Europa Conspiracy (Babylon Rising 3) (22 page)

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One more caveat before I jump to the dirty bomb. Have you heard about 'red mercury'?"

"Yes, I've heard of it. Is it a bomb?"

"Not exactly. It's a material called antimony oxide. It's a reddish, dark brown, or purple powder used in combination with heavy hydrogen as a fuel. Uranium or plutonium is used with conventional thermonuclear bombs. But red mercury is a more efficient and cheaper way to make a neutron bomb. It doubles the nuclear yield, with a great reduction in the weight."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that it's possible to make a neutron-type bomb as small as a golf ball. Of course, the initial blast will be smaller, but the radiation area will be pretty large. The Russians developed red mercury. According to Yevgeny Primakov, chief of Russia's External Intelligence Service, red mercury sells for $350,000 a kilo on the open market. The sensors used today in the United States can't detect this type of hand-held nuclear weapon."

"So what is special about a dirty bomb?"

"It's different because it's not triggered by a nuclear explosion, David," Abrams explained. "It uses conventional explosives, like dynamite or fertilizer, combined with radioactive material. The explosion itself is not as big as a nuclear blast. In fact, it will only be as big as the amount of explosives used. However, it still spreads radiation all over the place, and this type of radiation doesn't dissipate quickly. It lasts as long as several years and can extend to decades."

"And terrorists prefer this type of weapon?" David asked.

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"Yes, for several reasons. First, dirty bombs are easy to make. Second, the radioactive material for such bombs can be found in most hospitals, universities, even food processing plants! Third, these bombs strike terror in the heart of the general public. People are terrified by the thought of being exposed to radiation. And, last, the long-lasting radioactive material can attach to concrete, metal, what have you. If a city was contaminated by a dirty bomb, many buildings would have to be demolished."

"So dirty bombs are more like weapons of mass
disruption
than mass destruction," David concluded.

"Well, they're both. The explosives destroy and the radiation disrupts. If you ask me, that's what the terrorists are going to use--a dirty bomb!" Abrams said seriously.

227

FORTY

ALVENA SMIDT FINISHED shopping in her favorite local delicatessen after work. She collected her bundles from Carl, the owner, said good night, and strode outside. It was after nine, and not many people were out on the chilly streets. Smidt was enjoying the night air when she saw a man she recognized walking in her direction. As he got very close she spoke.

"Excuse me. Aren't you the man from Cape Town?" Smidt asked, excited.

Talon looked up and pretended to be surprised. "Why, yes."

"Do you remember me? I'm Alvena Smidt, the librarian. We met today. You were looking for some of your friends. Did you find them? I certainly hope so. I talked with them and they seem like such a nice couple. What are you doing in this neighborhood?"

"I was out visiting some friends. Do you live around here?"

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"Yes. Just two blocks in the direction you were coming from."

"A lovely woman like yourself shouldn't be walking the streets alone at this time of night. It might be dangerous."

"Oh, I don't mind. I just got off work. I've lived here for several years, and it's very safe."

"Nevertheless, would you allow me to carry your bag and escort you to your home?"

"Why ... I... I guess so. That would be very kind."

"I don't mind that in the least. I always enjoy an evening stroll," Talon said as he took the bag from Smidt's arms.

It only took them a few minutes to arrive at her apartment. "Well, here we are," she said. "Thank you so very much. It was certainly a surprise to meet you a second time." She was hoping it wouldn't be the last time the two would meet.

"It was my pleasure. Say, would you happen to know if there are any restaurants open now nearby? I'd like a cup of hot tea before going to bed."

"No, I'm afraid not," Alvena Smidt said, frowning. "But I'd be happy to make some tea for you. I live on the fifth floor. I also have some wonderful chocolate éclairs right here." She pointed to the bag Talon held for her.

"I wouldn't want to impose on your kindness," he said seriously.

"Oh, it would be my pleasure," Smidt exclaimed.

Talon wandered around the living room looking at pictures while Smidt prepared the tea and éclairs. When she

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came out of the kitchen, Talon had removed his coat. They sat and chatted over the tea. She thought it was strange that he had left his gloves on.
His hands must be cold.

"I must be going now," Talon said, rising and putting on his coat. "That was most kind of you."

"Well, I'm happy that you were in the area. I enjoyed your company. Sometimes it's a little lonely in the evenings. Watching television is not quite like having a stimulating conversation ... don't you think?"

"My thought precisely."

Smidt walked Talon to the door. "Thank you for coming up."

"Oh, it was my pleasure more than you know." With that, Talon's arms shot out and his hands clasped her throat, his thumbs slowly increasing their pressure on her larynx. He enjoyed looking at his victims as they died.

"I wouldn't want you to tell anyone that you had met me, Alvena. My description and where I come from must remain our little secret. I just can't stand loose ends."

Alvena Smidt's eyes were wide. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. He was a gentleman--a gentleman from her native land! She tried to squirm free but he was too strong. Her whole body was desperate for air. The pain in her throat was unbearable. She could feel herself drifting into unconsciousness. The last thing she saw was a sinister smile.

Talon held on until he was confident she was dead. Then he allowed her body to slump to the floor. He strode over to her handbag, removed all the money and credit cards, and dumped the contents on the floor. Then he opened all of the cupboards, drawers, and closets, and

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tossed things around, trying to make it look like a robbery.

Before he left he double-checked the apartment. He had forgotten one thing. Hurriedly he washed his teacup and the éclair plate and put them away. He wanted it to appear that she was alone.

