Joe Ledger: Code Zero Part 29

The information about the terrorist attempt was shared with the national security advisor, who requested an immediate audience with the president and vice president. When the president's chief of staff asked why the vice president's presence was requested, the answer was simple, though frightening and inexplicable.

The letter had been addressed to the vice president.

Chapter Forty-two.

Fulton Street Line Near Euclid Avenue Station Brooklyn, New York Sunday, August 31, 1:24 p.m.

Officers Faustino and Dawes stood listening to the darkness. Listening to how wrong it was. The moans came rolling down the line, louder now. Stranger.

They were not moans of pa.s.sion or disappointment. Not moans of defeat or frustration.

The moans were filled with hunger. Faustino knew that, even though she could never explain to herself or anyone else why she knew it. Her reaction and the understanding that came with it was purely primal. This was the sound of a hunger so deep, so vast that it could never be a.s.suaged.

The two officers pointed flashlights and guns into the darkness but did not take another step toward that sound.

No way.

"What is that?" said Dawes in a voice that trembled with fear.

Faustino took several long, steadying breaths before she reached for her shoulder mike. She keyed the b.u.t.ton and called for dispatch.

Got static.

Got nothing else.

The moaning was continual.

"s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t," whispered Faustino. She glanced up at one of the small security cameras with its steady red light. It reminded her of a rat's eye. "I wonder if anyone's watching."

Dawes waved at the camera. "Hey! Anyone there?"

Of course there was no answer.

Faustino stepped in front of the lens. "This is Police Officer Maureen Faustino and Officer Sonny Dawes. We're down in the subway tunnel near Euclid Avenue. The lights and power are off down here and we're not getting radio reception. If anyone is watching this, please contact our department and tell them officers are requesting backup."

She gave some additional information, including their estimated position in the tunnel and their badge numbers.

The red light remained fixed and uninformative.

In the darkness the echoes of the terrible moans were growing louder.

"Oh, man," complained Dawes, "what the h.e.l.l is that?"

"s.h.i.t," muttered Faustino. "C'mon, Sonny, we have to find out."

They stood where they were for another minute. The hungry moans bounced off the walls and were amplified by distance and fear and cold concrete.

"f.u.c.k this," said Dawes. "I think we need to get our a.s.ses back to Euclid Station and see if we can get a signal. Or use an emergency phone. Something."

"Yeah," she agreed.

They didn't move.

"s.h.i.t," Dawes said after another minute.

"s.h.i.t," agreed Faustino.

They began moving forward. Not toward Euclid, but farther down the tunnel. Toward the moans.

Their feet crunched softly on the walkway, the sound battered to insignificance by the moans. The tunnel curved around, and from the intensity of the sounds they knew that the train had to be right there, no more than twenty yards away. There were more of the small security cameras mounted on the wall. Faustino had a weird feeling about them, but right now they were the least of her concerns.

The officers paused again, whispering to each other the way cops do, stating proper procedure, a.s.signing right-and-left approaches, reminding themselves that they were in control of the moment.

It usually worked.

It didn't work now.

Like a pair of frightened children they crept around the bend in the tunnel, keeping their flashlight beams low so as not to signal whoever was inside the train. They saw their light gleam on the silver rails and then reflect dully from the steel body of the last car. The blocky lines of the train, the letter C in the window.

There was no one outside the car.

But there was so much noise coming from inside.

The moans.

Those terrible moans.

And other sounds they hadn't heard before. Dull thumps. From inside.

Like weak fists pounding on the doors and windows.

Inside.

Faustino slowly raised the beam of her flashlight and the glow climbed over the metal skin to the big panes of gla.s.s on either side of the rear door. The gla.s.s was cracked. Spiderweb faults were laced outward from multiple impact points. Behind the gla.s.s, darkened figures moved. The pounding sounds continued and Faustino realized that the people inside were banging on the gla.s.s.

Cracking it.

Breaking it.

Trying to get out.

"Jesus Christ," yelled Dawes, "they're trapped."

He suddenly broke and ran forward, leaping down from the service walkway.

"Hey!" he called at the top of his voice. "New York Police. We're here to help you. Just calm down and we'll get you out."

Behind him, Faustino stood her ground. Her flashlight beam still covered the rear of the car, sparkling along the fissures that continued to spread out from the damaged gla.s.s.

There was color on the inside of the gla.s.s.

Red.

Blood red.

For a moment she thought that the people had injured themselves trying to break out of the crippled train. But that made no sense. The rear door wasn't locked. Anyone could open it.

Anyone.

The pounding continued, despite Dawes's yells.

The moaning got louder.

More insistent.

Hungrier.

As Dawes raised his leg to climb onto the back of the train, Faustino shouted a single word.

"No!"

Chapter Forty-three.

The Hangar Floyd Bennett Field Brooklyn, New York Bug lunged for the phone. Not the regular phone, or the one connected to the Tactical Operations Center. He grabbed a slender black one that automatically made a call when the handset was picked up. Bug waited through two rings that seemed to take an interminable time, then the call was answered.

"Bug," said Mr. Church.

"It's happening again!" cried Bug. "Oh sweet Jesus they're back!"

"What's happening? Calm down and-"

Bug pounded the keys that would send the feed to Mr. Church.

"They're back," Bug said in a strangled voice.

There was a profound silence on the other end of the line.

Then, "Where did you get this? Where is this happening?"

Bug told him.

"Spin up the system," growled Church. "Put all teams on maximum alert, recall all off-duty personnel. Do it now."

"Already doing it," Bug said. His fingers flew across the keys.

Chapter Forty-four.

Office of the Vice President The White House Washington, D.C.

Sunday, August 31, 1:25 p.m.

Boo Radley laid several folders on the vice president's desk.

"These are the latest reports on the Mother Night video," said Radley. "As you'll see, the task force hasn't locked anything down yet, but they're following some promising leads. We reached out to the DMS for a.s.sistance, hoping that they'd do some deep searches for us with MindReader."

"Is the Deacon stonewalling us as usual?"

"Actually, sir, they're not."

Collins raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"They've been unusually cooperative today, and it's because of their help that we've gotten as far as we have."

"Hm," grunted Collins. "Keep that back-and-forth going, Boo, but make sure that when we get something solid we have the first men through the door. I want our cuffs on these hacker a.s.sholes, not the DMS's, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," said Radley with a cold little smile. "I took the liberty of pa.s.sing along a similarly worded message to our division heads."

"Nice." Collins set the top folder aside and opened the second. "What's this? The anthrax thing?"

"Yes."

"Where are we with that?"

"It's too soon to be anywhere, sir, but the president has thrown his full support behind the investigation and that's greased the wheels a bit."

"As well he should."

"Agreed, Mr. Vice President."

Collins leafed through the file, then slapped the cover shut. "Christ, I want this psycho b.i.t.c.h found. I want her head on a pole."