Repositories on tracing the chain of manufacture, import and sale of industrial explosives and components nationally and globally were scoured. Sister databases recording thefts and losses of materials were checked.
The TEDAC had received and stored components from bombing attacks made around the world and created a computerized searchable data bank that was a critical tool for all investigations.
International bomb data centers were accessed and case studies were consulted for telltale elements. They studied global computer banks that monitored patterns and trends of terror networks and internationally known bomb makers.
An hour later, North received everyone’s assessments. But before he completed drafting a preliminary analysis, his deputy director called.
“FBI HQ needs to know now, Will,” the deputy said. “The White House is pressing with concerns, specifically because of the UN General Assembly in New York where the president is going to participate in forty-eight hours.”
“I understand,” North said.
“So give me a verbal and I’ll call HQ.”
North repositioned his glasses.
“Bottom line-we’ve never seen anything like this. Something similar has surfaced in an assassination attempt in Pakistan, attacks in Syria, Yemen.”
“What exactly is it?”
“The NYPD had it right. It’s a microscopic detonator-advanced, state-of-the-art stuff.”
“Who made it? Who do we go after?”
“A number of possibilities. The North Koreans may have developed it, or Iranian scientists. We’ve got some word that it could’ve been Russian made and tested in Syria, before it was offered for sale to terror networks.
“This device can be used to deploy a powerful nonnuclear bomb and it’s virtually invisible from detection using the normal security procedures.”
“This isn’t good, Will.”
“No, and we don’t know how it got here, if there are others already here, or en route.”
“There are about one hundred and fifty world leaders in New York and each of them is a potential target.”
“Or all of them,” North said.
38
Aleena Visser was lying to herself.
With her passport and ticket clamped in her straight white teeth she locked the door to her apartment.
She adjusted her shoulder bag, hoisted her small wheeled suitcase, with its vibrant zebra pattern, and hurried down the stairs to the street in time to board the tram as it lumbered through the bohemian district of de Pijp.
She tried to deflect the worry that was nagging her.
Looking out the window at the long, narrow streets, she was glad she’d moved from the crowded, expensive insanity of Jordaan. In de Pijp she was more at home with artists and students. She had a grand apartment. She could breathe here and it was better for her work as a travel writer for an online magazine.
Earlier in the day, Joost Smit, her editor, had summoned her into his glass-walled office.
“I have an urgent assignment and you’re just the person to do it for us.” He printed off a sheet, gave it to her and looked up over his bifocals. “We’ve landed major advertising for an American hotel and restaurant chain and we need a special edition on New York. We’re bumping up the deadline, so you leave today for a week in Manhattan.”
“Today?” Aleena’s bracelets jingled as she swept back her blond hair.
“We’ve booked you on a flight from London that gets into Newark in the morning, New York time. Here’s your ticket and a cash advance. Use the company card for other expenses.”
“What do you need for the edition?”
“A feature on Central Park, the status of Ground Zero and whatever else you like. And-” Joost reached into his valise and put a small wooden box on his desk “-would you please deliver this for me in Manhattan?”
It was a ballerina music box.
“Who’s it for?”
“My niece. It was handmade in Zurich and belonged to my great-grandmother. I don’t want to risk shipping it because it has tremendous sentimental value.” Joost removed his glasses, then lowered his voice. “It’s very important that it be handled with the utmost care and is delivered successfully. You are the only person I can trust to do this, Aleena. Will you do it?”
She shifted her attention from him, glanced around the office, then shifted it back and in a near-whisper said, “No.”
“Aleena, it is imperative this be delivered. We’ll triple the payment.”
“I don’t care, I can’t do this anymore.”
“Last one, I promise.”
“That’s what you said the last time.”
Joost let the warmth in his face melt as he squinted through the glass toward Aleena’s desk and the framed photo of her with her family.
“Tell me, how are your mother, your sister and her sweet children?”
“Don’t do this.”
“If there were another option, I would use it but we don’t have time.”
Aleena swallowed her tears and nodded.
“Good,” Joost said. “I’ll call you with instructions later.”
That’s how it went with Joost: an assignment somewhere around the globe and a delivery.
Aleena left the tram and got on the subway. It whisked her to Schiphol Airport where she checked in and passed through security screening smoothly. She bought an herbal tea, settled in at preboarding, then texted Joost.
Seconds later, he called.
“Do not write any of this down. You are to make no record of what I am going to tell you, and memorize your emergency contact number, is that understood?”
“I know how it works.”
Not long after Joost gave Aleena details on delivery of the music box in New York, she boarded. And as her jet climbed over the North Sea, she resumed trying to convince herself she was a travel writer doing a small favor for a friend, the last favor.
The first leg of her trip took her to London where she needed to change planes at Gatwick for a direct flight to Newark, New Jersey.
As Aleena’s bags rolled along the conveyor and into the X-ray scanner a stern-faced female security agent requested her passport and boarding pass. The agent, who had the shape of a male bodybuilder, eyed her with a coolness that bordered contempt.
At twenty-seven, Aleena was beautiful. With her blond hair, ice-blue eyes, some tattoos and a pierced left nostril with a diamond, she embodied a free spirit.
Satisfied that Aleena matched her passport photo and everything was in order, the agent returned the documents and Aleena passed through security. As people located their seats on the jet, Aleena assured herself she was not doing anything wrong by helping Joost.
As the 747 lifted off and greater London unfurled below, Aleena’s stomach knotted. She pressed her head
