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“When?” I ask.
He gestures at the two screens. “When the two trains pass each other, in less than an hour, at 11:09 a.m. That’s when the dying will start.”
Chapter94
AFTER LONGminutes of waiting—during which Tom Cornwall ducked into a men’s room for paper towels to sop up the bleeding from his right hand—he finally gets into an elevator, which quickly grows packed. It takes abnormally long to reach the lobby, seemingly stopping at every other floor.
In those long minutes, he’s thinking of what just happened and what might happen next. He’s been fired. All right—happens to the best in journalism. And Amy, well, her job seems to be gone as well, and the CIA has been heavily subsidizing their Manhattan townhouse.
What now?
Another stop.
Good Christ, what is going on here?Tom thinks.
Well, facing facts—including his bleeding right hand—he and Amy are jobless. Which means leaving Manhattan, taking Denise out of school, a whole host of problems.
What then?
Another stop.
Damn it, this is the slowest descent he’s ever been on.
Amy had occasionally talked about moving up to Maine—where she grew up—once they both had enough money socked away. She could get a military consulting gig, and maybe he could purchase a weekly newspaper. Simplify things. Have Denise grow up in a place where the doors are unlocked at night and everyone sleeps safely and—
He looks at the indicator.
Three more floors to go.
Safely.
What is out there—what beast is Amy chasing down?
Ticonderoga.
Something serious, something big, but in the end, maybe—just maybe—a false alarm. In Tom’s years of reporting, he’s had tips that never panned out, like that dirty bomb supposedly hidden in Lafayette Park that turned out to be a hoax.
Maybe that’s the case now.
Maybe.
But when he gets out of here, he’ll climb into their Chevy Equinox and haul ass to Staten Island, meet up with Uncle John, and ride out whatever might be coming.
A smile.
Spending quality time with Denise this fine May day—that would be fun. And she so enjoyed going fishing with Uncle John out on Raritan Bay.
The elevator sighs to a stop, the doors slide open, and he walks with everyone else through the bright, shiny, high-ceilinged lobby of One World Trade Center. There’s a brief pang of regret that he’ll never step into this building again. Dylan is the kind of prick who will keep most angry promises, so Tom expects a few cardboard boxes filled with photos, files, and various memorabilia to arrive at their townhouse in a few days.
He steps out into the warm May morning. Fair enough. It’ll probably make sense to keep his stuff in the boxes until he, Amy, and Denise finally move.
And that brings another smile, thinking that Amy’s last phone call said she was done with overseas assignments. No more long, secretive trips. No more missed holidays or birthdays.
Time to start what passes for a normal family life.
He picks up his iPhone, meaning to call his uncle John, and sees there’s a voicemail message.
From Uncle John.
