The beam of light shifted as the NYPD boat closed in. ‘I say again,’ the cop barked through his bullhorn, ‘this is the police! Show yourselves!’
Rad looked at Karima. ‘What do we do? If they board us—’
‘Forget that!’ cried Matt. The spool of fibre-optic line was unwinding in fits and starts. ‘Their boat’s snagged the line! If it breaks, we’ll lose the link - and the cameras’ll come back on!’ He spun the drum to pay out more line. The fibre-optic thread was strong and flexible - but ultimately it was nothing more than glass, and would snap if overstressed. ‘Try to stall ’em until I can get this loose!’
Karima and Rad shared nervous looks, then Karima opened the hatch, taking off her headset before slowly climbing to the deck. A dazzling light shone in her face. Through the glare she made out a larger blue and white boat alongside their vessel. ‘Come on out where we can see you, miss,’ ordered the cop.
‘Is there a problem?’ she called as Rad emerged behind her. Glancing back through the hatch, she saw Matt still desperately turning the spool.
‘Yeah, you could say that. Weighing anchor in the middle of the East River ain’t a smart move.’ On the police boat’s deck, two officers moved to board the smaller craft. The light played over the two Jordanians. ‘Now, would I be right in thinking that you’re not American citizens?’
The footsteps got closer. Eddie forced himself to remain statue-still, trying to suppress even his breathing.
Click-click-click . . . click . . . click. The guard had stopped - almost directly below him.
The first cop jumped aboard, making the boat sway. He regarded Karima and Rad with evident suspicion, then looked across at the dark crystal tower of the Secretariat Building. Even without speaking, his thought processes were clear: Arabs . . . sky-scraper . . . terrorists. One hand moved to the butt of his holstered gun. ‘You better have a damn good reason for being out here.’
Jablonsky put his hands on his hips, looking round. None of the lockers was open. Maybe the noise had been a gust of wind through the ventilation system, or something heavy being moved on the floor above.
He was about to return to his post - then decided that since he was up, he might as well do a round of the archives.
He started towards the reading area.
‘All right, okay, I’m coming!’ came a voice from below deck. Matt clambered through the hatch, glaring at the cop. ‘What’s going on? You almost screwed everything up!’
The second cop came aboard behind his partner. ‘Screwed what up, sir? You mind telling us who you are?’
‘Matt Trulli,’ said Matt, fumbling in a pocket.
‘Hey!’ warned the first cop, his gun now out of its holster. ‘Slowly.’
Matt grimaced. ‘Whoa! Just getting my ID, okay? I work for the United Nations.’ He gestured towards the tower as he produced his UN identity card. ‘Oceanic Survey Organisation. These are my assistants.’
‘This ain’t the ocean,’ the gun-happy cop pointed out.
‘It’s a tidal waterway, so it counts for what we’re doing.’
The second cop appeared satisfied by his ID. ‘And what would that be?’ he asked, returning the card.
‘Pollution survey. We’re trying to track how far upriver ocean-borne pollutants are being carried by tidal currents. And you nearly lost a hundred grand’s worth of equipment when your boat snagged my control line!’
The cop peered over the side. ‘What equipment?’
‘I’ve got an ROV collecting samples from the riverbed. It’s using a fibre-optic line - I had to unwind it before you snapped it.’
‘Why are you working this late at night?’ the first cop asked, still suspicious.
‘Because we’re looking at the tides. And it’s, well, high tide.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s a high tide during the day, too.’
‘Yeah, and a lot more river traffic! Just having you guys go by almost finished us; imagine what it’d be like with everyone else chugging past.’
The second cop crouched to look into the cabin. Whatever he was expecting to see - stacks of explosives, bags of drugs - it didn’t match the reality of the computer equipment on the table. He straightened. ‘How much longer will you be out here?’
‘Depends how long it takes me to get all my samples. An hour, probably less.’
‘Huh.’ The cop stared at him for a long moment, then turned to return to his own vessel, ushering his partner with him. ‘We’ll be back in forty-five minutes. It’d be best if you’re done by then.’
‘We know who you are,’ the first cop added menacingly, sliding his gun back into its holster as he re-boarded the patrol boat. With a burble from its diesel engine, the police vessel swung away, heading downriver.
The trio quickly returned to the cabin, Karima retrieving the headset. ‘Eddie!’
Eddie heard the guard walk away in the direction of the booths - which he would find empty.
A buzz in one ear. ‘Eddie? Are you there?’
‘What happened?’ he whispered.
‘A police boat. They’ve gone, but they’ll be back.’
‘That doesn’t matter right now. Tell me what the guards are doing.’
Jablonsky reached the reading area - and stopped in surprise. Papers and files were spread out on the desk where he had left Eddie, but the man himself was not there.
‘Eddie?’ No reply. He paced up and down the aisles, seeing no sign of anyone. Frowning, he returned to the security desk. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.
Vernio looked up from his DS. ‘What?’
‘Eddie. Where’d he go?’
‘He’s in the reading area. Look.’ The Haitian pointed at the monitors.
Eddie was indeed back in his booth. ‘Huh,’ said Jablonsky. ‘I musta just missed him.’ He returned to his seat, deciding that the visitor must have got up to stretch his legs.
At that moment, Eddie would have given almost anything to be able to stretch his legs. He couldn’t hear any more footsteps, but didn’t dare move until he got an all-clear. ‘Karima? What’s happening?’
‘He just got back to the desk,’ she said, interference still breaking up her words.
‘About fucking time.’ Slowly, extremely carefully, Eddie moved forward again. There was a faint thump as his weight shifted, but the sound was not loud enough to carry. He gripped the suction cup and resumed his advance, more deliberately than before.
The remaining distance crawled by, inch by sweat-dripping inch. Ten feet to go. He could see the baffles clearly now. Six feet. Three. Two. Just a little further . . .
The suction cup tapped against one of the metal plates. ‘Thank Christ,’ he gasped, mouth bone-dry. He unfastened the cutter from his wrist. ‘Okay, I’m about to start cutting. Ask Matt how long it’ll take.’
‘He wants to know how thick the metal is,’ Karima replied after a moment.
‘Not very. A millimetre, maybe. The plates are about, oh . . . eight inches long.’
‘Okay. Matt thinks about four or five minutes to remove each plate.’
‘How long before the river police come back?’
‘About thirty minutes.’
Eddie chewed his lower lip. Adding the time it would take him to traverse the last length of duct inside the vault itself would leave only fifteen minutes for him to do everything he needed - and Zec had told him the rapid prototyper would need about eight minutes to carry out its job. Tight timing. Maybe too tight.
But he had no choice. ‘Okay, I’m switching on the cutter.’ Its tip quickly became red hot.
The heat was concentrated in a small area, but he could already feel it. The tool was designed to be used underwater, the liquid medium acting as a natural radiator. Here, trapped in the duct’s confines, the hot air had nowhere to go.