Anyway, I sat in bed thinking about Vince Paresi and even Boris, who I liked on some level. Boris and I had agreed that he was capable of handling Asad Khalil, but obviously we'd been wrong about that-and we both should have known we were wrong. And on that subject, what the hell was I thinking when I thought I wanted Asad Khalil all for myself? Well, it worked out… barely.
I asked Kate, "Have you heard anything about Boris?"
She shook her head and said, "Why do you ask?"
"I think Khalil killed him."
She didn't respond, but she was probably thinking what I was thinking-I should have reported my contact with Boris to Tom Walsh. Not only would Boris probably still be alive, but if the surveillance team had grabbed Khalil in Brighton Beach, I could have saved myself some excitement at the WTC site-not to mention a few days in the hospital.
Also, Vince Paresi would still be alive.
Well, in this business, you call it like you see it, and as I said, you live-or die-with the consequences.
I wasn't going to beat myself up with this any more than I was going to beat myself up for not thinking about Gabe Haytham in time to save him and his family. The bad guy here was Asad Khalil, and people like him, and those who helped him, and everyone who celebrated death and not life.
Bottom line here-I killed Asad Khalil, so he wasn't going to trial or to prison, and he wouldn't be haunting our dreams anymore. But there are more of them.
I asked Kate, "Did you hear anything about the Port Authority cops? The ones who were in the PA trailer?"
She replied, "Tom mentioned that there were two of them-a male and female-but they haven't been found." She added, "I don't want to talk about this now."
I nodded, but this was still on my mind. My mind, however, was in happy pill land, and I needed to focus on something that was bothering me about this.
It was certainly possible that someone like Asad Khalil could get the drop on two cops who weren't expecting trouble. But what did he do with the bodies?
It would make sense that Khalil had help at this critical moment-maybe one or two other guys to kill the cops and to get rid of the bodies… and hang Vince from the crane.
But when I saw Khalil, he was alone. So if he had accomplices, where were they? Disposing of the bodies? Or did Khalil, true to his M.O., kill them, too?
And all of this brought me back to what had been on my mind all week. Did Khalil have something else planned? Based on just what I saw in the apartment on 72nd Street, Khalil obviously had accomplices and resources here, so he probably had a favor to repay. And what was it? And was it still in the works?
Kate interrupted my thoughts to ask me what I was thinking about.
"Khalil's big finale."
She stayed quiet awhile, then said, "If… if there was supposed to be a finale… maybe whatever was going to happen is not going to happen now that he's dead."
I'd thought about that, and it was possible. But if something big was going to happen-like a car bomb or an anthrax attack from a crop duster-and if somebody like Al Qaeda was behind it, did they need Asad Khalil to pull it off?
Kate said, "I think we talked ourselves into this possibility."
"Do you really think so?" I said to her, "Boris thought it was possible."
"Why don't you get some rest?"
A nurse came in with painkillers. I didn't like these things the last time I was in the hospital with daylight coming through three holes in my body, so Dom Fanelli would bring me a colorless and odorless painkiller made in Poland, which did the trick. But I didn't argue and I put them in my mouth, drank some water, then when she left I spit them out.
Kate said, "You have to take those."
"No pain, no brain."
I started to realize that maybe I should have asked the asshole himself what was up. He wasn't going to tell me when I was beating the shit out of him-but he might have told me when he thought I was as good as dead. He would have said, "I am glad you asked me about that, Mr. Corey. And I will tell you because"-big laugh here-"dead men tell no tales."
Okay. What?
I raised my bed a little more and could feel the sutures pulling in my back. I closed my eyes and got my brain in gear. Something had struck me as odd-or out of place-at the WTC site, and it was now coming back to me.
The tire marks. They were fresh.
That semi had been driven into that site sometime on Sunday. Do they make deliveries to a security zone on a Sunday? I recalled late one night-maybe during the week, maybe a weekend-seeing trucks parked with the drivers bedded down in their sleeping compartment, waiting for the gates to open.
Therefore… why would the PA cops let this tractor-trailer through the gates on a Sunday night? Well, maybe because they were dead.
CARLINO MASONRY SUPPLIES
The masonry supply thing wasn't quite right either. They weren't pouring concrete yet, and there were no cement mixers on the site. And if they were delivering something like steel mesh or rebars, they'd use a flatbed truck. So what was in that big trailer?
And why did Khalil choose the WTC site to meet me? Well, for the symbolism, as he'd said. I get it… but…
I sat up. "Holy shit."
"John? Are you all right?"
"No."
"What's the matter?"
"Hold on." I was pretty sure I knew what was in that trailer-and I knew, too, it hadn't blown yet, because if it had, I'd have heard it, and even felt it, here, three miles away.
I reached for the phone on the nightstand, and Kate asked me, "Who are you calling?"
"The Ops Center-no, Walsh. He's probably still at the site."
"John-"
Walsh's cell phone went into voice mail-he didn't recognize the number, or it came up "Bellevue" and he knew only two people there, and he probably didn't want to speak to one of them.
I was about to dial the Ops Center, but I got into crazy mode and pulled the tubes and wires out of me. Kate went a little nuts and started yelling, then tried to push the nurse's call button, but I pulled it out of her hand, slid out of bed, and said to her, "Let's go."
"What-?"
I took her arm, and as I moved her toward the door, I said, "You're getting me out of here."
She pulled her arm back and said, "No. John-"
"Trust me. I'll explain. Come on."
She looked at me, then said in a calming voice, "Stay here, John, and I'll get you some clothes."
I looked at my watch, but it was gone. I asked her, "What time is it?"
She glanced at her watch and said, "It's 8:05. You stay here-"
"Kate, at 8:46 A.M., the time when the first plane hit the North Tower, a very large bomb will detonate at the World Trade Center site."
She stared at me, and she looked frightened-not about the bomb, but about me.
So to get this moving, I lied, "Khalil told me this when he thought he was going to kill me."
"Oh my God…"
"Let's go. You got your cell phone?"
She grabbed her purse, and we hurried out the door.
The other side of the ward was for the criminally insane, and I didn't want to wind up there, so I tried to look nonchalant as we passed quickly through the ward filled with guards from the Department of Corrections.
We got to the security checkpoint and almost got through, but a big DOC guy stopped us. It must have been my hospital pajamas and slipper socks that caught his attention.
Kate went into full FBI mode, flashed her creds, and made it clear to the guy that this was none of his business.
He backed off, and we were out in the corridor.
We got on an elevator and she asked me, "Where are we going?"
"Ground Zero. Let me have your phone." I dialed Walsh. I knew he always took Kate's call, but he got me instead, which confused and disappointed him.
He said, "John… good to hear from you. I was going to-"