The Windy City Page 11

  “I wish I knew,” X-Ray said. “There are a lot of images on here. All of them are from different locations and points of view. There are a lot of shots of the skyline from different angles. But mostly it’s pictures of the major skyscrapers, the Sears Tower, the John Hancock Center—there are over sixty buildings in Chicago at least five hundred feet tall. If you were able to take down any one of them, it would cause colossal damage.”

  “What do you think is going to happen, X-Ray?” Angela asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

  “X-Ray,” Angela said, “when is the last time you’ve gotten some sleep?”

  He ignored the question.

  “In addition to the photos, Miss Ruby’s phone also gave me access to her e-mail and Web browser history. She had received a lot of e-mail alerts and researched a number of websites about Chicago weather patterns, specifically wind velocity and direction. It just makes me wonder….”

  “Wonder what, X-Ray?” Angela said.

  “It’s easier to show you,” he said. He punched a few keys on his keyboard.

  “I programmed a simulation, using climate data that included wind patterns, humidity, precipitation, and every other climate variable I could think of. Once we determined that whoever we’re chasing wants Malak in Grant Park, I started running possible scenarios, with that location as …”

  He stopped and looked at Angela, not finishing his sentence. He ran his fingers over the keyboard again. Up popped a three-dimensional map of the city with several buildings outlined in bright green. There were a lot of squiggly arrows running in the sky over the building images. Grant Park was outlined in bright red.

  “What are we looking at?” Angela asked.

  “At first I thought the pictures might be potential targets. Either the cell would try to blow them up or destroy them somehow. Take down a Chicago high-rise during a weekday and your casualties would be in the thousands. But it would take a lot of planning and near-perfect execution to do it. These buildings have much stricter security these days. It would require a lot of explosives, which, like I said, are not that easy to get. And—” X-Ray stopped.

  “And what?” Angela prodded him. I understood her impatience. X-Ray had a theory. As smart as he was, it was probably a really good theory, and Angela’s mom was in real danger. Angela was going to start demanding answers soon.

  “I started thinking. What if the building isn’t the target? What if it’s where they launch the attack from?” he asked.

  “What kind of attack?” I asked, trying to ignore the ever-so-slight itching sensation that was starting in the palms of my hands.

  “It could be anything,” X-Ray said. “You could have a shoulder-mounted surface-to-air missile and take down an aircraft. You could have some kind of gas or bio-terror weapon to release in the atmosphere. It would be possible …”

  X-Ray kept talking but I was no longer listening. Something was tickling the very corner of my memory. It had to do with the Leopard and Malak and the ghost cell, and what X-Ray was saying tied it all up somehow. We now knew it was because of Buddy T. that they kept showing up wherever we did. But I kept thinking about how the whole thing started. Back in Philadelphia, at Independence Hall.

  “John Hancock!” I blurted out.

  X-Ray stopped mid-sentence to look at me. Angela stared as if I’d lost my mind.

  “What about him?” Angela asked.

  “He’s the guy who signed his name on the Declaration of Independence in really big letters, right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Angela said. “According to legend, he did it so King George III wouldn’t have to wear his glasses in order to read—”

  “I don’t need a history lesson right now,” I said, interrupting. “It’s the John Hancock one.”

  “Huh? What makes you think that?” Angela scoffed. But X-Ray was staring off into space, and I knew he was considering it.

  Now I had the full-on itch.

  “Because they want to send a message not just to the country, but to us. And all of this started in Philadelphia, at Independence Hall with us meeting Malak there. Somehow that’s when they knew, or at least suspected that Boone and the SOS team were on to them. X-Ray, take out all of the other buildings in your little weather pattern simulation doodad except the Hancock,” I said.

  X-Ray punched a few keys. The other building outlines disappeared. Only the Hancock Center was left. The wind pattern arrows crossing through the sky above it led directly over Grant Park.

