Quake (16 page)

Jana lobbed another rock at the approaching pack and Mendoza pulled the gate shut as he passed through it. He doubted it would hold them for long if they were determined to find a way past, but hoped that the concrete wasteland outside the verdant park setting would prove unappealing for the dogs.

“This way.” He led Jana on the street to Central Park North. At Frederick Douglas Circle, where a bronze statue of that area's namesake lay toppled and broken on the concrete, Mendoza realized he could no longer hear the dogs. Jana grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. She put her hands on her knees like a distance runner taking a breather. Mendoza stared into the park, looked down Central Park West from whence they'd come, but the herd of free-ranging canines seemed not to have ventured outside the park.

They'd been lucky. But as he removed his empty Glock clip and let it drop to the ground, he knew that luck had come at a price.

He was down to only one more clip.

Feroz Saeed Alivi stood on the deck of the Sea Ray sport cruiser, now safely back in the middle of the river after venturing to shore just long enough for him to board. He was surrounded by three of his men, while a fourth piloted the boat at a leisurely pace upriver. They had already held a brief reunion celebration that was full of hugs and prayer and praises for Allah, after which Alivi had regaled the men with the tale of his heroic escape from the crumbled courthouse. He thanked them for following through with their years-old plan to meet up on a river, and then talk turned to the inevitable.

“It is time we capitalize on the incredible gift Allah has bestowed upon us,” Alivi began. His associates nodded earnestly and their leader continued. “This earthquake is heaven sent. We must not squander the opportunity it presents. I see that only four of you are here. How many others in your sleeper cell are on land? Please update me on what has been planned so far.”

The three sleeper cell members not driving the boat exchanged awkward glances. One of them—a fit twenty-something sporting a close-cropped beard and shaved head—addressed Alivi.

“Sir, our ranks were decimated in the earthquake, as well as our safe house and our two cars. The four of us—and this boat—since it was on the river already when the earthquake struck, are all that is left.”

Alivi looked around the boat—up to the driver, at some fishing rods in holders on the deck, and back to his soldiers. “This boat is yours—it is not recently stolen?”

The three sleeper cell agents shook their heads. “It's ours,” the one who'd been talking said. Then he appeared to blush and added, “We thought it would be a good alternative mode of transportation.”

“We didn't buy it simply to go fishing and cavorting about on the river,” another added, sensing his colleague's concern at what their supreme leader might think of them spending their time in such a hedonistic, Western manner.

Alivi shot them a serious but forgiving look. “Speak no further of the matter. You have done very well and will be rewarded, not only in the afterlife, but as soon as we have won this new battle in our jihad. I will personally see to it that all . . . four of you”—he paused to point out the boat's pilot, who banked their craft right to follow the gentle curve of the river—“will be recognized.” The three men beamed with pride, one actually wiping away a tear.

Alivi sat on one of the leather bench seats and took a bite from one of the rice cakes offered to him upon boarding. “Let us discuss our next steps. While we have had the favors of Allah with us to this point, we need to act decisively. What plans do you have?”

The man with the shaved head spoke up again. “There is a nuclear power plant about twenty miles up this river.” He raised his eyebrows at the end of the sentence, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. “We are prepared to mount a two-pronged attack on this facility in order to ensure that they experience overwhelming safety and technical issues.”

“If they haven't already,” Alivi said.

“What little reports we have heard about the plant so far—mostly over this boat's marine VHF radio—are not favorable for the plant's continued operation. We will provide the tipping point to a total nuclear meltdown.”

At this a rare smile took shape on Alivi's face. “You said two-pronged attack?”

“Indeed. Two of us will make a landing a quarter of a mile from the facility and attempt to infiltrate it by land.”

“And the other prong?” Alivi prompted.

The spokesman for the terror cell grinned. “The other pair will take the boat to the nuclear plant's water intake pipe, a location we have already saved into the boat's GPS, about 600 meters from the riverbank where the plant sits. We will don SCUBA gear and attempt to swim into the plant through the intake pipe, power to which will have been shut off during the reactor shutdown procedures.”

A look of concern crossed Alivi's face, but it was not for the safety of his soldiers. “And you have the equipment to facilitate such a mission?” He looked around the boat and settled his gaze on the fishing gear. One of the other two extremists beckoned Alivi toward the boat's cabin. He opened its door and ducked into the small space, quickly returning with a large duffel bag.

