Patriot games - Tom Clancy [80]
"Looks like Czech," Murray muttered.
"It is," another detective said. "From Skoda works, you can tell from the wrapping. These are American, though. California Pyronetics, model thirty-one electronic detonator." He tossed one-in a plastic bag-to Murray.
"Damn! They're turning up all over the place-a shipment of these little babies got hijacked a year and a half ago. They were heading for an oil field in Venezuela, and got taken outside Caracas," Murray explained. He gave the small black device a closer look. "The oil field guys love 'em. Safe, reliable, and damned near foolproof. This is as good as the stuff the Army uses. State of the art."
"Where else have they turned up?" Owens asked.
"We're sure about three or four. The problem is, they're so small that it's not always possible to identify what's left. A bank in Puerto Rico, a police station in Peru -those were political. The other one-maybe two-were drug related. Until now they've all been on the other side of the Atlantic. As far as I know, this is the first time they've showed up here. These detonators have lot numbers. You'll want to check them against the stolen shipment. I can get a telex off tonight, have you an answer inside an hour."
"Thank you, Dan."
Murray counted five one-kilo blocks of explosive. The Czech plastique had a good reputation for quality. It was as potent as the stuff Du Pont made for American military use. One block, properly placed, could take a building down. With the Pyronetics timers, Miss Dwyer could have placed five separate bombs, set them for delayed detonation-as much as a month-and been a thousand miles away when they went off.
"You saved some lives tonight, gentlemen. Good one." Murray looked up. The apartment had a single window facing to the rear. The window had a pull-down blind that was all the way down, and some cheap, dirty curtains. Murray wondered what this flat cost to rent. Not much, he was sure. The heat was turned way up, and the room was getting stuffy. "Anybody mind if I let some air in here?"
"Excellent idea, Dan," Owens answered.
"Let me do it, sir." A detective with gloves on put up the blind and then the window. Everything in the room would be dusted for fingerprints also, but opening the window wouldn't harm anything. A breeze cooled things off in an instant.
"That's better." The FBI representative took a deep breath, scarcely noticing the smell of diesel exhaust from the London cabs
Something was wrong.
It hit Murray as a surprise. Something was wrong. What? He looked out the window. To the left was a-probably a warehouse, a blank four- story wall. Past it on the right, he could see the outline of the Tower of London, standing over the River Thames. That was all. He turned his head to see Owens, also staring out the window. The Commander of C-13 turned his head and looked at Murray, a question on his face also.
"Yes," Owens said.
"What was it that guy on the phone said?" Murray muttered.
Owens' head bobbed. "Exactly. Sergeant Highland?"
"Yes, Commander?"
"The voice on the phone. What exactly did it say, and what exactly did it sound like?" Owens kept looking out the window.
"The voice had a Midlands accent, I should think. A man's voice. He said that he was looking in the window, and saw explosives and some wires. We have it all on tape, of course."
Murray reached through the open window and ran a finger along the outside surface of the glass. It came back dirty. "It sure wasn't a window-washer who called in." He leaned out the window. There was no fire escape.
"Someone atop the warehouse, perhaps-no," Owens said at once. "The angle isn't right, unless she had the material spread out on the floor. That is rather odd."
"Break-in? Maybe someone got in here, saw the stuff, and decided to call in like a good citizen?" Murray asked. "That doesn't sound very likely."
Owens shrugged. "No telling, is there? A boyfriend she dumped-I think for the moment we can be content with counting our blessings, Dan. There are five bombs that will never hurt anyone. Let's get out