"One word and I will kill you instantly." Gaudet showed her a pen. "It shoots a pellet of ricin that is instantly lethal. I promise you, Benoit, one small sound and I won't hesitate."
They put the oxygen regulator in her mouth and closed the lid.
Despite nearly overwhelming panic, Benoit felt the cart rolling forward and imagined they left the room and entered a hallway. After a minute or two they stopped; she supposed to wait for an elevator.
"Hey, would you mind showing me your credentials?" a voice said.
"Hey, why don't you show us yours?" Gaudet said with unflappable confidence.
"We asked you first."
There was silence and she couldn't discern what was happening. Perhaps Gaudet was showing them something.
"Can we look in there?"
"Hell no. Can't you read? It's asbestos shavings. You wanna die?" That was Trotsky, his accentless voice sounding absolutely authoritative.
More silence.
"I think we'll just take a look."
The board didn't move, so they were obviously deterred by the white stuff.
"You are breaking the law." Trotsky paused and clicked open a cell phone. "We are a hazmat team, contractor's license number 9859432d, and we need a squad car at the Trump International. We are being accosted by civilians who are endangering themselves and everyone in the vicinity…"
"Keep your shirt on and hang up the phone. You can go. We just had to check."
They clicked over the metal threshold of an elevator. She heard the doors close and they were going down. When the elevator opened, there were more men. The same procedure was repeated, only this time Trotsky was even more indig nant and she didn't hear him purporting to call the police. With a heavy sigh she resigned herself to the fact that they were leaving the building. She felt and heard the lift on the back of a truck and soon she felt the vehicle moving slowly ahead in New York traffic.
Desperate, she pushed up on the lid. It wouldn't move. They had somehow locked it. In a way that was good. They obviously didn't expect her to get out, so they might leave her alone. The container was heavy plastic. She lay on her back and used her feet to push on the lid, but even with all her strength she couldn't budge it.
"Only a few people have left the building. We found one room off the library hidden behind a panel, but it goes no place. One way in and one way out. On the floor below there was a hazmat team with asbestos. We saw credentials and looked in their hamper and it was full of asbestos. They left in a truck. Just to make sure we have somebody on their tail."
"How do you know the hamper was full of asbestos?"
"I see what you mean. The guys said they took off the lid. But I don't know if they reached down inside."
"After being told it's hazardous? Give me a break. They're not gonna put their hand in that stuff if it looks offi cial. They wouldn't know that it's not that easy to get mesothelioma."
"I'll check already."
"Fine. Get me to that truck. I think they're in it."
"But it was the floor below."
"Tear the walls apart."
"We pretty much have."
"The walls of the secret room?"
"Jeez, it's got display cases."
"Keep looking. You'll find a way to the lower floor. How about windows?"
"Shit, Sam. You can imagine anything… but okay."
"Have the guys on the truck's ass call me."
It wasn't a minute until Sam's phone rang. It was nearly dark.
"They're headed down Wall Street toward the water."
"I'm Jack. I'll be with you as fast as I can."
"Roger that, you with Whalen?"
"No. Whalen sent me to assist."
"We're doing fine."
"Talk to Whalen. I just follow orders." Sam stayed on the line and moved through traffic as fast as he could.
"Hey, Jack. You're not gonna believe this. They just drove onto State Street down to the new construction at the ferry terminal, crashed the barricades, and then went plunging into the river."
"I believe it."
"What do we do?"
"Watch me."
Sam drove up to the smashed barricades, then followed the course of the truck on foot, stopping at the end. The truck was a bit downstream, sixty or seventy feet out from the pier-sinking fast. A boat was coming up the river. Taking off his shoes and overcoat, Sam dived in and felt the full force of 50 degree Fahrenheit water. The shock was so great it was a clamp on his chest and it stung his face and put an ache in his bones. When he surfaced, he swam hard to ward the truck. Just as he arrived, the truck went under with a large burst of bubbles. He descended and could see noth ing in the murk. When he surfaced, he found a trail of scuba bubbles headed downstream. Swimming just ahead of the bubbles, he dived and swam down hard. The boat was ap proaching. After dropping, perhaps twenty feet, he hit bodies. One of them erupted in a flurry of activity, grabbing for his throat. To even the odds, he reached about the person's head and grabbed for the regulator hose, ripping it from the diver's mouth. Sam's foe made for the surface and Sam fol lowed, but not before he yanked on the regulator hose. It broke free in an incredible stream of bubbles. Just as he broke the surface, Sam saw the gun. The man was ten feet away and coughing badly. As the first shot went wild, Sam went under. The boat propellers screamed. If the shooter hadn't been half drowned, Sam knew he would be dead. Swimming toward the man, but deep, he made a guess as to his exact location. When he came up, he was behind and to the left. With two strokes he managed to grab the gun.
As he fought for the gun, Sam saw the boat and two people being pulled over the gunwales.
The man who fought him was strong and determined. Grappling, they went under. Both of Sam's hands were on the gun. It went off, but the bullet bit no flesh. Sam flipped head down and frog-kicked toward the bottom. He sensed his adversary yearning for the surface and kicked harder. When he felt the man start to weaken, Sam increased his de termination and told himself he would swim to hell. Above, the boat props wound up and the boat went screaming away. Sam's lungs began to burn and he felt woozy from the cold and the lack of oxygen. Thoughts became jumbled. They rolled under the water, and up became almost indistinguish able from down. Finally the man released and was gone. Sam had the gun. He started up and suddenly realized his lethargy. It was hard to kick. Shoving the gun in his pants, he tried to swim. His arms were rubber. With great effort he thought his way through each stroke. When at last he took a breath of air, he was too weary to lift the gun. It didn't matter; the man was nowhere to be seen. Sam took great gasps of air, trying to recover, trying to survive the cold. He turned and the man appeared facedown. Grabbing the man by the hair, he lifted his face, rolled him over, and breathed into his lungs.
The shore was far off. There were large boats passing, but none close enough. He tried to pull the unconscious man to ward shore, but it was too much. Sam could barely move his arms and feet. He knew to be still and not to thrash. He bobbed and breathed and then made gentle strokes. Someone was swimming toward him. They were trying to help but obviously didn't know how. Soon his rescuer was sputtering.