“We were able to salvage some items when the earthquake struck,” he said, unzipping the bag and laying it open at Alivi's feet. “Not everything we would have liked, but enough to be effective if we are careful.” The duffel was full of assault rifles, handguns, ammo boxes, fixed blade fighting knives, a pipe cutter, and even a few hand grenades. A second man beckoned for Alivi to peer into the cabin. As he did, he pointed to four silver cylinders with attached hoses lying on the forward berth.

“SCUBA gear,” he said proudly. “We have two full air tanks each. With Allah's blessing that will be sufficient to penetrate the intake pipe far enough to surface deep inside the energy center's containment building.”

Alivi's eyes took on a feral gleam of intensity as the moonlit river reflected in them. “I see you have put serious study into this plan. I am most pleased. Nuclear destruction could annihilate the infidels' most prized city. Where they used to cry over a couple of buildings, now they will weep for a lost metropolis.”

“Allah willing,” the bald-headed one said. They all repeated him.

Then the sleeper cell leader directed a question to Alivi. “Do you wish to join the land assault team?”

Alivi looked at the bag of weapons, then back to the man. “We will actually conduct a three-pronged attack.”

The trio of followers tittered with excitement. “Three? Tell us!”

His face set into a mask of grim seriousness, Alivi responded. “In addition to the double-pronged nuclear strike, we must personally attack those directly responsible for prosecuting me, and by extension our organization and very way of life. I myself will lead that attack.”

Alivi's men appeared excited but also confused. The shaved head leader voiced their concern. “You will lead it right now? Tonight?”

Alivi nodded. “Tell me what intel we have on those who led my prosecution.”

The shaved head man nodded at one of the other two to respond.

“Sir, so far we are unable to confirm the whereabouts of the attorney who prosecuted you, Nick Dykstra, nor can we confirm that he is still alive. Same for the judge. Your defense attorney has already been taken care of, as have two marshals.” Two of the men laughed in approval at the reference to Alivi's murderous escape from the courthouse rubble. The sleeper cell leader continued. “However, we did glean one piece of highly reliable intel just before the ground began to shake.”

“Go on,” Alivi said.

“The daughter of Mr. Dykstra—Lauren Dykstra—was on a campus tour of Columbia University as the earthquake started. If she was not killed, she may well still be trapped there or be sheltering in place at that location.”

“We heard radio reports that Columbia had significant damage,” another of the men added.

Alivi said, “This university. Where is it in relation to our current location?”

The bald man answered. “It is between here and the nuclear plant, on the right-hand side.”

“It can be reached from the river?”

“Easily.”

“Then it is settled.” Alivi reached down into the bag and removed one of the automatic rifles along with a pistol, knife, and a single grenade. He began strapping the war implements to his body.

“But, sir, all four of us are required to execute our specific missions as we outlined them to you. We cannot—”

Alivi interrupted. “As I said, I will carry out this part of the offensive on my own. You will execute your mission as planned.”

“Sir?”

Alivi finished fastening the knife sheath to his belt and looked at the bald cell leader. “I said that
I will carry out this part of the offensive on my own.
Do you have trouble hearing?”

“No, sir, it's just that . . .” He paused, unsure of what to say to the face of his organization's highest chief, a man that before this day he had met only once. His two associates looked at him askew, eyes wordlessly urging him to be cautious.

“It is just that what?” Alivi challenged.

The bald man took a deep breath before replying. “It's just that I thought the attacks on your persecutors could wait until later. You have already eliminated some of them yourself, for one thing, and for another, those who remain could well be dead already.”

“I would like to confirm that for myself,” Alivi said.

“Sir, may I speak plainly?” the cell leader asked.

“If Allah wills it, peace be upon Him.”

The bald extremist nodded. “Sir, we have an unprecedented opportunity in the form of a direct nuclear strike on American soil—at
ground zero
. It strikes me as silly that on this day of greatness you would choose to divide our limited resources by putting a personal matter first.”

Alivi's eyes narrowed, and his carotid bulged in his neck as he raised his voice to reply. “What
personal matter
do you refer to?”

The bald leader shrunk back a little, but took another full breath and voiced his reply. “Killing the daughter of your prosecutor. It is a mission of petty revenge. Not that it is entirely unworthy, mind you, but at this time I feel that it is in our best interests to focus our remaining resources on—”

Alivi's right hand struck with lightning fast ferocity, and the sleeper cell leader felt the tip of Alivi's knife press into his throat as he said the word
on
. He did not utter anything else, but stood there looking Alivi in the eye as the barest trickle of blood fell from his neck.

The wound was only superficial, but the message was clear.

“The four of you will carry out your two-pronged assault. I will be the third prong. Have I made my point?”

