Chapter 31

Yonkers, NY

Markovic’s men carried out his threat at Hillview. Maxim and his team arrived at the reservoir during the night as planned and followed the detailed instructions written on the map they had of the pumping station. Using the IDs they had created while in Manhattan, they were able to gain initial access to the facility. The ninety-acre reservoir serves as a holding tank for the billions of gallons of water it receives each day from the Catskill and Delaware Aqueducts. The two uptake chambers are located on the north side of the four-chambered building, so they headed to the south side toward the two downtake chambers where water would be released into three city water tunnels, numbered 1, 2 and 3. When Maxim had gained original entry onto the grounds, he had used his computer to silently disable the security system, so there was no alert when his team entered the pump house. Once inside, they quickly over-powered the security detail whose job it was to keep the water supply safe.

Now that all systems were under their control, security cameras were disconnected from the live feed and were fed static images as a replacement. Maxim sent one of his men to retrieve the van they had parked near the stadium parking lot at the raceway. When the van returned, Maxim’s men brought in large pipes and machinery and spread out all their tools on the cement floor.

“Maxim,” said one of the men, “where you want me to dump this?” Over his shoulder was a form wrapped in a blanket.

“Put that one in the closet with two guards. Now let’s us get to work.”

Working quickly in the basement of the pumping house, the Russians shut off specific valves, diverting water to flow through alternate pipes. Then began the tedious replacement of dismantling the existing plumbing. They removed two of the main pipes where the water flowed into the tunnels and replaced them with ones that looked identical, but were lined with a thick layer of soft lead. Lead that would easily leach out into the drinking water flowing through the tunnels and travel to every faucet in the city. The concentration of lead in the body above 5 micrograms per deciliter triggers a medical alert in children. The amount of lead released from these pipes could potentially raise the blood concentration in the unsuspecting inhabitants of New York City to much higher levels. Lead exposure has no obvious symptoms, but can affect almost every system in the body and children are the most vulnerable. Their brain is still growing and signs of lead poisoning can produce developmental delay, learning difficulties, abdominal pain and hearing loss—deficits that begin small, but end with big consequences. Their plan was perhaps subtle, but effective.

Markovic’s team worked without rest. When the task was complete, all the men exited the building through the rear door, except Maxim who stayed behind to take care of the loose ends. The Russians understood that the New York authorities would know that the reservoir had been tampered with. Officials had been up there earlier in the day to check out the facility at the urging of the Agency, but had found nothing. Markovic’s team had waited patiently to return and replace the pipes when the time was right. New York officials would be back. It was just a question of time. Bodies would be discovered and subsequently, the DEP would be consumed with testing water samples for the next six months to determine where the defect was. The terrorists’ objective was merely to disrupt everyday life, create areas of diversion along the way, and most importantly, produce influence over the American political scene.

* * *

JP looked at his watch and was fully aware that Lily had been gone for some time. She was an independent woman, but when they were working on an assignment together, he was in charge, not her. He found her so bold at times that some might say her behavior was not just calculated, but risky. Then again, these were the kinks in her armor that he found so attractive. Early in their relationship he had admired her encyclopedic knowledge of poisons and toxins and exploited that expertise to obtain sensitive goals created by the Agency. No matter what was said publicly, he knew that every government throughout the world recognized that elimination of specific enemies of the State were necessary. It’s just that no one wants to admit to it, particularly in the United States. Although French, JP had always been assigned to the U.S. Agency through a little-known loophole exploited by both governments. Lily Robinson had been his early assignment for the actual field work, although other operatives were her primary contact people. He had been at her side ever since.

He fell in love with her after the Cambridge poisoning at the academic’s dinner, but kept his feelings to himself, until no longer able to contain the mounting emotion, confronted her in Paris after they had assassinated three arms dealers. He found her ice-skating in a little courtyard on New Year’s Eve and told her how much he loved her. Their physical connection was so electric that when they separated, it was if he had a limb torn from his own body. They were wired together, sharing electrons back and forth at the speed of light. They defied physics. Reaching her emotionally had been his biggest challenge, but over the years he had been able to break through her protective shell to find warmth and feeling within. While in the public view, they masqueraded as colleagues. This business arrangement served to cloak their alternate relationship as lovers, and rendered each some protection.

