Chapter 11
“What if one of the militia creeps notices?” Rabbi Jess stood, arms akimbo, looking very unhappy with the plan Russ had just outlined.
“We’re going to send at least one armed person up with every group.” Despite wanting to scream, Hurry! Hurry! Clare tried to keep her tone even.
“I don’t mean the ones up in the crane. I figure if it comes to it, you can take potshots at them. From the door where that poor ranger and the young girl tried to leave.”
“That’s not … the ideal scenario.” Russ was using his diplomatic voice. Which wasn’t all that diplomatic.
“I mean the one hiding in that corridor. The one who tried to shoot you three times when you wanted to talk to him.” She pointed toward the north concourse.
“What if he’s not alone? What if they sneak a peek and see us disappearing into the handicap access?
What’s going to stop him from sending the signal and”—she dropped her voice so the groups of people clustered around them couldn’t hear—“setting off every bomb down here. And, by the way, we don’t have any idea how many of them there are.
” Johnson opened her mouth. “Yes. Yes. I understand you think they’re waiting until the cops and the TV cameras get here.
But if the choice is publicity or killing us, which one do you think they’re going to choose? ”
“What if…” Kevin paused.
“Go on,” Russ said.
“What if we spun the exhibit cases around and lined them up across the floor?”
Rabbi Jess gave him a look. “I don’t think some wood, glass, and artifacts are going to stop high-powered-rifle bullets.”
“No, not for protection. For cover. If we went from the wall as far across as we could, it would look like we were trying to shelter behind them.”
Russ nodded. “Meanwhile, people are disappearing right under their noses. I like it.”
“We could also start moving the bombs farther up the concourse.” Hadley gestured to the nearest pile of faux presents. “Replace the armed ones with harmless boxes, and leapfrog the explosives farther and farther away from us.”
“Let’s do it. Johnson, Khalil, get a couple of men and start moving those cases.” Russ glanced over to where the doctor and EMT were still hovering over Paul. “And a couple more to help bring that table behind the screen.”
Clare scanned the site of the recent party—abandoned tables and folding chairs, some tipped over. Food carts and the brisket smoker and a rolling rack full of winter coats. “Russ, we should bring it all behind the cases.”
“Why?”
“Some of those materials could be improvised defenses. So if they do take a peek, like Jess suggested, it’ll seem less like we’re sneaking around and more like we’re preparing. Plus, we absolutely don’t want them seeing those coats missing. That’ll be a sure giveaway.”
He gave her a slanted smile. “Good thought.” He brought his hands together. “Okay, people, you know what to do. Those of you not working on moving the cases into place, spread out and tell everyone what we’re planning.”
“Who’s leaving first, Chief?” Kevin worried his lower lip.
“Mothers with their children. Women and the elderly after that. Able-bodied men last. We should be able to fit seven or eight civilians at a time in an elevator car, plus two accompanying them.”
Within seconds, Clare was standing alone with Russ, as the rest of the group, law enforcement and guards and clergy, began pulling people into conversations, explanations, and orders.
Clare took her husband’s hand. “Kevin and I should take the lead.”
He looked at her intently. “Convince me.”
“One person with a gun and one person who’s very good at infiltration.”
“Oh, I forgot how important infiltration is to the Episcopal priesthood.”
“Which one of us took the C-level SERE course while in the army?” It was a trick question.
The Survive, Evade, Resist, and Escape training was mandatory for helicopter pilots.
“I’m good at keeping people calm. I’m good at observation.
And if, God forbid, we get spotted, I can get them away while Kevin engages them. ”
He kissed her hand. “Promise me you won’t do anything to endanger yourself.”
“I promise.”
“Promise on our son.”
“I do. I just want to help these people get out of here and get home to our little boy.”
It didn’t take long to roll the exhibit cases into a long partition.
Men folded the tables and most of the chairs, bringing them and the food prep items behind the barrier.
Paul Terrance was lifted gently, smoothly, onto a table draped with a clean cloth.
The doctor had wrapped his side in duct tape, holding the pads in place, and the EMT had cleaned the blood off his skin with someone’s diaper wipes.
Yíxīn stood nearby with a folded tablecloth, ready to lay over Paul when they finished moving the table.
The scene sparked a thought in Clare’s mind. She approached the doctor.
“I’ve done what I can for now,” he said. “But hand sanitizer and tampons are only going to go so far.”
“We all know you’ve done your best. We’re grateful you were here for Paul.” She paused. “Where did you get that duct tape?”
He looked surprised. “The brisket guys brought it. Why?”
“Is there any left? And another tablecloth?”
“Yeah, it’s…” He gestured to where the old table still stood, an out-of-context operating-room table. “On the chair.”
