”

“Looks like six of our people died—three secretaries, two analysts, and a computer tech. I’ll e-mail you the names, but I don’t think you should release them to anyone, including families, until we have identity confirmation from the coroner’s office.”

“All right. Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes, ma’am. Authorize the hiring of a chef. Everybody hates the food in the cafeteria.”

There was a short pause. “I remember,” she said. “I’ll put somebody from our design department on turning the place into a proper restaurant, and I’ll tell personnel to find a chef. I’ve got some discretionary budget I haven’t used.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Holly said. “Now I won’t have to bring a lunch box.”

“I’m afraid you’re stuck there until this is resolved,” Kate said.

“I’m happy to deal with it, Director. May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“It would be great if the president, since he’s leaving office, would see about authorizing us to work domestically in terrorism cases.”

“Funny you should mention that. We talked about it a couple of days ago, and last night Will told me that he’s sending a request to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence to get a bill together to authorize. The White House counsel has told him he can issue an executive order to permit us to work domestically, but that it will expire with his presidency. I’ve asked him to make his request to the committee on an emergency basis, and what has happened today will make it imperative that they move quickly. He’ll sign the executive order today.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Holly said, and she meant it. “May I tell our people here? It might help morale. Everybody knew somebody who was in that restaurant.”

“Go ahead and tell them, but warn them that the information is classified until they read it in the papers.”

“Yes, ma’am. May I tell the police commissioner and the FBI AIC?”

“Yes.” The director hung up. Holly called the police commissioner.

“Yes, Holly. Don’t worry, we’re all over this.”

Holly told him about the chase in the subway tunnel.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to shoot her,” he said. “That’s twice she’s eluded capture.”

“Thank you, sir. I need your help on two things.”

“Anything.”

“First, I need confirmation from the morgue, soonest, of the ID of our people who were in the restaurant. Our best guess is six, and I’ll e-mail you the names.”

“Of course. I’ll call the ME myself.”

“The other thing is, the president is signing an executive order today to give the Agency the right to work domestically on terrorism cases. This will be the first one.”

“Can he do that?”

“Yes, but the order will expire with his presidency. He’s making an emergency request to the Intelligence Committee in the Senate for legislation modifying our charter to that effect.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me about that,” the commissioner replied. “We can use all the help we can get. I can’t speak for the FBI.”

“I’ll ask the director to ask the president to call their director. Maybe they’ll take it better if the news comes down from the top.”

“Good idea. I don’t want to have to listen to their pissing and moaning.”

“One more thing, Commissioner: you’ve got to go public with the photograph of Jasmine Shazaz.”

“I agree,” he replied. “I’ll give the order to Public Affairs immediately, and the FBI can lump it.”

“Thank you, sir.” She hung up. Her computer chimed, signaling a priority e-mail, and she logged on. “This is going out to everybody in the New York office,” Kate wrote. “From now on, it’s the New York station.”

Holly read the following bulletin. “To the staff in New York: I know you’ve all lost friends today, and our hearts are with you. As the result of their sacrifice, the president of the United States has today signed an executive order allowing the Agency to operate domestically in terrorism cases, and he has requested that the Congress, on an emergency basis, authorize a change to our charter to that effect.

“Accordingly, the New York office is now the New York station, and Assistant Director Holly Barker is appointed station chief. I know you will all give her the help she needs.

“Finally, since I’ve ordered that no one leave the building for lunch, I have directed that a chef be hired and that the cafeteria be remodeled into a proper restaurant. I’ve asked that it be up and running in a week. In the meantime, bring good things to eat to work.” Signed, Katharine Rule, Director.

“Station chief,” Holly said aloud to herself. “I don’t believe it.”

Holly left the office at eight o’clock, to meet Stone at P.J. Clarke’s. By the time she got there the usual crowd at the bar had subsided, and Stone was leaning against it with a drink in his hand. He signaled the bartender for one more.

“I saw everything on New York One,” he said, referring to the local cable news channel. “I’m sorry about the loss of your people.”