Just before he closed the door, he took one more look at Smidt.
I never did like big polka dots.

231

FORTY-ONE

MURPHY'S CELL PHONE began to play a musical tune. He held on to the steering wheel with his left hand as he reached over, picked the phone up, and flipped it open. "Murphy here."

"Michael! Where are you right now?" Abrams exclaimed.

"Right now I'm driving out of the parking lot at LaGuardia Airport. I just dropped Isis off. She had an early flight back to Washington. I decided to drive back to Raleigh. I need some alone time to think. Why?"

"We've just gotten some news about the terrorists. We think they're going to attempt to blow up the George Washington Bridge today."

"Today! I'm only about seven miles from the bridge."

"That's why I'm calling, Michael. I was hoping you were still in the area. I'm still in Presidio. Can you help us?"

"Of course."

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"Michael," Abrams said seriously, "if something goes wrong... you could lose your life."

"I've made my peace with God, Levi. If He wants to take me, I'm ready. I've just turned north onto 1-278. The traffic is already terrible. Fill me in on the details. We need to do everything in our power to stop them."

"One of our operatives caught the terrorist that shot Jacob. He persuaded him to cooperate... if you know what I mean. Anyway, we believe some members of one of the sleeper cells are transporting two bombs to the bridge."

"Two
bombs?"

"Yes, we think they're going to attempt to enter from the New Jersey side on both the top and the bottom levels of the bridge. An explosion like that could rip the bridge apart in the center."

"Do you have any idea when it's supposed to happen?"

"We got the impression from the Arab that it was probably going to happen during the early-morning rush hour. You're already in it."

"How can I help?"

"We discovered that the terrorists have rented two Rapid U-Haul trucks. You know, the yellow trucks with the big blue arrow on the side pointing toward the cab, with the large red letters 'Rapid U-Haul.'"

"I know them."

"Well, if you see one entering or on the bridge, it could be one of them. Michael, try to get there as fast as you can. I'll call back with an update. Good luck."

Murphy's tension mounted as he attempted to weave

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in and out of traffic. Soon there was no way to get around the cars ahead. He was locked in.

The cars reminded him of snails inching their way toward possible death. Murphy wanted to yell at the people to get out of his way He could feel his frustration and impatience level rising. His emotions were close to the explosion point.

He began to pray.

Norm Huffman and Jim Daniels both came from a long line of law enforcement officers and had become the best of friends. Both of their fathers had been on the New York Police Department, as had their grandfathers. Police work seemed to run in their families. Many of their relatives were on the force, and those who were not policemen became firemen.

After 9/11, their families were concerned about their safety. They were close to retirement, and their wives were begging them to take a less dangerous job. They too felt that they needed a break after years of stress. It was a dangerous business arresting felons, dodging crazy drivers, and handling emergency situations. The events of 9/11 had been the worst disaster they'd ever been through. They had both lost friends and relatives. That deep hurt was almost unbearable. So when they heard about jobs providing security for the George Washington Bridge, they both applied.

They had both gotten the day shift and loved it. Now they could be home each evening with their families. Norm and Jim often barbecued together on the weekends.

Their responsibilities included patrolling the pedestrian

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path that ran along the Hudson River on the Manhattan side. They started at the south end, walked north, then returned. They could be outdoors and enjoy the beauty of the parkway, they didn't have to worry about traffic, they didn't have to get into fights or be shot at, and they met a lot of nice people walking and jogging. It was a primo job.

Often they would get into conversations with fishermen or people picnicking under the bridge. Many people from out of town walked the area and visited the Little Red Lighthouse at the base of the bridge. The lighthouse had been originally built and installed at Sandy Hook, New Jersey. Dismantled and moved to Jeffrey's Hook in the late 1800s, it was the ideal place to take pictures.

"Just another day in paradise, Norm," Jim said with a broad grin.

"I know. It's a tough job walking next to the river in the sunshine on a clear day. But somebody's got to do it."

"It's kind of quiet today. I don't see many people."

"No, just the maintenance crew and some Rollerbladers over by the lighthouse."

"Maintenance must be working on something. There seem to be more of them than usual."

Norm started to look at the maintenance workers when Jim yelled. "Norm! The two Rollerbladers just went down. They crashed into each other, and they look like they're hurt."

They hurried toward the skaters. Jim was about a hundred feet away when he sensed something was wrong. The two men on the ground looked as if they were Arabs. He had never seen any Arabs skating before. He had a hinky feeling about them.

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At the same instant, Norm began to say something about the maintenance crew. He knew most of the men on the crew. He didn't remember any Arabs working in maintenance. Just then their radios sounded with a loud squawk.

"Central Command to all units. Code T! I repeat, Code T!"

Murphy's cell phone rang a second time. It was Levi Abrams.

"Michael, turn on your radio. The news media has gotten ahold of the possible bombing of the bridge. Someone from the FBI must have leaked it. I think there'll be mass panic. No one will want to be caught in another 9/11-type of situation."

Murphy reached to switch on the radio.

"Michael, I don't know what to tell you," Abrams continued, worried. "Bridge security has been alerted. They'll be attempting to get traffic off the bridge and close it down. That is a major operation. The FBI, other police units, and the military are mobilizing just in case our suspicions are correct. The problem is the congestion. Emergency personnel will not be able to get through immediately. Since you don't have a portable radio, you're on your own. You won't know what everyone else is doing. I wish I was there to help."

"I'll try to keep in touch with you by cell phone."

Fadil looked at his watch. His hands were shaking badly. In only a few minutes he would push the button to detonate