The bald man responded by issuing a command to his colleagues, and within seconds the Sea Ray's speed increased as its prow sliced its way up the Hudson.

“I need the two of you to find a way over to the cooling apparatus,” Stephen Jeffries said into his radio transmitter.

Jasper was somewhat alarmed to hear Peterson respond with, “What about just bringing in new water instead of fixing the cooling system?” Until now the security man had seemed unconcerned with anything except whatever the heck it was he was “watching” for all the time. All of a sudden he doesn't like Jeffries's proposed technical solution?

“The pumping station for the intake pipe is a total loss. The intake is inoperable.”

“I know that, Mr. Jeffries, but isn't there some alternate method of supplying river water—or any water—to the plant? An emergency cooling system?”

The silence over the radio link said it all. “I take that as a no,” Peterson snapped.

Jasper watched him standing there, for once not shining his light around. Was he worried about their safety—about being able to get out of here—and that was making him irritable? Why wasn't he just going along with what Jeffries asked?

“Mr. Peterson, please let me worry about determining our course of corrective action. That's why I'm up here with the diagnostic systems and the computers, remember? The fact is that my initial response team tried to fix the intake pumps already, but they told me it was hopeless and shortly after that I lost all contact with them. That's why I need you and Mr. Howard to make your way to the cooling system so we can fix it. You know the physical layout down there extremely well, so I'm hoping you can lead Jasper to it, and then stand guard while he operates according to my instructions.”

Jasper spoke up. “Or we could locate the team, right? So that
they
could fix the cooling system?” It made him a little edgy to second guess Jeffries, but Peterson was a security specialist who didn't have much more technical experience than he did, and he was making suggestions. Sure, he spent more time down here—a lot more—but he wasn't an engineer or a scientist.

If Jeffries was put off by the question it wasn't evident in his voice. “If you could locate them, and then if at least one of them is alive and in suitable condition to work, and then again if they're able to get to the cooling apparatus from wherever you find them . . . sure. But there's got to be a good reason we haven't heard any sign of them, and I remind you that time is of the essence.”

Jasper pictured the water in the spent fuel pool evaporating away while Jeffries went on. “If I can get you two to the cooling station, then I believe we have a decent shot at fixing the problem without locating the initial response team first.”

At the mention of the previous team, Jasper grew concerned. “Did one of your earlier teams try to fix the cooling system before?” He thought of Sam, who'd told him he ought to leave. Sam worked in the reactor. He wondered if he was one of the technicians trapped in there now, or if he had gotten out at some point once either his job was done or he could no longer be of help.

“I don't believe so. They were concentrating on the reactor itself, in the heart of the containment building—and they did a great job there according to my telemetry and instrumentation. So none of them were—or should have been, to my knowledge—in the fuel handling area of the containment structure—that's where you two are now—when the catwalk separated. I think they've been sealed inside the reactor, where the lead walls are too thick to permit radio communication. Usually we use a hardwired intercom system in there, but that went down right after the quake.”

“So let's get on with it,” Jasper said, looking at Peterson.

This was met with radio silence.

“Mr. Jeffries?”

“Sorry, I thought I heard someone come up the stairs—was hoping one of the early response team members finally found a way up here, but there's no one here. Probably just loose infrastructure rattling around in the walls.”

“Which way do we go?” Jasper asked. He wanted to get back outside.

“Take the walkway leading away from the pool straight back as far as it goes, to the far wall.”

Away from the pool sounded good to Jasper. He started walking without waiting for Peterson, who was now back to playing his beam around the pool area.

“When you get to the far wall . . .” Jeffries trailed off.

“When we get there . . . what?” Jasper prodded, watching Peterson's light shine off of a row of metal pipes from behind.

“There are two different areas of cooling apparatus and I'm trying to think which place is best to start out with. . . .”

Great, he doesn't know what he's doing,
Jasper thought as he stepped over a fallen fluorescent light fixture. But then he cautioned himself to go easy on the man. Operating this place after the huge earthquake and aftershocks they'd just had couldn't be easy. His employees either dead, deserted or missing . . . He was doing the best he could.

“When you get to the wall, take the walkway to your right.”

“All right, but no guarantees that'll be possible,” Peterson warned. “I see lots of damage up ahead,” he said as he passed Jasper on the walkway, aiming his light beam up into a jumble of ruined metalwork.

“Let me know how it looks when you get there,” Jeffries said.

They walked on in silence for a couple of minutes until Jasper saw Peterson's light stop bobbing around as he stood in place. When he caught up to him, he saw Peterson checking his dosimeter.

