The Zero Hour

David Nickelsen, Jr., had looked at him as if he were out of his mind. Your guys want plastic explosives or not? Yes or no? What’s the deal here?

Baumann informed Nickelsen that the exact lot he wanted was being offered for sale, dirt cheap and right now, at a national auction conducted by a government agency called the Defense Reutilization and Marketing Service (DRMS), in Battle Creek, Michigan. DRMS is an arm of the Defense Logistics Agency, which is in turn part of the Department of Defense. Each month, DRMS offers surplus explosives, from government warehouses, for sale at drastically reduced prices. Anyone who has the proper explosives license can bid.

“All right,” Nickelsen said, “I can buy this stuff today if you want.”

“I do,” Baumann said.

“Then what? How the hell’m I supposed to cover the fact that I made an illegal sale?”

“You don’t. You have the C-4 shipped to you, and you store it in your certified magazine. You turn off the power in the electrified security fence-a lapse you will blame on one of your expendable employees. You let me know when it’s there, and you receive the money. The following morning, you find the lock on your magazine cut. You are horrified, and you report the theft. And that is the end of it. You’ll never see or hear from me again. And one last thing-the guys I work for are really intent on their privacy. One goddam word of this gets out-one bloody word-and your two little boys will be without a father. Simple as that. All clear?”

CHAPTER SIXTY

At the same time, Ken Alton was sitting at his work station, deep in concentration, surrounded by large blue-screened monitors, several keyboards, an impossible-looking tangle of wires, and heaps of empty Diet Pepsi cans.

“I’ve been in touch with the computer people over at Manhattan Bank,” he said, “sort of familiarizing myself with the system. It’s pretty secure, for a bank. But I’m thinking of going over there and getting my hands dirty, doing some hands-on work, checking things out.”

Sarah nodded. “Great. Any luck on the passport search?”

“We’re getting there.”

“How close?”

“I’m winnowing. I’m down to forty-some names-we could hand-check them, but it would be a hell of a lot faster for me to narrow down to a name or two.”

“What are the forty?”

“The intersection of two databases: every U.S. citizen who’s entered the country since the beginning of the year, and all U.S. passports reported lost or stolen.”

“Can I see the list?”

“It won’t do you any good, but sure, if you want. Hard copy?”

“Please.”

He tapped a few keys, and his laser printer hummed to life. “Done. But it’s just a list of names, with Social Security and passport numbers, ranked in order of probability.”

“Probability of each candidate being our guy?”

“You got it.”

“Based on what?”

“Several different fields, or factors. Stuff like height, age, sex. To start, we know Baumann’s five foot eleven.”

“The passport people don’t check height, Ken.”

“Right, but if someone’s very short-four foot eight, in one case-it’s not likely to be Baumann, unless he had his legs sawed off. On the other hand, I’m not eliminating anyone taller, because it’s easy for someone to look taller with lifts or special shoes, okay?”

“What about age? We’ve already agreed that he could look a lot older if he wanted to, with the right makeup.”

“Granted, but he’s not going to look eight years old, right? So there are some passport ages that probably couldn’t be him. Anyone younger than twenty-five gets demoted in the probability ranking automatically. And there’s itinerary.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m proceeding on the assumption that Baumann didn’t first depart the U.S. before he entered. In other words, he most likely acquired the passport abroad and used it to enter the country. Anyone who, let’s say, entered the U.S. last week but left the country a week or two earlier isn’t likely to be our terrorist. So he gets pushed down the list.”

“Okay, good.”

“Plus, I’ve gotten data from most, though not all, of the airlines these forty-three flew in on. Manifests, airline travel logs, flight logs. Those databases tell us a lot. For instance, did the passenger buy a ticket with cash? Odds are very high our guy did. If he didn’t-down to the bottom of the pile he goes. Not out, but down.”

“Makes sense.”

“Oh, and we can eliminate anyone who entered the country before the date of Baumann’s escape from prison.” He retrieved a sheet from the printer, handed it to her. “So, what you’re looking at is a work in progress. Not all the databases have been worked in. Another day or two, I should have it narrowed down to one name.”

***