The dark-haired man was worried about her. He had called her cell phone several times and there was no answer. Lily would respond, unless she couldn’t. The safe-house was filled with many agents and equipment. JP looked through Lily’s belongings and found her gun, the trigger lock still on, sitting in her bag. She would be vulnerable. Then he stepped out into the main staging area and spoke to one of the other agents.

“Parker, locate Robinson’s phone. She’s been gone much too long. We should be able to track it.”

Agent Parker looked at the cell phone tracker map on the computer and found a signal pulsating near the Metropolitan Museum.

“Boss, we have a signal here,” Parker said, pointing to the computer screen. I can take a few men and pick her up.”

Agent Parker and a handful of associates packed into a black SUV and rode to 5th Avenue and 80th Street, parking around the side entrance used for deliveries at the museum. Everything appeared quiet and Lily Robinson was nowhere in sight. Using their tracking device, the men moved into the location where the cell phone signal was the strongest, ever vigilant of their surroundings. Still not seeing any people in the area, they parted the bushes, and started searching closer to the ground. Lily Robinson’s cell phone lay bare in the mulch. Agent Parker picked up his own phone and dialed JP. He explained that he had found her phone, but not her. It looked as if there had been a scuffle in the area, and they found a large button on the ground which they kept as evidence. Parker also noted that there was a path that led to the Central Park reservoir and the men had combed that area as well. Robinson was nowhere to be found.

JP absorbed all this information and formulated a plan of his own. He left the main room of remaining agents and entered one of the back bedrooms of the house. His briefcase was there, and he opened the lid and pulled a small device from the back pocket. He switched it on and a pulsating white light appeared. He obtained the coordinates of the beam, and entered them into his portable GPS device.

“Mais, oui, but of course!” he uttered to himself and left the room.

“Get the van ready, and the dogs, and get me Parker,” he shouted at his team.

* * *

When I open my eyes, there is only blackness. I can feel something warm and sticky oozing through my clothes. I don’t think it’s coming from me, since I don’t feel pain in my body. Just aches. Something warm is under me, but it’s hard to tell since my hands are bound by my sides. It’s as if I’m wrapped in a blanket. The growing fear creeps into every pore in my body so I center my mind, tune that fine focus, and recreate the time line. The last thing I remember is being outside the Museum and watching the water delivery. I could see Markovic climbing up the ladder onto the top of the tanker. I was sure he had my toxin and was going to dump it into the open valve. He was going to poison the drinking water destined for the museum. I tried to call for help. I got out my phone, and then it was as if someone took my breath away. Blackness. Now where am I?

I try rolling from side to side to loosen the wrap. There is something, no someone, under me. My guess is that they’re either dead or unconscious since there is no movement, and if they’re dead, I’m not sure why I’m not as well. The darkness is frightening. When I stop to concentrate I can hear some faint drilling sounds, and what sounds like pumps circulating, but that’s all. Where could they have possibly taken me? I doubt we are in the museum, although this could be a closet anywhere. The rolling back and forth has loosened my wrap and I can now move my arms more freely. I wriggle up toward the top of the blanket and am finally able to pull my torso and my arms out. There’s no more light out here than from under the blanket, but I can take bigger breaths, and I can feel my way in and around the tiny room. There’s no light switch on the walls that I can feel, so this must be a utility closet with the light switch outside the door. The door is locked.

Now, I need to determine who else is in here. There’s one, no two, bodies trapped with me. My fingers feel for their necks in search of a pulse. No pulse. I touch their faces and let my fingers close their eyelids. I sweep both hands over their bodies squeezing their arms, legs and torso. The clothing feels like something a security guard would wear. Patches are sewn on the upper sleeve and above the breast pocket. The holster is empty and I feel around for a gun, but come up empty. When I touch the chest, my hand sticks to warm, thick liquid. Blood. This one has been shot. Probably the same is true for the other one. Tingles fan within my belly as fear takes hold. I’m next. Wish I had my gun with me. But then I realize two things. They would have surely taken my gun by now, and then, as I reach inside my bra cup, I feel the presence of the syringe taped to my skin. I’ve got it. It may be tantamount to bringing a knife to a gun fight, but hey, it’s all I’ve got. So, two security guards have been shot and dumped in a closet. What were they guarding?

