Iron Orchid

SEVENTEEN

TEDDY FINISHED putting all his equipment away, then vacuumed the floor of his workshop. He was ready to go to work.

First, he spent an hour on the computer, hacking into the FBI’s counterintelligence files and locating the sources of various explosives in the New York City area. He was, in effect, working the Feds’ system backward: they would use these files to track down perpetrators in the event of a terrorist attack; he was using them to locate the explosives.

He found many sources for dynamite, mostly construction companies, but only four for plastic explosives, three of them military. Stealing from the military was too complicated for his current purposes, so Teddy zeroed in on the fourth source: the evidence depository of the New York field office of the FBI. This would be much simpler.

He hacked into the files of his old department at the CIA, which bore the innocuous name of Technical Services. From those files he downloaded templates for an FBI I.D. and for the Bureau’s stationery. He spent another hour building an I.D., then he inserted the I.D. into the Bureau’s central files. He printed out several sheets of the stationery, taking care to get the watermark right.

Then he wrote a letter to the agent in charge of the New York field office. He made the letterhead the personal stationery of the new director of the FBI, Robert Kinney, then downloaded a copy of Kinney’s signature from the files and affixed it to the letter. As a final touch, he downloaded the template of a rubber approval stamp from the Agent in Charge’s office, stamped the letterhead and affixed a copy of the AIC’s signature to the space provided.

TWO HOURS LATER, Teddy entered the Federal Building in Foley Square and, following a plan from the Bureau’s files, made his way to the subbasement where the field office’s evidence room was located. He presented his I.D. to the clerk, who wiped the card through a reader that checked the bar code against the Bureau’s central files, then handed it back to him.

“What can I do for you, Special Agent Curry?” the clerk asked.

Teddy produced the letter from the director ordering the AIC to produce four pounds of C-4 explosive and a box of detonators from the evidence room, to be transported to D.C. as evidence in a trial. The letter was stamped and endorsed by the AIC.

“That’s a lot of that stuff to be carrying around,” the clerk said.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re doing it on a Saturday night,” Teddy replied. “We’ve got a secure van outside, and a King Air waiting at Teterboro to take it back and deliver it to the U.S. Attorney.”

The clerk disappeared through a door, and Teddy began casing the place for escape, if he needed to. The wait became interminable, and Teddy was starting to worry. Then the clerk appeared, carrying a cheap, leather catalogue case and set it on the counter. “There you are, Mr. Curry,” he said. “Four pounds of C-4, complete with detonators. Just get it out of the building before you let it explode.” He offered a clipboard. “Sign here, please.”

Teddy opened the case and checked the contents, then signed. Ten minutes later he was on a subway, headed uptown.

BACK IN HIS WORKSHOP, Teddy went back into the Agency’s files for information on the head of security, Ali Hakim, at the East Side townhouse. He located a fairly complete biography, which yielded the information that Hakim, like many Arabs, was nuts about horses. Excellent, he thought.

Teddy then opened the C-4 and began to knead two pounds of it into a shape, using a craft knife to define its lines until he had what he wanted. When he was satisfied, he sprayed the little sculpture with a gray fixative which both sealed in any detectable fumes from the explosive and caused it to look like stone.

He then built a hollow plinth and assembled the necessary electronics, along with a detonator and a tripwire that could be fastened to a seam in the packaging. He also installed a receiver for a remote control.

Tired from his day’s work, Teddy stretched out on his bed, pulled a blanket over himself and got eight hours of untroubled sleep.

The following morning Teddy checked his assembly inside the plinth, fixed a lid to a bolt set into the sculpture and set the lid onto the plinth, screwing it into place. He took a moment to admire his handiwork, then he began packaging it in a tightly sealed wooden crate, taking care to boobytrap the lid. He addressed it to Ali Hakim and from the Agency’s files downloaded a stencil of the seal of the Royal House of Saud, which he affixed to the crate.

AFTER A GOOD LUNCH from a Chinese restaurant across the street, Teddy dressed in khaki trousers, a white, short-sleeved button-down shirt and a bow tie, then he dug up a black baseball cap. The outfit looked nearly enough like a uniform. On the computer, he made and printed out a delivery log, then signed half a dozen of the blank spaces with fictitious names. He took the subway to 42nd Street, walked crosstown to the address of the townhouse and rang the bell.

Shortly, a tough-looking man in a black suit answered the door. “Yes?”

“Delivery for Mr…” Teddy consulted his log.“… Alley Hackim.”

“Do you mean Mr. Ali Hakim?” the man asked.

“Yeah, that must be it.” Teddy showed him the address on the crate, also displaying the royal seal on the lid.

The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the seal. “We don’t usually accept deliveries on a weekend,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll send it back,” Teddy said, turning to go.

“Wait!” the man yelled. “Does it have to be signed for by Mr. Hakim himself?”

“No, you can sign,” Teddy said.

The man stepped out onto the stoop, and Teddy gave him the clipboard. “Space number seven,” he said.

“What is the name of your delivery service?” the man asked.

“I’m from Eastern Freight Forwarders at Kennedy Airport,” Teddy replied. “This came in last night and cleared customs this morning. Have a nice day.”

“Wait, where is your delivery truck?”

“I took a cab,” Teddy said. “This was a high-priority delivery.” He gave a little wave and headed off toward the corner. Once there, he looked back. The stoop was empty.

ALI HAKIM WAS DOZING in front of a soccer match on television, when his phone rang. “Hello, Hakim here,” he said.

“Mr. Hakim, this is Osama, the security guard on duty at your office.”

“Yes? What’s happened?”

“Nothing, sir, but we’ve received a delivery addressed to you that bears the seal of the House of Saud.”

“Have you X-rayed it?”

“Yes, sir. It is a small statue of a horse.”

Hakim smiled. It must be from a friend of his in Saudi intelligence. “I’ll be right over,” he said.

Teddy waited patiently for forty-five minutes. He was about to leave when a black sedan pulled up in front of the townhouse and a man got out. Teddy checked the face against the photograph he had downloaded. Hakim himself. Teddy removed the remote control from his pocket, tapped in five minutes and activated it.

It took several minutes to get a cab, and he was about to cancel the code when a taxi finally appeared. “Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street,” he said to the driver. He could walk from there.

The cab pulled away and had driven for a couple of blocks when the detonator did its job.

“What the hell was that?” the cab driver asked.

Teddy looked back at the rising column of smoke and dust. “I don’t know,” he said, “but let’s get the hell out of here.”

The driver stomped on the accelerator.