  “That’s it!” I said, lurching back to my seat. “Pull up every piece of surveillance footage you can find for all the entrances to that building. Starting from the time Buddy disappeared.”

  I know it took longer, but it seemed like it was only seconds before X-Ray had it up and running on our monitors. It took another hour and a half of us carefully reviewing every bit of film before we discovered what we were looking for. We made sure to take our time so as not to miss anything. Then we found it.

  According to the time stamp on the traffic cam, just a little over an hour previously, a truck marked “Citywide Plumbing” pulled up to a side entrance to the skyscraper. Three men got out and opened the rear doors of the van. They removed a large crate using one of those big hand trucks, the kind people use to move refrigerators and other heavy stuff. Pushing it up to the building’s entrance, they waited while a security guard looked at a clipboard, checked their IDs, and finally let them inside.

  They were all dressed in identical gray overalls with the company logo on the back. Except that one guy wore yellow high-top tennis shoes. X-Ray zeroed in on his face, blowing it up big on the screen. There was no doubt. It was Buddy T.

  Fast-forwarding through the footage we saw two guys come back out. The crate was no longer on the dolly. One of them was Buddy T. with his bright-yellow high-tops. The two of them got in the van and drove away.

  One of them was still inside.

  “X-Ray,” Angela said, “you better find Boone.”

  Leopard Unleashed

  Malak was now officially over the edge, ready to start shooting at something, paranoid. She had been out for an early-morning run, getting her head right before she left for Grant Park. However, the fact that someone had been inside the house the last time she left weighed on her mind. That it was someone who managed to sneak by Ziv and Eben was even more troubling. She only knew Eben by reputation, but Mossad agents were some of the best in the world. And she knew it was nearly impossible to get anything past Ziv. Still, someone had gotten inside. How?

  Her current theory for an unobserved entry was that the house must have some kind of secret entrance or tunnel from another nearby structure. But try as she might, she could not find it. And every inch of the house had been searched from the attic to the basement.

  As she jogged along the street she took several deep breaths. The last three blocks she sprinted the remaining distance. Reaching the front yard she jogged in place, cooling down from her run, but actually observing to see if anyone had been there while she was gone. She saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Malak took several more deep breaths and did a few stretches, giving every appearance of being a regular, ordinary jogger. To anyone observing her she would look like a young professional woman finishing up her morning exercise. Once done, she would go inside and ready herself for the day. Nothing unusual about anything she was doing.

  Malak trotted down the concrete walk along the side of the house to the back door. It was unlikely anyone would have attempted to enter through the front. Climbing the back steps to the rear door, she reached into the pocket of her hoodie, gripping the handle of her pistol. Cautiously, she opened the door, gun at the ready, and taking a very long stride, she stepped inside the house.

  Standing still, she listened for several moments. It was quiet. She cleared the house room by room. No one was there. But had someone visited again while she was out? She returned to the back door. Earl
ier that day at the drugstore she had purchased some supplies to help her determine if anyone visited while she was gone.

  Malak knelt and took out her smartphone. It had a flashlight app, which she activated. Before leaving she had carefully sprinkled baby powder on the wooden floor just inside the door. Not enough for someone to notice, but a sufficient amount to leave a sign if anyone had entered through the door. Sure enough, she saw the powder had been disturbed. Someone had been here. But why? They had not left an envelope of new instructions. Had they come to kill her, fooling her with the anticipated meeting at Grant Park? Making her think that would be the place the danger would occur? Was it their plan to catch her off guard here and eliminate the Leopard?

  Malak stood and took a moment to consider this evidence. Someone visited the house while she was gone. Had they come to kill her? Did they know she would have taken steps to safeguard the house, but come anyway? Was it all just an attempt to unnerve her? But who was it? Number Two? Or perhaps even Number One?

  She lowered herself to the floor again. With her light, she studied the footprints impressed in the powder. They were unusual. There was no full print like a tennis shoe or loafer would leave. Instead she saw a U-shaped heel print, then a few inches from the heel came the triangular outline of a pointed-toe print.