The drilling noise goes on for what seems like hours. I have no phone and no watch. All I can do is think. We’re probably not in the museum because if the goal was to put poison in the water, the contents would already have been unloaded into the museum’s holding tank by now. This place seems more like a pump house given the background noise. That’s it! A pump house. Markovic must be up at Hillview. We’re at the reservoir. But why not kill me straight off? Why just incapacitate me and keep me around with the dead bodies? What does he need from me?

I’m not sure if I should try and break out just yet. It may be better to wait. So, I do. Sometime later I hear footsteps approaching and I review my choices, fast. Do I stand so that when the door opens I will be behind it ready to attack? Or do I pretend to be wrapped back in the blanket and wait and see? I choose the door plan since whoever is approaching might just stand within the entry and fire his gun into the room. I hurry to place the blanket over one of the guards so at least it looks like a body is under there. I slide back behind the door, my heart racing once again. Quiet, quiet, this thumping is so loud. He’s outside the door, I know this. The door opens and a tall man in a black cap, jeans and sweatshirt walks in. It’s not Markovic! This man, whoever he is, has a Makarov PM in his hand ready to fire. He’s Russian. When he edges forward, eyes sweeping the room, I approach him from behind holding a heavy mop bucket ready to knock him down, but he’s too quick. He turns and knocks the bucket down with his pistol and pulls me forward. His hand covers my mouth and nose, and I find myself gasping for air once again. He drags me out of the closet and I can see that I am in a pump room. So, this must be the Hillview Reservoir. What are we doing here? I manage to wriggle out of his grip just enough to speak.

“Let me go,” I shout. “What do you want from me, what are we doing here?

“Ah, you talk,” he says in a heavy Russian accent. “I take you with me for little insurance. I found you spying on my boss. Why? Who are you?”

He starts pushing me forward into an elevator. I look around the room before I get in. It’s clearly a water pump house with huge curved pipes, switch valves and large metal hydraulic wheels. What have they done?

“Who am I?” I say. “Who are you?” I feel like Alice in Wonderland having a conversation with the caterpillar. He holds up the pistol and asks me again who I am.

“I was walking near the museum and became curious about the tanker truck. That’s all. What are we doing here?” There’s no reply and the talk stops.

The elevator goes up to the ground floor where we walk around to the rear of the building and exit. I’m outside now and I’ve lost track of the time. The moon is still out, but I think dawn will be rising soon. We start to walk atop a long wall that runs the length of the reservoir and divides it into two separate basins. Does he want to dump me into the water? I doubt he is using this as a shortcut to get to the other side of the reservoir. Up ahead there looks like there’s part of the chain linked fence that has been cut away, allowing for an opening down toward the water. That must be the stopping point. My heart is thumping again and I’m sure he can hear it. There’s a steep drop from the top of the revetment to the water below. He pushes me toward the opening and is now standing directly in front of me. This is my last chance, he says, to tell him why I was following Markovic.

“We found you following Markovic. I don’t know who you are, and now I don’t care. You had chance to talk, but time has run out. They should have shot you with others,” he says. This is a clear signal my time is up. Not that I have a bargaining chip, but since I’m about to die, I pretend I do.

“We’re on to your faction. We know about the ricin. You can turn yourself in and be a witness against Markovic. I know people who can make a deal with you,” I tell him.

“It’s too late for Markovic,” he says.

I’m desperate. “Where was the toxin made?” I ask.

“Hong Kong. And that’s enough talking for you.”

Then he makes his move. I look over my shoulder and see that there’s no place to go, except down. He inches me up toward the edge and as I lose my balance my left hand grabs his right shoulder to steady myself, and with my right hand I take the syringe which I had previously removed from the bra cup, and jam the needle directly into his carotid artery pushing the plunger all the way to the hub of the needle.

