Death March by J. E. Fishman

Author:J. E. Fishman [Fishman, J.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NYPD, realistic cops, New York, police, explosives, West Village, terrorism
Publisher: Verbitrage
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

KAHN THOUGHT HE COULD STILL spot the silver Cirrus, although it had largely disappeared behind the chain-link fence, blending into the industrial landscape in the distance. He might have seen movement by the car moments ago, but it occurred briefly and had stopped. Directional flags atop the giant tanks stood stiff in the wind. Kahn wondered why they needed to have them. In case of a leak or because there was a helipad somewhere within the perimeter?

He saw no guard on the premises, not patrolling on foot or on wheels and not stationed inside the small cinderblock guardhouse in front, which had the appearance of having been abandoned, though the rest of the place seemed to be in excellent repair. The driver of the Cirrus, he figured, must have used a remote control to open the gate. And maybe cameras had replaced patrolling guards.

The fence, Kahn estimated, was ten to twelve feet high and the razor wire woven especially thick. That didn’t matter much, as he had a bolt cutters in the trunk. The main question was how to proceed. What were they doing in there and what—if anything—did it have to do with the imminent threat from Djenne?

Kahn looked up and down the road. He was standing ten or twelve miles from Times Square but the place looked as remote as Nebraska—flat and bare except for elements of heavy industry. On the other side of the facility, however, he knew there were piers somewhere, jutting toward New York Bay. There were no trespassing signs all along the fence but no indication of the name of the facility within or even exactly what it did. The pipes suggested some kind of chemical processing, most likely petroleum, but it could be gasoline or diesel oil or kerosene in those tanks. Hell, it could be anything. Kahn was no chemist.

He rolled down the car window and listened, but all he heard was the occasional cry of a seagull. It occurred to him that he might have to go inside on short notice, and if that happened he’d better know in advance whether the fence was electrified. There were no signs to that effect, but one should never assume.

Fortunately, he had an electrical test meter in his kit. He got out of the car, removed the meter from the trunk, and went up to the fence, carefully touching two probes to the wire mesh. Nothing. So he could use the bolt cutters at any time and charge through pell-mell if he had to.

Why might he have to? That was the question. Since they’d cleared Djenne’s house he’d seen no sign of criminal activity here or in New York—couldn’t claim hot pursuit or imminent danger. And yet this seemed like the most unlikely place to find a twenty-year-old girl. Could be a shack-up, of course, with the driver of the car, but why out here—today? And the girlfriend of a suspected terrorist in the midst of a petroleum facility a stone’s throw from Manhattan? Those circumstances had a very bad sound to them.

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