Contract: Terror Summit by Michael McDowell & John Preston

Author:Michael McDowell & John Preston [McDowell, Michael & Preston, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2024-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

10

“I could blow it up easy.”

“Why, in the name of God, would you want to do that?” Rosie asked.

As soon as he did Marty Appelbaum seemed to crumple up in a little ball. He was hurt that Rosie would talk to him that way. “After all, I am supposed to be a demolition expert.”

Rosie stared at the little wimp as though he was some strange alien brought back from outer space. Try as hard as he could, he didn’t understand the way the sick Jersey boy’s head worked. He looked back at the beautiful steel bridge that spanned the Douro River. Why would Appelbaum . . .

“I figure I’ll never have a chance to get the tower,” Marty said wistfully. “At least I can have the bridge, that makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Rosie shut his eyes in a futile attempt to defend himself against the ignorance of the world, so much of it personified in this bleary-eyed blond man in front of him. Of course he should have realized how Marty’s feeble mind would work in a matter like this.

The bridge they were talking about had been built by A. G. Eiffel, the same man who’d constructed the world-famous tower in Paris. A fool like Appelbaum—all of whose dreams were built around destruction—must have spent countless hours fantasizing about the glory of tearing apart one of the world’s most famous structures. It would be his most fond thought. The day I blew up the Eiffel Tower. But even Appelbaum must have some idea that the idea was impossible. He’d have to find a substitute.

He probably came in his pants when he realized that the architect had designed another, less well-known steel structure. Here it was, soaring over a small river in a second-class European city—not even a capital—and there wouldn’t be much notice if it was bent up a little.

Rosie shook his head and opened his eyes. Every once in a while he had to dig deep into his mind and come up with some way to communicate with Appelbaum in a manner that would make sense to his warped intellect. He thought he had it.

“Marty, no one would notice. They’d just think it was an accident or maybe a leftist guerrilla. It wouldn’t do you any good.” That was it! Appelbaum, after all, was an artist with his explosives. A true artist has to have an audience for his work to be appreciated. Take away the applause and . . .

It worked. The little man crumbled up some more; all of his dreams had just evaporated. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I can’t do it.”

Rosie smiled and looked at all the passersby and realized that all of them were going to keep on being able to cross the river on that nice steel bridge because of what he’d done for them. Too bad, he had the same dilemma as Marty. No one would ever know what an artist he was.

He drank some more of the thick coffee. This was powerful shit.

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