The Zero Hour

Surprised by his sudden intensity, Sarah sat up straight. She leaned forward and said, returning intensity for intensity: “You’re asking me to disrupt my life, pack up my boy, and move out of Boston for what could be weeks or months. Okay, fair enough. But to work here? In Washington? Why don’t we set up shop in Altoona?”

“Excuse me?” Taylor said incredulously.

Agents Ullman and Vigiani watched the exchange with fascination, spectators at a bullfight.

“If the terrorism is to occur in New York, we’ve got to be in New York. You want to do a search, that takes massive shoeleather. That means working closely with the NYPD. It’s crazy to be in D.C.”

“Sarah, all the resources are here, the computers, the secure links-”

“For God’s sake, I had secure links with the Bureau when I was in Jackson, Mississippi, just out of New Agents school. You mean to tell me you can’t do that in New York City? I don’t believe it.”

“Then you’re talking about running a secret Ops center out of 26 Federal Plaza,” Taylor said. 26 Federal Plaza was the headquarters of the New York office of the FBI.

“Why not take out a full-page ad in The New York Times?” Sarah said.

“Excuse me?”

“If you want to keep it secret, forget about 26 Federal Plaza. We’ve got to find another location in the city.”

“I take it from your use of ‘we’ that you accept.”

“With a couple of conditions.”

Vigiani shook her head in disgust. Ullman studied his notes.

“Such as?”

“We’re off-site, for one.”

“That’s incredibly expensive.”

“Look, we’re going to need a lot of phone lines, some secure phones. NYO isn’t going to have the facilities anyway.”

“All right. I’m sure the New York office has something available. What else?”

“I’d like to bring a couple of people with me. A friend of mine on the OC squad, Ken Alton. He’s a computer whiz, and we may need his skills.”

“Done,” Taylor said. “And?”

“Alexander Pappas.”

“Alex Pappas?” Taylor said. “I thought he retired a couple of years ago.”

“Last year, actually.”

“What would he think about going back on the job?”

“I could twist his arm,” Sarah said, “but I think he’d secretly jump at the chance. They called him in on TRADEBOM.” This was the Bureau designation for the World Trade Center bombing.

“Well, it’s highly unusual, but I suppose it can be arranged. All right. So you’re on?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said. “I’m on.”

“Good. Now, how about leading it?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The components of a sophisticated bomb are not difficult to obtain. Quite the opposite: the fuse components, wires, and fittings can easily be purchased at any electronics supply shop. Explosives and blasting caps are available at most construction sites.

But the fusing mechanism-the device that fires the bomb at a specified time or under specified conditions-is a far trickier thing. Often it is constructed uniquely for each bomb. It must function under set circumstances with a high degree of reliability. In fact, it takes a good deal of skill to construct a reliable fusing mechanism. For this reason, most terrorists or operatives would no sooner think of assembling their own fusing mechanisms than building their own automobiles. You can’t be expert at everything.

Baumann arrived in the small industrial city of Huy, in a manufacturing belt southwest of Liège, by sunrise as he’d planned. The proprietor of a stationery store directed him to the modern brick multistoried building that housed Carabine Automatique of Liège (CAL), a small manufacturer of assault rifles and related components that had long since relocated to Huy, but had kept its name. Although he had no interest in assault rifles, he had made an appointment to see the marketing director, Etienne Charreyron.

It had been easy to arrange the meeting. Posing over the telephone as a British subject named Anthony Rhys-Davies, Baumann had explained that he was a munitions salesman for Royal Ordnance, the vast British arms manufacturer that makes virtually all the small arms for the British military. He was, he explained, a military-history buff on holiday, making a tour of famous Belgian battlefields. But he was mixing business with pleasure and thought he’d stop by to meet Mr. Charreyron and discuss the possibilities of doing business with Royal Ordnance. It would not look at all strange for a businessman on vacation to be dressed in casual attire.

Mr. Charreyron, of course, was happy to arrange a meeting at any time convenient for the British salesman. The possibilities were irresistible. Charreyron’s secretary was expecting Mr. Rhys-Davies and greeted him cordially, taking his overcoat and offering him coffee or tea before showing him into Charreyron’s cramped office.

Baumann went to shake Charreyron’s hand and momentarily started. It was bound to happen, in the small and insular world in which he operated. He and Etienne Cherreyron had known each other years before, though under different names. This was potentially a disaster. Baumann’s head spun.