The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [435]
Special Agent Bill Clinton was also badly shaken. Only the vagaries of scheduling had saved his life. He, too, had had a ticket for the game, but he'd had to give it to another member of his squad. From that misfortune, which had enraged the young agent only four days earlier, his life had been spared. What he'd seen at the stadium had stunned him. His exposure to radiation - only forty Rems, according to Parsons - terrified him, but Clinton, too, was a cop, and he took the paper from Dawkins' hand.
It was, he saw, a list of cars. One was circled and had a question-mark scribbled next to the license plate.
"What's this mean?" Clinton asked, leaning past a nurse who was trying to restart Dawkins' IV line.
"Van," the man gasped, not hearing, but knowing the question. "Got in asked sarge to check it out, but - south side, by the TV trucks. ABC van, little one, two guys, I let them in. Not on my list."
"South side, does that mean anything?" Clinton asked Parsons.
"That's where it was." Parsons leaned down. "What did they look like, the two men?" He gestured at the paper, then pointed at himself and Clinton.
"White, both thirties, ordinary said they came from Omaha with a tape machine. Thought it was funny they came from Omaha told Sergeant Yankevich went to check it out right before."
"Look," a doctor said, "this man is in very bad shape, and I have to -"
"Back off," Clinton said.
"Did you look in the truck?"
Dawkins only stared. Parsons grabbed a piece of paper and drew a truck on it, stabbing at the picture with his pencil.
Dawkins nodded, on the edge of consciousness. "Big box, three feet "SONY" printed on it - they said it was a tape deck. Truck from Omaha but -" he pointed at the list.
Clinton looked. "Colorado tags!"
"I let it in," Dawkins said just before he collapsed.
"Three-foot box " Parsons said quietly.
"Come on." Clinton ran out of the emergency room. The nearest phone was at the admitting desk. All four were being used. Clinton took one right out of the hand of an admitting clerk, hung up and cleared the line.
"What are you doing!"
"Shut up!" the agent commanded. "I need Hoskins Walt, this is Clinton at the hospital. I need you to run a tag number. Colorado E-R-P-five-two-zero. Suspicious van at the stadium. Two men were driving it, white, thirties, ordinary-looking. The witness is a cop, but now he's passed out."
"Okay. Who's with you?"
"Parsons, the NEST guy."
"Get down here - no, stay put, but keep this line open." Hoskins put that line on hold, then dialed another from memory. It was for the Colorado Department of Motor Vehicles. This is the FBI, I need a quick tag check. Your computer up?"
"Yes, sir," a female voice assured him.
"Edward Robert Paul Five Two Zero." Hoskins looked down at his desk. Why did that sound familiar?
"Very well." Hoskins heard the tapping. "Here we go, that's a brand-new van registered to Mr Robert Friend of Roggen. You need the license number for Mr Friend?"
"Christ," Hoskins said.
"Excuse me, sir?" He read off the number. "That's correct."
"Can you check two other license numbers?"
"Surely." He read them off. "First one's an incorrect number so's the second - wait a minute, these numbers are just like -"
"I know. Thank you." Hoskins set the phone down. "Okay, Walt, think fast " First he needed more information from Clinton.
"Murray."
"Dan, this is Walt Hoskins. Something just came in you need to know."
"Shoot."
"Our friend Marvin Russell parked a van at the stadium. The NEST guy says that the place where he parked it is pretty close to where the bomb went off. There was at least one - no, wait a minute - okay. There was one other guy in there with him, and the other one must have been driving the rental car. Okay. Inside the van was a large box. The van was painted up like an ABC vehicle, but Russell was found dead a couple miles away. So, he must have dropped off the van and left. Dan, this looks like how the bomb might have gotten there."
"What else do you