McGarvey had to smile. He knew the feeling. He flipped his cigarette over the rail, then looked up at the towers soaring high overhead, the cable bundles tracing perfect arches. “If I were going to do it, this would be the place.”
Villiard followed his gaze. “It’d be a triple play if he could take out the President, the President’s daughter, and the bridge. Not to mention your daughter and a couple of thousand runners and spectators.” He paused. “There won’t be a non secure aircraft of any type within five miles, or a boat we don’t know about within three miles. No cars, trucks or buses. Nobody on foot with any kind of a package bigger than a purse. Every television van will be assigned a cop. We’ve searched the bridge and everything around it three times and we’ll do it twice more before the race tomorrow. We’ll have sharpshooters in the towers, Coast Guard helicopters overhead, Coast Guard cutters in the water on both sides of the bridge, and even though you’re not supposed to be able to launch this thing on a missile, we’ll have men watching every place from where a missile could be launched.” He shook his head. “Goddamnit, we’ve got it covered. Just like in the textbooks. Just like every time before. Tried and true. It works. But I’m real scared.”
“It’d have to be pretty close to take the bridge out,” McGarvey said.
“A plane right overhead or a boat under the span, we’ve got them covered.”
“Someplace on the bridge.”
“We’ve searched every square inch of it from both ends and top to bottom.”
“How about inside the concrete?” McGarvey asked. “Have there been any repairs in the past six or eight weeks? New concrete poured on the roadways, maybe in the piers? Someplace the bomb could be buried?”
A startled expression crossed Villiard’s face. “I never thought of that,” he said softly. He was the expert and he’d been caught flat footed It showed in his eyes. “I’ll get on it right now.” He started to go, but McGarvey stopped him.
“Better put some divers in the water around the base of the towers too. Bin Laden’s chief of staff is an inventive bastard.”
Villiard nodded tightly. “Anything else?”
“Not for now.”
“I’m going to get my people together. We’re going to rethink this thing from the get-go.”
“It’s not the stuff that we think of that gets me worried,” McGarvey said.
“Yeah,” Villiard replied. “It’s the shit that we don’t think about.” He studied McGarvey’s face. “Where you going to be?”
“Around.”
“Sleep?”
“Later.”
“I know what you mean,” the Secret Service agent said, and he left.
It was going to be a long night, McGarvey thought, pulling out another cigarette. He felt battered. He was still on eastern time, so for him it was after two in the morning. Time to sleep. Perchance to dream? It was exactly what he was afraid of, because lately in his dreams he was seeing Sarah bin Laden’s bloody body lying in a field of flowers like in the Wizard of Oz. His daughter and the President’s daughter were running up the hill toward her when there was a bright flash over the Emerald City and they were torn apart just when they thought that they were home safe.
On the bridge the radar proximity alarm sounded. Bahmad who had been listening to the police, harbor control and Coast Guard frequencies in the chart room came out to see what was ahead of them. The sky to the east was getting light with the dawn. They were still far enough off shore that he could not pick up the coast line, though he could see the smudge of the distant mountains inland. The radar was painting a very large object within the thirty-five mile ring directly ahead. It was the high rock face of one of the Farallon Islands. He checked his watch. They were right on time.
According to the ship’s SOP manuals, a Notice to Mariners they’d received yesterday and the radio chatter he’d listened to most of the night, he’d been presented with an apparently insoluble problem. No shipping was to be allowed anywhere near the bridge while the runners were crossing. The separation zone was a minimum of three miles. Ships coming in early were to drop anchor in the holding basin to the west of the center span and wait for the all clear. But then, about an hour ago, the solution presented itself all at once in a neat and tidy package, as these things usually did.
As soon as the Margo cleared the Farallons and made the pre-programmed turn to starboard that would bring them to the holding basin in the Golden Gate, he was supposed to call for a harbor pilot who would be brought out on a pilot boat. It could not have been better. In effect the stupid bastards were going to do his job for him.
His step was light and he whistled a little tune as he went to prepare Joshua’s Hammer for the final countdown.
McGarvey sat in the stadium a third of the way up at-the fifty-yard line sipping a cup of coffee trying to get rid of a blinding headache. He’d accomplished nothing of any value overnight, and he was frustrated with himself. He was missing something, they all were. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d called Rencke twice during the night, but both he and Adkins were coming up empty handed.
“We’ve still got time, ya know,” Rencke said. “It’s turning purple.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I don’t know yet,” Rencke cried in anguish. “Maybe you should get Liz outta there, ya know. Something.”
“Take it easy. We’re doing this one step at a time. We’ve got it covered at this end. All we need now is one thing, how the bomb got here.”
“I’m on it, Mac. Holy shit, I swear to God, I’m on it—” Rencke broke the connection, leaving McGarvey very worried about him. He thought about having Adkins pull him out, but that would be even harder on Rencke than leaving him where he was.
The stadium was coming alive with the dawn. A portable stage had been set up in midfield for the opening ceremonies set to start at 11:30 a.m. President Haynes, California Governor Thomas and the International Special Olympics director Octavo Aguilar along with a number of local officials and politicians would officially welcome the athletes and declare that the games were open. The presidential motorcade would lead the half-marathon runners out of the park at noon. And from that point for the next ten days there would be more Secret Service and police activities here than at any other place or time in U.S. history.
Grounds crews were busy making sure everything was set up the way it should be and that the field was in good shape. Workmen were putting the final touches on the stage, and technicians were testing the sound and lighting systems. Some of the coaches and athletes were already starting to drift into the stadium for their workouts, and the news media were busy setting up their equipment. There was an air of nervousness among just about everyone except the athletes. Something was going on. Everybody knew it because of the increased security. The President was here, but nobody had ever seen such stringent measures. It was as if the entire world had suddenly gone nuts.
No one was saying anything out loud about the precautions, but it was clear that bin Laden was on everybody’s minds.
“Hi, Daddy,” Elizabeth said, dropping into the seat next to him.
McGarvey looked up and gave his daughter a smile. He was glad to see her. ” “Morning, Liz. Did you get any sleep?”
“Not much,” she said. Her eyes were red, but she looked bright. She was dressed in sweats with a dark blue ISO warmup jacket and cap. “I stayed in the dorm with Deb last night, and those kids are wired. Most of them didn’t get to sleep until a couple hours ago.” She gave her father a critical look. “How about you? Are you okay?”
“I’ll be glad when this weekend is over,” he replied tiredly. “Where’s Todd? I haven’t seen him since I got out here.”
“Neither have I. He’s been busy with Deb’s Secret Service people. They’re putting a blanket around