  They looked like the tracks someone would leave if they were wearing cowboy boots.

  Malak sat back on her haunches, her gun still clutched in her hand. Cowboy boots. Granted, they were not an uncommon type of footwear. Lots of people wore them. But so far as she was aware only one person who knew the location of the safe house regularly wore cowboy boots.

  Tyrone Boone.

  Angela Unleashed

  Angela scrambled out of her seat and headed toward the van’s rear door.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Going to the Hancock building. We’ve got to stop these creeps,” she said.

  “Don’t you think we should let Boone handle that?” X-Ray asked.

  “X-Ray is right,” I said. “We should let Boone decide what to do.”

  “There’s no time, Boone has everyone at Grant Park. There’s no one else.”

  “Angela, wait!” I hollered, but by then she was through the door and gone. I had to go after her, but I didn’t even know where the Hancock building was. Let alone what we would do once we got there. Ask the terrorists very nicely if they would mind not blowing something up? Just this once? Ask them if they wanted to see some really cool card tricks, stalling them long enough for Felix and Uly to show up and take them out?

  “X-Ray, find Boone,” I said. “Tell him where we’re headed. And, um, can you text or download a map or directions for how to get to the Hancock building to my phone?”

  “I can do that,” X-Ray said. “But once you step out of the van, you’ll be able to see it. It’s only a couple of blocks away.”

  “Oh,” I said sheepishly. I needed to brush up on my geography. Apparently I had been too preoccupied by other stuff, like not getting kidnapped again, to notice the humongous skyscraper close by.

  I hopped out on the street and shut the van door. A voice behind me said, “What’s going on?” It was so close and unexpected it made me leap in the air in surprise. I made a weird, half-screeching hooolllygaaaaoossshhhh! sound. It was Boone. Croc was standing next to him. I knew—and from the look on his face, he knew that I knew—that he had just poofed there.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” I said, trying to get my frazzled nerves to defrazzle.

  “X-Ray called. What’s going on? Where’s Angela?”

  “She took off for the Hancock building. That’s the target,” I said. As quickly as I could, I filled him in on what we had figured out.

  “That’s good work,” Boone said. He stroked his beard thoughtfully for a second.

  “Aren’t you going to send everyone there? Evacuate the building? Call the police or something?” I asked. I glanced around. It was early. Checking the time on my phone, I saw it was 5:45 a.m. The streets were starting to come to life with early risers who were heading into work.

  Boone shook his head.

  “You might be right about the building. Having seen Buddy T. there, you probably are. But they also might be using it as a distraction. Or they might be playing us. They’ve been a step ahead of us the whole time. Maybe the building is a feint. You saw them take a crate inside and only two guys came out. But the crate might be full of sawdust. Maybe that guy changed clothes and disappeared through a side door to throw us off the trail. They could be trying to draw us there, so we pull everyone off Malak and they take her out. I can’t take that chance. I’ve got to keep the rest of the team on Malak. She’s our only link to the top leadership of the cell.”

  Luckily the Hancock building was not too far away. He pointed over my shoulder and I turned around and there it was. It was huge and tapered at the top with two large antenna-like towers stretching from the roof into the sky. It was hard to miss. But somehow I had still failed to notice it, even though it was so close by.

  “Croc, go find Angela,” Boone said.

  Croc loped around the side of the intellimobile. From where I was standing, I could see past the front of the van down the street to the corner of Michigan Avenue. Seconds passed and I waited for Croc to reappear, but he never did. I knew that he had poofed.

  “You head for the building and try to find Angela. Wait until I get there,” Boone said.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he said. “I’ve got to fill Pat in so he can run the op at the Park. Just in case it’s a double cross. Something is very wrong here.”

  “Can’t you just have X-Ray tell him?”

