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I ran across the tar paper to its ladder and climbed up and just stood there staring at it.
Chapter 21
I’d never seen anything like it before. I wasn’t an expert, but the long black rifle looked huge, like a sniper rifle, perhaps a .50 caliber. It was bolted into two strange, bulky stands that could have been motorized.
But the strangest thing was what was attached to the top of the rifle. Perched where the scope should have been was a bulky device about the size of a hardcover book that looked like a robotic owl. It had a single viewfinder in the sighting end and what looked like greenish-tinged binoculars in the front.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said ESU sergeant Terry Kelly as he arrived behind me.
“What the hell is it?”
The short, muscular cop spat some chewing tobacco as he knelt and carefully tilted the gun over on its side.
“One of those damn things!” he said. “On a .50-caliber Barrett! Of course. Why not? It’s like the training video said. Only a matter of time.”
“What are you talking about, Sergeant?” I said.
“We saw a Homeland Security video about this three weeks ago,” Kelly said. “See this scope thing on top? It’s a computerized targeting system. It has a laser range finder in front, like rich golf guys have to get exact distances.”
I nodded.
“Well, you get behind it and sight your target through the system’s long-range zooming video camera and just tag it with the laser. Then the computer calculates all the factors of the shot—the air density, Magnus effect, even target movement—and puts them through the computer. Then the computer—not you—robotically positions the gun and fires it.
“Anyone, a three-year-old child, can become a world-class sniper with it. All you have to do is tag the target. What am I saying? You don’t even have to be behind the gun! It has Wi-Fi.”
“So this was probably done remotely,” I said.
“Without a doubt,” he said. “Why expose yourself on a rooftop when all you have to do is set the gun up beforehand and just do it from cover? All you would need is to be within Wi-Fi range.”
“Call the other team and tell them to go straight to the top floor,” I told him. “We need to get the super up here and start searching every single apartment.”
We rushed off the roof and down onto the thirty-second floor and started banging on doors like it was Halloween for cops. Only three of the residents were home. After we were done searchin
g their apartments, the super, a tall, middle-aged guy who looked like a stoner, finally showed up in a brown bathrobe, holding a set of keys.
“Listen, man,” he said, “I’m still waiting to hear back from the management office. I don’t even know if I should be letting you into people’s apartments. Don’t you need a warrant or something?”
“Tune in, bro,” Kelly yelled in his face. “While you were busy watching Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, the mayor just got blown away with a rifle we found on your roof.”
“What? Okay, okay. Give me a second,” he said, fumbling with the keys.
One by one, we searched seven apartments, but there was nothing.
“What about this apartment?” I said to the super. “Where’s the key?”
“Uh…that one’s vacant,” the stoner said. “It’s for sale, so I don’t have the key. The management company has it, I think.”
“Don’t worry about the key,” said Kelly as he led the way, holding the battering ram. “Fortunately, we brought our own.”
The ESU men blasted open the door of 32J and rushed inside.
When they gave the all-clear and we went in, the first thing I noticed was the shattered living room window. The second was the skinny guy with a gray ponytail sprawled out in front of the kitchen’s breakfast bar with the top of his head missing. There was an iPad beside him.
I turned and looked west, out through the broken window at the Hudson.
On the Jersey side of the river, about a mile away, there was another high-rise.
Where someone else had shot the mayor’s shooter with another computerized rifle, I thought. I would have bet my paycheck on it.
