About two hundred miles out, over the dark blue water of the Atlantic, Ahmed told Masud to dial in the transponder numbers and to be sure that the altitude button was pressed.
Masud turned each of the four knobs until he dialed in the squawk number for the big DC-10, the numbers 1423, then he pressed the button that would disclose to ground radar the 727’s altitude. But he didn’t flip the button to turn the transponder on, not yet. “Ready,” he said.
Ahmed eased back on the throttles. He wanted to maintain altitude but increase the distance between himself and the bigger plane. The 727 fell back three-quarters of a mile. The fear was that if he was too close, the jet intakes on the smaller Boeing would suck in debris and stall out.
“What do you think?” said Ahmed.
“A little farther,” said Masud.
Ahmed eased back on the throttle a little more. Suddenly the smaller plane was buffeted by the swirling turbulence off the wing-tips of the big DC-10. Ahmed shook his head and adjusted the throttle forward again. “Do it.”
Masud opened the lid on a metal box bolted to the floor at his feet. He lifted the two red plastic switch covers, looked over at Ahmed one last time, bit his lower lip, and flipped both switches.
The two wing-mounted missiles fell from their pylons and an instant later their rocket motors flared on. They streaked forward on each side of the cockpit, leaving a contrail like a running torpedo as Ahmed lifted the nose of the 727 and pulled to the right.
Two seconds later a massive ball of fire erupted just over the nose of the plane, to the left. Ahmed pushed down on the right pedal and turned the wheel. He lifted the left wing as streaks of smoking-hot debris flew past the window and made a rat-a-tat pattern like flack striking the aluminum skin along the side of the fuselage.
“Transponder!” Ahmed had his hands full with the controls.
Masud reached over and flipped the transponder button on. It was unlikely that ground radar from anywhere would have had them on the screen, but any loitering AWAK flights that might have them on the screen would have noticed only a momentary flicker in squawk signature on their screen for 1423, and only a slight adjustment for heading and altitude.
Ahmed looked out his side window and watched behind him as the flaming debris fell toward the sea.
FORTY-FOUR
It is sometime Monday morning when I hear the familiar and now detested ring tone from my cell phone. At least this time I know where it is, on the nightstand somewhere behind me.
I can sense the satin smoothness of her body stir as I move my hand like a blind man along the surface of the table feeling for the phone. The blanket lifts up just enough to allow some of the chilled air from the register of the hotel’s air conditioner to spill between the sheets.
“Turn that thing off. It’s cold.” Joselyn presses her warm back up against me like a hot spoon under the heavy covers.
My hand finds the phone and I pull it to my ear. “Hello!”
“You might want to be getting your ass outta bed,” says Herman. “Thorn’s on the move and unless they’re ghosts, I don’t see any cops or the FBI.”
“What are you talking about?” I am half asleep. “They told us to leave it alone,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I know. But I got hungry. Got outta bed to come over and see for myself Thorn’s hotel,” he says. “They got a bar with a small restaurant, so I decided to get some breakfast. While I was eating Thorn came out of the elevator carrying a briefcase.” Herman is breathing heavily.
“Where are you now?”
“Just across the street. I’m out in front of a liquor store on the corner, place called Kogod’s Liquors,” he says. “There’s an old fire-house next door.”
I toss the blankets off, throw my legs over the side of the bed, and sit up. “What are you doing?”
“Following Thorn,” he says. “Nobody else seems to be interested. I’m just across the street from our hotel, corner of E Street and New Jersey Avenue. I followed Thorn from his hotel half a block to the corner where you turn to go to ours. He walked across the street, went up to the door at the liquor store, but it was closed. It’s not open yet. It’s just after nine. I think he knew it wasn’t open but was lookin’ at the mirror, you know-the glass door, to see if anybody was following him.”
“Which means he probably saw you,” I tell him.
“No,” says Herman. “I had the angle on him. I’m not that stupid. Then he went down the street and ducked into a garage that’s, like, right across the street from the front door to our hotel. I hope to hell he’s not gettin’ into a car, ’cause if he is we’re about to lose him.”
“Listen, don’t go in there,” I tell him. “Wait for the cops.”
“There are no cops,” says Herman.
“What’s going on?” says Joselyn.
“Herman is following Thorn. He says there’s nobody tailing him.”
“No, that can’t be right,” she says. “Let me talk to him.”
I hand her the phone. She’s still lying down under the covers, head on the pillow.
I start to get dressed.
“Herman, this is Joselyn. What are you doing?” She listens for a moment. “Yeah, but my people told us to stay away from him. They have it covered. Give them some credit. You’re going to mess things up. Now get back over here.”
He says something to her, but I can’t hear it.
“Here, he wants to talk to you.” She gives me the phone back. “Tell him to come back to his room,” she says.
“Paul!” Herman is shouting into the phone.
“Yeah.” I put the phone up to my ear as I hold my pants up with the other hand. “The sign out in front of the garage says ‘Colonial Parking,’ right over the door. Big white block letters. If you step out of the hotel and turn right, you can’t miss it. It’s right across the street.”
“Wait for me,” I tell him.
“I’m just gonna stick my nose inside to see if he’s there. He might be tryin’ to slip out another door. And if he’s got a car, at least I’ll get the license plate number.”
“No!”
“Get over here as quick as you can,” he says. Then he hangs up.
Herman smiled at the attendant in the glass booth as he walked into the garage. He strode with confidence, as if he was heading to his parked car inside. Then as soon as he made the turn where the attendant couldn’t see him anymore he immediately slowed down.
Herman knew he’d made a mistake the moment he passed through the door. The light was all wrong. But it was too late. He was already committed. He moved toward the wall and tried to stay in what shadow there was as he moved toward the line of cars in the second aisle. From what he could see from the outside, that was the route Thorn had taken when he entered.
Herman slipped one hand into his pocket and tried to melt his huge frame into the concrete wall while he inched his way along. He walked until he was opposite the long, narrow driveway that made up the second aisle in the parking garage.
From here he could see straight down the long row of vehicles, all the way to the other end of the building. There were cars parked nose in on both sides, with the painted arrow on the floor pointing in this direction. The garage was one way, with traffic weaving up and down each aisle.
Herman listened for the noise of an engine starting and scanned the aisle on both sides looking for backup lights. But he didn’t see or hear anything.
“Damn it!” I tell her.