  Boone shook his head. “Malak’s life is in danger. I’ve got to make it clear to him he’s in charge now. Face to face. And Ziv might be right. If they know about me, our communications might be compromised.”

  I knew Boone would get there a lot faster than me, even if he did have to go back and find Agent Callaghan to fill him in. I started down the street at a run but then stopped, remembering something I wanted to tell Boone. I was sure he remembered. But if I’d learned anything these past few days it’s don’t take anything for granted.

  “Hey, Boone!” I called out, turning around. But he was already gone. Out of sight. I sighed and resumed running toward the Hancock building.

  I wanted to remind Boone that today was September 11.

  Up on the Roof

  Grant Park was filling up with eager concertgoers. It was nearing 8:00 a.m. Only half an hour left until the show started. All of the local Chicago television stations had their trucks parked nearby, their satellite antennae reaching into the sky. Cameras were everywhere. An early-morning concert would allow news stations to broadcast coverage all day long. It would help promote the relief effort. It would also be streamed live over the Internet.

  Malak moved carefully through the crowd. As always, she wore large sunglasses and kept the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up to cover as much of her face as possible. Her instructions had been to be at the fountain at 8:30 a.m. The Leopard would not take her position without making a thorough reconnaissance of the area first.

  She passed by a handful of Chicago cops. They stood listening attentively while a patrol sergeant gave them a security briefing. One of them made brief eye contact with her. Ziv. His disguise was so authentic that even the other officers did not realize he was an imposter.

  Malak was constantly amazed at Ziv’s ability to blend into his surroundings. Some type of law enforcement disguise was always his first choice. People responded to authority whether it was real or pretend. No matter what city they were in, he always managed to acquire a regulation police uniform. Being dressed as a police officer got you into and out of lots of places with no questions asked. She had no idea how he did it, and that was probably best.

  Yet no matter where they were or what their objective was, Ziv managed to d
o exactly whatever needed to be done. Whether it was impersonating a cop, a Border Patrol agent, or a U.S. Marshal, Ziv always managed to be in the right place at the right time.

  Not far away, on a park bench, she spotted Eben. Malak almost had to stifle a laugh. He was possibly the worst undercover homeless person she had ever seen. Though he looked perfectly destitute and dirty, his mannerisms were all wrong. He was nervous and jerky, making eye contact with everyone who passed his way. Still, she was glad he was there. Eben Lavi had tracked her around the globe and nearly caught her. Indeed he had come closer to capturing the Leopard than anyone else ever had. He was not likely to lose his head in a crisis.

  She had yet to spot Callaghan and doubted she would. He was too good. But there was no doubt in her mind that he was watching her. And if she were Boone she would have at least one, if not two, sniper on the rooftops nearby. Using her Secret Service training, with her head still facing forward, her eyes moved upward as she scanned the rooftops. She saw no one. No light reflected on a scope. There was no rifle barrel visible. A well-trained sniper always shot from cover. No one ever saw a rifle barrel or a reflection. Boone’s people were good.

  Slowly and deliberately Malak meandered along. The crowd was growing by the minute. The stage had been set up on the southeast side of the park. There were roadies scurrying about, moving speakers and microphones into place. She stalked through the masses circling toward the fountain. Another glance at her watch. It was 8:10 a.m. Twenty minutes until the meeting.

  All morning Malak had considered the cowboy boot footprints she had found in the safe house. The prints in and of themselves did not prove it was Boone who had entered there. But on the list of suspects, he had to be near the top. He knew the location. But try as she might she could not believe Boone was the intruder.

  In her years as the Leopard, Malak had honed her survival instincts to a keen edge. Making snap judgments about people was often the difference between life and death. It was hard for her to believe that Boone was spying on her. Or was he? Could Boone somehow think Malak had been turned? That now she was giving the ghost cell the inside information on the location of his team? It couldn’t be true. Being undercover for so long, being in the game for this many years, made you paranoid and suspicious of everyone. It just couldn’t have been Boone.