Tick Tock - James Patterson [30]
What did she say? I thought, squinting at the phone.
“Ah, you’re just saying that to keep me from going into shock,” I said.
“That’s what friends are for,” Emily said. “Actually, they want to send someone from our team up to New York to help you guys out, Mike. I was wondering if you thought it was a good idea if I volunteered?”
I thought about that. It went without saying that her expertise on the case would be invaluable. And it really would be awesome to see her. We had definitely made a connection, something special.
Then I suddenly remembered Mary Catherine, and how things were going on that front.
I must have still been loopy with shock, because the next thing I said surprised me.
“Come up. We need all the help we can get. We need the best people on this. Besides, it would be great to see you.”
“Really?” she said.
“Really,” I said, not knowing what the hell I was doing or saying. “Call me as soon as you get up here.”
Chapter 33
I SOMEHOW MANAGED to complete the rest of my commute safely and arrived at the closest bombing scene, at 59th Street and Fifth Avenue, around nine thirty a.m.
The area across from the Plaza Hotel and Central Park was usually packed with rich ladies who lunch and tourists looking for overpriced horse-and-buggy rides. Now an occupying force of assault rifle–strapping Emergency Service Unit storm troopers had cordoned off the corner, and instead of Chipoos peeking from Fendi clutches, bomb-sniffing Labradors were sweeping both sides of the street.
I noticed an aggravating CBS News camera aimed directly between my eyes as I came under the crime scene tape in front of the GM Building. I guess I couldn’t complain that the media had already gotten here, since, including ABC and NBC, they seemed to be the targets.
As if Tiffany’s and the network studios weren’t high-profile enough, the world-famous FAO Schwarz toy store sat on the other side of the outdoor space, as well as the funky transparent glass cube of the wild Fifth Avenue sunken Apple store.
I found the Bomb Squad’s second in command, Brian Dunning, chewing gum as he knelt on the intersection’s southeast corner in front of a blast-blackened streetlight. At the Grand Central scene, Cell had told me that the blond pock-faced tech was fresh from Iraq, where he’d been part of a very busy army EOD team. Since it seemed New York was currently at war as well, I was glad he was on our side.
The toppled garbage can beside him had a hole in its steel mesh the size of a grapefruit. What looked like tiny pieces of confetti were scattered on the sidewalk and street beside it. It reminded me of firecracker paper on the day after the Fourth of July. I scooped some of it up to get a better look.
“It’s cardboard,” Dunning said, standing. “From a coffee cup, is my guess. Which would blend in perfectly in a garbage can. You want an IED to appear totally innocuous.”
“Was it plastic explosive, like the last one?” I said.
Dunning smelled the piece of cardboard.
“Dynamite, I’d say off the top of my head. About a stick or so, I’d guess. Mobile phone trigger with a fuse-head electric blasting cap packed in a coffee cup all as neat as you please. This cop-killing freak’s got skills. I’ll give him that.”
Great, I thought. Our guy was using new materials. Or maybe not, I thought, letting out a breath. It could have been someone else catching the heat of the moment and getting in on the act.
More questions without any answers, I thought. What else was new?
I caught up to my boss, who was talking with a group of shaken-up Early Show staffers.
“No one seems to have seen a thing, Mike,” Miriam said as we walked toward the corner. “They have security out here on the Plaza, of course, but they don’t detour pedestrian traffic. Sanitation said they collected this morning at five. Our guy must have dropped the coffee cup sometime after that, probably as he was waiting for the light. This guy’s a ghost.”
I quickly went over the double copycat theory that