“What, you bitch,” he yells. I try and turn so I’m no longer facing the opening and at the same time give him a knee to the groin. The Russian falters and pulls me with him as he tumbles down the wall. He’s gasping for air. I manage to hang on to a piece of chain link as he hits the water. He’s going down under, but I’m not. As a breath escapes, I quickly take another one in.

* * *

JP’s men flooded the Hillview reservoir in Yonkers. They systematically moved through the building and made their way down into the basement of the pump house. When they opened the door to the utility closet, they found the remains of two men who had once stood in the facility protecting the water supply. They had been shot, and there was blood on a blanket that had probably covered a third body. Robinson. But she was not in the building. The men remaining back in the black SUV obtained visual confirmation on the identities of the facility’s security guards. Another small van approached and they could see it was the K-9 unit when it slid into the space next to the parked vehicle. Two handsome Belgium Malinois’ jumped out of the van and twirled on their leads until they finally settled with their handlers. The agents gave the dogs a scarf that Lily Robinson had worn. Their keen noses inhaled the scent and were then set free to track her down if she were still on the grounds. The dogs made a beeline for the almost 3,000 foot long wall dividing the reservoir into the East and West basins. When they reached the break in the fence they stopped, and the dogs started barking fiercely. The agent shined a light down at the water and he could see a body floating.

“Robinson, are you all right? Hold on,” Agent Parker shouted.

* * *

Here I am holding onto to the bit of broken fencing trying not to drop into the water below. My coat is caught. There are dogs barking ferociously with their muzzles pointed in my direction, an orb of light adjacent to the moon, and I hear Agent Parker shouting at me. Parker then turns to one of the other agents and asks him to call in backup with a rescue basket so they can safely extract any bodies from the basin.

“Is there anyone else down there with you?” Parker asks.

“Yes, although I think he’s gone under. I no longer can see him. He’s all yours. He should be dead.”

Within a few minutes, which seems to me forever, a rescue basket is lowered down carrying two divers in dry suits outfitted in scuba gear. One helps me into the basket while the other one drops to the bottom of the wall and then dives into the water looking for my Russian assailant. When I get back on land, they place a blanket over my shoulders as I download info to Parker trying to remember as much as I can. The blanket gives me an uneasy feeling. I walk back to the parking area and decline the offer to be taken to an area hospital. The blood they found in the utility room was not mine I assure them. Then I see that the palm of my hand is bleeding where the fence has cut through.

They’re driving me back to the safe house. When I get there and open the door, there’s JP standing at the entry looking concerned, but reserved. “Robinson,” he says with slight alarm as he pulls me into the back room.

“What do you think you are doing? You could have been killed. This is not how you operate. Your job is not to chase the bad guys in the middle of the night. Lily, you have a very narrow role in the organization. We choose targets and you pick the right poison, mais oui?” he says. He’s angry. I hear it in his tone. We’re alone. I don’t answer. Then he pulls me into him and we cling together. I wince in pain from my bruises and abrasions.

“I cannot lose you my Ma Chérie,” he says as he twists the platinum braided bracelet on my wrist.

Our lips meet in a soft communion and I feel my body dissolve into his. I want him now, but we have business.

“JP, it was Markovic. I’m sure he has the ampoule of toxin.”

The dark-haired man looks into my eyes. “Lily, my men are still up at the Hillview Reservoir. You are right. Something happened there. We are considering all the information you gave Parker.”

“And?” I ask.

“We do not yet know how the Russians tampered with the water supply, but we are assuming they did. It will take time to unravel.”

Then I let him know about the museum. “JP, Markovic may have used my toxin or some other toxin to poison a tanker truck delivering water to the art museum. I know he did something and we’re going to have to alert city authorities about the holding tanks, and the reservoirs. I’ll contact some of the best chemists in the country to start looking for toxins in the New York City water supply. Just get me some samples, and make it toute de suite.” I see those distinguished eyebrows rise framing his crow’s feet as the dark-haired man hears me, but he already knows all of this.

“Now, I’m going to clean up these scrapes and get some sleep. I’m exhausted,” I say, and slowly retreat from the safety of his arms. “It’s been a very long day. I’ll try Dr. Leigh tonight and tomorrow if I don’t hear from him.”