She rescued what she needed just as one of the men was about to bundle them up with the blood-soaked tablecloth. She crossed behind the concealing exhibit cases and found Kevin, already in his coat, standing with Hadley. She held up the tape and the cloth.
“What’s that for?”
“We’re going to need to do something about the elevator lights, or we risk giving ourselves away.”
He frowned. “Okay…”
“I think if you can tape this above the doors, it’ll hide the light when we get to the street. There’ll be flickering when people leave, but at least they won’t be framed in a big bright rectangle.”
Hadley reached for the roll of tape. “I’ll help Flynn. You get the first group ready.” They vanished down the poorly lit hall toward the elevator.
The first group of eight were three mothers and five kids. “Purses inside coats.” She helped one of the women readjust hers. “Coats zipped and buttoned. Nothing that can snag.”
Russ crossed to her as she was pulling on her own anorak. He took her by the shoulders. “Holding on.”
“Not letting go.” She pressed against him and then did just that, walking into the corridor. “Okay, everyone, follow me.”
They processed down the dim hallway single file.
Behind her, a mother was whispering they were playing a game of sneaky spies, and they had to be really, really quiet.
The elevator, when they reached it, was unmarked except for the universal wheelchair sign.
Kevin and Hadley were leaning against the wall.
“Did it work?”
He pressed the button. Thankfully, there was no bright “ding!” to announce its arrival. The doors opened smoothly, revealing the tablecloth-turned-curtain, which did, as she had hoped, block the light.
“Great job, you two.” She turned to the civilians. “When we come out at the top, we need to go one adult at a time, and try to open this curtain as little as possible.” The mothers nodded.
Hadley swept the fabric to one side, and they all crowded in.
Kevin said something to his former partner, too low for Clare to hear, then let the doors close.
He turned around and held up a finger to his lips.
The children copied him. He pushed the button marked STREET LEVEL and then eased his gun out of its holster, keeping it down and to the front where the children couldn’t see.
The doors opened. Clare sidled through the curtain.
Dark ahead, where the underside of the museum’s gigantic stairs hovered over the avenue. Cold wind, tinged with the nose-wrinkling smell of urine. A single car raced past them, its headlights blinding in the dark.
She looked toward the wide, double flight of stairs rising to the plaza. She could clearly see the outline of the crane, but the lights that had made it hard for Hadley to see any details would now work in their favor, doubling the darkness at street level.
Clare beckoned the others. It was only two short steps to the corner, then around it, and then above her there was nothing but the stone-faced wall holding up the plaza.
Mr. Schlesinger’s daughter had been right.
None of the militia members would be able to see them unless they were standing on the sidewalk.
The other passengers slipped around the corner, one and two at a time.
Kevin followed in the rear. Clare motioned to stay close to the wall, and they proceeded to walk briskly down the sidewalk, toward the promise of streetlights and buildings and safety.
It was a long city block to the intersection, where everyone stopped.
Kevin looked around. A lot, a garage, a small park, and the Catholic cathedral, all dark. “Um…”
“It’s okay.” One of the women pointed farther down the avenue. “There are a bunch of restaurants starting after the next street. We’ll be okay.” She pressed Clare’s hand. “Please, bring out the rest of them.” They crossed the street, waved on the other side, and continued down the next block.
Kevin fished his phone from his pocket and powered it up.
“The chief asked me to call Vince Patten and update him.” He entered the number and waited a few seconds for the answer.
He identified himself, and Clare could hear Patten yell, “It’s about damn time!
” despite standing two feet away. Kevin calmed the Albany commander down, then sketched out the situation clearly and economically, ending by stressing any response should be as low-key as humanly possible.
Clare was impressed; she had dealt with army majors who couldn’t brief as competently.
“Yes, sir,” he finished. “Yes, sir. I will. Bye.” Kevin grinned at Clare. “He says the chief’s gonna owe him a steak dinner at 677 Prime if he gets us out of this.”
“Fair enough. Let’s—”
“Oh my God.” Kevin sounded incredulous rather than alarmed. “My phone downloaded all my stuff when I turned it on. I’m still on the militia email list.” He blew out a laugh.
“So much for OPSEC,” Clare observed. She took four steps up the sidewalk before realizing Kevin wasn’t at her side. “What?”
He was staring at his phone, all amusement wiped from his face. He tapped at something, then did it again.
“Kevin, what is it?”
He held out the phone. It showed a picture of the plaza from a height, the glass doors they had first used centered on the screen, the lights glowing in the darkness. It took her a second to realize the smear she could see in front of the entrance was blood.
Paul Terrance’s blood.