“You getting an elevated reading?” Jasper asked.

“Elevated reading of what?” Jeffries replied. Jasper saw Peterson let go of the dosimeter and turn to look back at him. “He was asking me about my dosimeter reading.”

“Mine fell into the pool when I went down to look at Mr. White.”

“How's your reading, Mr. Peterson?”

“Higher, but it's okay for now.” Jasper wondered why Jeffries didn't press him for a number, but figured he knew what it was when they'd started out. Jasper decided he was glad he no longer had the dosimeter, kind of like a smoker who refused to get screened for cancer. If he was getting it, he was getting it. He didn't need to know. Even if he did know he was receiving too much radiation, what could anybody do about it right now? He wasn't even positive he could physically escape this building if he wanted to. He felt a rising wave of panic induced by these thoughts and he willed himself to push them aside. Just focus on the next little step.
Get to the wall. Get to the wall
...

They kept moving down the walkway until Jasper saw that Peterson had stopped moving. He caught up to him to find what looked like a gigantic fan lying sideways across the path. On either side of them was a thick forest of pipes. Jasper judged the obstacle in their way to be about head high. Peterson's voice cut through his helmet speaker.

“Turbine's knocked over on the cross-through.”

“Can you get around it?” Jeffries asked.

“Gotta climb a little, but, yeah. This way, Mr. Howard. Put one foot here, one hand here, and follow my path exactly. Don't let your suit get snagged on anything.”

“Copy that.” Jasper was grateful for the warning. In his current state of mind there was no telling what he might not notice. He walked up to the toppled turbine and climbed it slowly and deliberately, copying Peterson's movements after he saw that they worked. When his feet hit the walkway again, on the other side of the ruined machinery, he was pleased to see a concrete wall only about fifty feet in front of them.

“Now approaching the west containment wall,” Peterson told Jeffries. He walked a few feet farther and then added, “It looks passable in either direction, at least as far as I can see with this flashlight,” he said, shining the beam to their left. Jasper noticed that it was very dim here. He saw only a single utility light at least two stories above them.

Jeffries said, “Take the right fork, please, and continue about three hundred feet.”

Jasper made the right turn onto an elevated walkway with a railing on the right side, smooth concrete wall on the left. Looking over the side, he saw a solid floor with painted lines and arrows, and various heavy equipment including a forklift and a scissor lift.

Then he heard Peterson saying, “This is it,” and saw him halt his forward progress ahead. The security man pointed to some kind of machinery console before walking off ahead a bit, exploring with his light.

“Mr. Howard, do you see the cooling station? Should be a gray metal chassis, with—”

“I see it,” Jasper said, balking at the daunting array of controls. In addition to the standard-looking switches and buttons, there were also assorted plumbing fixtures like valve wheels, PVC piping with attached temperature gauges, and even some equipment that Jasper was surprised to recognize: a generator, an air compressor. But he had no idea what their role was connected to the rest of the stuff. “It looks a lot more complicated than the control rod thing.”

“It is.”

“Great, so talk me through it.”

“Okay, so next to the leftmost switchgear panel—that's the thing with the four dial gauges on it, and three LCD screens below that?”

“I see it.”

“Next to that, there should be a . . . hold on, let me bring up my diagnostic. . . .” Jasper heard him humming a flat tune while he tapped at a keyboard before continuing. “Yeah, there should be a second switchgear panel that controls the primary cooling loop. If you look out over the rail you can see it—the loop—down on the floor. Kind of looks like the spokes of a wheel?”

Jasper squinted into the darkness. “Peterson, I need some light.”

The security man walked back over—quickly—Jasper was relieved to notice, and shined his beam to where Jasper pointed.

“Yes, I see it, looks like a big octopus, with a huge metal thing in the middle that looks like it could be an engine, and then one blue metal thing on the end of each spoke.”

“That's it. All right, so next I need you to—”

Suddenly, Jasper heard a noise so loud in his earpiece that it caused him to momentarily hunch over from the pain. He saw Peterson's flashlight bounce off the walkway next to him. He must have heard it, too. Then he heard a muffled shout, and another loud
pop
that distorted his headphones. He saw Peterson's hand scrambling for the flashlight, too late, as it rolled off the edge of the walkway down to the work floor below, leaving them in near darkness.

“Mr. Jeffries?” Peterson yelled. “Jeffries, can you hear me?”

Then a response came, but it wasn't from Jeffries. A male voice, but younger sounding than the reactor operations manager's.

With a strong Arabic accent.

“He can't hear anybody anymore. Do precisely as we say and you will live.”