A few blocks from the United Nations headquarters, Lonnie Mixell waited patiently in the driver’s seat of a rented Buick Enclave, parked alongside the curb on East 37th Street, a hundred feet from and offering a clear view of the Second Avenue and East 37th Street intersection. After evaluating several locations over the last week, he had selected this intersection because at this time of day, in the middle of rush hour, the traffic backed up at the red light. The vehicles of interest would be either stopped near the intersection or moving slowly through it.
Normally, after a day at work, Ambassador Hill would have walked to his residence a short distance from the UN headquarters, offering Mixell a slim chance of completing his assignment in the manner desired by his employer: a method that would be captured on video — the aftermath, that is — and played repeatedly on news channels and internet browsers throughout the world. Mixell had eventually connected with one of the ambassador’s aides, who for the right price had shared his boss’s schedule. It had taken more money than Mixell had planned, but it didn’t really matter; he wasn’t the one paying the bills.
Inside the Buick, Mixell’s eyes were fixed on the video playing on his cell phone, relayed from a small wireless camera placed on a windowsill inside the Millennium Hilton, across the street from the United Nations headquarters. The hotel room, rented under an alias, provided a clear view of everyone exiting the UN General Assembly Hall. Mixell watched the three-car convoy pull away from the building entrance, then turn left onto Second Avenue.
Jill Mercer sat in the passenger seat of the third SUV while Cross drove, scanning the traffic and passersby for anything out of the ordinary. It was a beautiful day, a clear sky with the temperature in the mid-seventies, unusually pleasant for this time of year. The forecast for the next few days was comparable, likely the last patch of decent weather before winter set in.
She planned to take advantage of the warm afternoons, spending time outdoors with her children this weekend. The last year had been difficult for the kids, adjusting to the loss of their father. It had been tough on her as well, and as she approached the one-year anniversary of her husband’s death, she wondered if she was ready to move on, or if pursuing another relationship so soon would dishonor his memory.
As her eyes moved left across the traffic, she noticed Cross’s thumbs tapping on the steering wheel. It was a nervous habit of his, and she wondered what the issue was. Today’s transit was as straightforward as they came and there were no indications of anything amiss. After reflecting for a moment, she realized his nervous glitch appeared only when the two of them were alone in a vehicle. It was clear that Cross was attracted to her, as she frequently caught him gazing in her direction. Thus far, however, he had made no advance.
“So,” Cross said, interrupting Jill’s thoughts, “do you have plans for the weekend?”
Jill repressed a smile. Cross had finally worked up the courage to ask her out.
“The weather’s supposed to be nice,” she replied. “Maybe I’ll take the kids to Central Park. Other than that, I’ll probably just relax.”
“Care for company when you visit the park, or perhaps dinner one night?”
Her reaction to Cross’s question was unexpected. Her chest tightened and a lump formed in her throat. She’d been wondering if she was ready for another relationship, and she had the answer. She turned away and looked out the side window, hoping Cross hadn’t noticed her reaction.
“Not this weekend,” she replied. She tried to phrase her response delicately, not shutting the door completely. She was interested, but now wasn’t the right time. “I’m not ready yet. I hope you understand.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I can only imagine how difficult things have been for you. Whenever you’re ready, let me know.” He offered a smile before returning his attention to the traffic, slowing for the red light ahead.
Mixell checked his watch. He had timed the route from the United Nations headquarters several times, and the ambassador’s convoy should arrive in the next fifteen to forty-five seconds. He spotted the lead Lincoln Navigator not far from the intersection, stopped for a red light, but the other two vehicles were hidden behind a corner building. It wouldn’t be much longer, however. He slid the driver’s side window down.
Beneath a blanket on the passenger seat was a Milkor MGL Mark 1L — a six-shot, revolver-type, shoulder-fired grenade launcher — which could fire a variety of 40mm rounds. This MGL was loaded with XM1060 thermobaric rounds, a fuel-air explosive consisting of a fuel container and two explosive charges. The first explosion would burst the container open and disperse the fuel in a cloud, which would mix with atmospheric oxygen as it expanded. The second charge would detonate the cloud, creating a massive blast wave, killing anyone nearby and destroying equipment and even reinforced structures.
The traffic lights along Second Avenue turned green and Mixell waited as the traffic began moving again, the vehicles establishing the desired spacing between them like an accordion stretching out. He’d have only one shot at the target as it passed through the intersection, which, if successful, would bring the three-car convoy to a halt. Accuracy wasn’t an issue, as the MGL had an effective range of just over four hundred yards and he was only thirty yards away. The response time of the ambassador’s security detail was a concern, however. For his escape plan to work, he couldn’t have DSS agents charging up the street toward him.
When the lead Navigator began moving, Mixell pulled the blanket from the passenger seat and lifted the MGL to his shoulder, aiming at his primary target.
It happened almost simultaneously. A thin trail of white smoke appeared as the ambassador’s Navigator erupted in an orange fireball, the explosion sending glass fragments and metal shards pelting off Jill’s SUV. Cross slammed on the brakes, bringing their Navigator to a screeching halt, as did the driver of the lead vehicle.
Jill turned toward the origin of the attack, spotting a man in an SUV about thirty yards away, shifting the aim of a shoulder-fired weapon toward the lead Navigator.
“Weapon at two o’clock!”
The words left Jill’s mouth a second before a projectile slammed into the first Navigator, detonating before either agent could exit.
“Get out!” Cross shouted.
His warning was unnecessary, as Jill had already kicked open her door. She darted from the SUV and circled behind the vehicle, joining Cross as he squeezed off a three-round volley. The bullets missed the perpetrator, shattering his vehicle’s front window instead. Jill added another three-round burst while Cross fired again. The assassin ducked down and slipped from the vehicle via the passenger door, then fled up the sidewalk as pedestrians scattered, scrambling for cover.
Cross directed Jill to take the right side of the street while he moved left, and they crossed the remaining lanes of Second Avenue and sprinted up both sides of East 37th Street toward the suspect. Jill headed up the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street while Cross ran up the other side, keeping parked cars between him and the suspect.
Mixell had planned to leave the grenade launcher in the SUV, strolling from the scene with his hands in his pockets, moving toward his escape vehicle parked not far away. Unfortunately, the two agents in the third vehicle had reacted quicker than he had hoped. They had a bead on him and were already charging up the street. Mixell shifted to his backup plan.