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Authors: Sheldon Siegel
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crew cut who was addressing the security guards standing next to the pay stations. “His name is Fred Gilliam.”
Gold noted Gilliam’s pressed gray suit and FBI-style earpiece. There was chaos around him, but there was no sign of panic. “Marine?”
“And ex-Bureau,” Fong said.
Thought so . Gold introduced himself to Gilliam. “Did any of your people see anything?”
Gilliam motioned toward a uniformed African American security guard sitting on a bench near the pay stations. His hands shook as he gulped water from a plastic bottle. “Edwin was standing by the escalators when the bomb went off. Worst thing he’s seen since Vietnam.”
“Did he see the Mercedes come in?”
“Doesn’t remember. We have cameras at the entrance and the exit. We have more by the pay stations.”
“I want to talk to Edwin. Then I want to look at the videos.”
* * *
Gold and Fong stood behind Gilliam in the security bunker two levels beneath the U-505 German submarine put on display at the museum in 1954. Battle had stayed in the garage to supervise the collection of evidence and interview the security staff. The soundproof gray walls were covered with HD monitors, each showing a view of empty entrances, stairways, and corridors. Behind the 1890s veneer, the museum was a twenty-first century facility.
Gilliam’s Old Spice aftershave permeated the enclosed space as he stared at footage from a camera at the entrance to the garage. He fast-forwarded until he found what he wanted. “There’s the Mercedes. It arrived at twelve-twenty-seven.”
Gold studied the grainy black-and-white video from a camera mounted above the ticket dispenser. Gold pointed at the screen. “Run it in super slow mo from here.”
Gold, Fong, and Gilliam watched the Mercedes pull up to the ticket dispenser. The license plate was missing. The windshield was tinted, and the visor was down, making it impossible to see the driver’s face. Gold asked Gilliam to rerun the tape three times, but they couldn’t discern any identifying features.
“You can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman,” Gold said. “Can we enhance it?”
“A little.” Gilliam zoomed in, but they couldn’t see inside.
“Roll it a little more.”
The only sound was the hum of the air conditioners. Gilliam pressed a button and the video continued. The driver-side window lowered. A gloved hand reached out and pulled a ticket. The driver was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and gloves.
Gold called Battle and asked him to check for remnants of a glove or a shirt in the shell of the Mercedes. That search turned up empty.
They spent the next hour examining footage from dozens of camera angles, but they couldn’t identify the driver of the Mercedes. There was a poignant moment when the ill-fated Chevy entered the garage less than a minute before the bomb went off. Gold visualized the young couple and their son chatting as they enjoyed their summer vacation.
Gold finally took a seat next to Gilliam. “Is there any way the bomber could have gotten out of the garage without being filmed?”
“There’s no camera in our service stairway leading to the trash collection area. It isn’t open to the public, but somebody could have exited without being photographed.”
“I need a statement from everybody on your staff. My people are already interviewing the museum’s visitors. And I want to identify everyone we can see in these videos.”
The dark room filled with a somber silence before Gold’s BlackBerry vibrated. Maloney’s name appeared on the display. “We need you upstairs right away, Gold,” the chief said.
“Got an ID on the Mercedes?”
“Not yet, but we’re holding a press briefing.”
Chapter 11
“THERE IS NO REASON TO PANIC”
“This is a waste of time,” Gold muttered. He was sweating profusely in the afternoon heat.
“Agreed,” Battle whispered back.
At two-thirty on Monday afternoon, Gold and Battle stood like sentries on the front
Gold noted Gilliam’s pressed gray suit and FBI-style earpiece. There was chaos around him, but there was no sign of panic. “Marine?”
“And ex-Bureau,” Fong said.
Thought so . Gold introduced himself to Gilliam. “Did any of your people see anything?”
Gilliam motioned toward a uniformed African American security guard sitting on a bench near the pay stations. His hands shook as he gulped water from a plastic bottle. “Edwin was standing by the escalators when the bomb went off. Worst thing he’s seen since Vietnam.”
“Did he see the Mercedes come in?”
“Doesn’t remember. We have cameras at the entrance and the exit. We have more by the pay stations.”
“I want to talk to Edwin. Then I want to look at the videos.”
* * *
Gold and Fong stood behind Gilliam in the security bunker two levels beneath the U-505 German submarine put on display at the museum in 1954. Battle had stayed in the garage to supervise the collection of evidence and interview the security staff. The soundproof gray walls were covered with HD monitors, each showing a view of empty entrances, stairways, and corridors. Behind the 1890s veneer, the museum was a twenty-first century facility.
Gilliam’s Old Spice aftershave permeated the enclosed space as he stared at footage from a camera at the entrance to the garage. He fast-forwarded until he found what he wanted. “There’s the Mercedes. It arrived at twelve-twenty-seven.”
Gold studied the grainy black-and-white video from a camera mounted above the ticket dispenser. Gold pointed at the screen. “Run it in super slow mo from here.”
Gold, Fong, and Gilliam watched the Mercedes pull up to the ticket dispenser. The license plate was missing. The windshield was tinted, and the visor was down, making it impossible to see the driver’s face. Gold asked Gilliam to rerun the tape three times, but they couldn’t discern any identifying features.
“You can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman,” Gold said. “Can we enhance it?”
“A little.” Gilliam zoomed in, but they couldn’t see inside.
“Roll it a little more.”
The only sound was the hum of the air conditioners. Gilliam pressed a button and the video continued. The driver-side window lowered. A gloved hand reached out and pulled a ticket. The driver was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and gloves.
Gold called Battle and asked him to check for remnants of a glove or a shirt in the shell of the Mercedes. That search turned up empty.
They spent the next hour examining footage from dozens of camera angles, but they couldn’t identify the driver of the Mercedes. There was a poignant moment when the ill-fated Chevy entered the garage less than a minute before the bomb went off. Gold visualized the young couple and their son chatting as they enjoyed their summer vacation.
Gold finally took a seat next to Gilliam. “Is there any way the bomber could have gotten out of the garage without being filmed?”
“There’s no camera in our service stairway leading to the trash collection area. It isn’t open to the public, but somebody could have exited without being photographed.”
“I need a statement from everybody on your staff. My people are already interviewing the museum’s visitors. And I want to identify everyone we can see in these videos.”
The dark room filled with a somber silence before Gold’s BlackBerry vibrated. Maloney’s name appeared on the display. “We need you upstairs right away, Gold,” the chief said.
“Got an ID on the Mercedes?”
“Not yet, but we’re holding a press briefing.”
Chapter 11
“THERE IS NO REASON TO PANIC”
“This is a waste of time,” Gold muttered. He was sweating profusely in the afternoon heat.
“Agreed,” Battle whispered back.
At two-thirty on Monday afternoon, Gold and Battle stood like sentries on the front
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