* * *

One of the agents takes me back to my hotel room and makes sure the room is clear when we enter. JP had to stay behind to continue the investigation or he would have come with me. I wanted him tonight, and I could tell he wanted me too. Danger produces a series of hormones that sets the body on edge that sharpens your senses, and makes you feel alive. They stir the cauldron of sexual desire that can only be satisfied when two heated bodies come together. But the dark-haired man is not here, so I hang up my coat and sit down on the bed and my head falls on the pillow, but just for a moment. I haven’t yet changed my clothes or wiped the dirt and blood off my legs, and I feel myself already falling asleep. I start to dream, but then something startles me. It’s the free-fall sensation that jolts your body awake, just as it’s drifting into slumber. The hypnic jerk. It isn’t a noise, or a sudden movement in the room, it’s a remembrance of the last meeting I had with my therapist.

“Lily, let’s try again,” the therapist says. “If we can break through you might find some resolution, some peace.”

I have been through this many times over many years. Alone and in my bed, and in his office, trying to work out my dream, the details of my horror. I remember. I relax into his plush office chair and focus on his voice. I visualize the beginning of dawn over the ocean on a brilliant summer morning. A dazzling red and orange sky fills the atmosphere and sets my mind on fire. I’m there.

* * *

A woman with dark hair and wings, like an angel, floats through the woods. She speaks out loud but there is no one there: I always had a passion for collecting—never for murder. My autumn walk through the New England woods, mixed with pine and oak, led me to small armies of fungi. Each soldier, standing tall with white gills and stems, bearing smooth pure white helmets, was ready to stealthily deliver death on command. This is me, what I’ve become—the Destroying Angel.

The scene changes rapidly. Now I can see myself in the woods with a young man who is familiar to me.

“Dr. Robinson? Dr. Robinson? Ah, do you think we have enough specimens?”

I see myself looking up and into the face of one of the graduate students. He stands in front of me, young, with blond hair and brown eyes wearing khaki pants and a thick pile fleece parka. I say to him, “I’m sorry, Stuart, what did you say?”

“I wanted to know if you thought we had collected enough specimens, you know, for your next trip.”

I watch the dream unfold before me, as if I were watching a movie. I see myself speaking with my graduate student and watch as the dream image of me pulls up the collar of my jacket as the wind nips at my neck.

“Yes, Stuart I believe we have enough,” I answer him. “Stuart, why don’t you go ahead and get the car warmed up; I’ll be there in a minute; I just want to look around a bit more.” I watch Stuart leave and move out of the scene and then I see myself sort through a few more fungi, but this time, I pick the Death Cap, Amanita phalloides.

The scene changes again; I’m no longer in the New England woods, but now in the jungle. I see myself remove my wide brim hat from my head and wipe the sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my shirt. The jungle is hot. For the last five days we’ve searched the Pacific versant for small gold jewels. Within the folds of green foliage one jewel sits quietly beckoning to me. I carefully retrieve my net and cast it forward to collect my prize. A beautiful, yellow, poison-dart frog. It’s then that I hear the noise. It’s distant but clear. It’s a pop, no, it’s a pop pop pop. Gunshots. There are screams. I’m not sure but I think it’s coming from the direction of the camp. My heart is pounding. I try to repress the bitter taste in my mouth as my stomach churns in acid. I drop everything and run back to the camp as if aided by angel’s wings.

The camp is not yet in full view. But, I’m almost there. I enter the clearing and see the first body with blood soaking his university tee shirt. Stuart. I don’t stop because I can see the bullet wound in his chest and I know he’s dead. There’s more, much more, too terrible to face, too terrible for my mind to embrace. My body stiffens, and I try to cry out, but no sound comes out of my mouth. I try again. There’s steam in the air, red covering the ground, and there’s only silence. I cannot find my voice.

My God. There’s my tent. It looks still. I don’t perceive any signs of life. Maggie, oh Maggie. Her body lays crushed just outside the parted nylon curtain. I can’t bring myself to look down at her, so I just catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. I part the unzipped screen of the tent with the pulses in my wrists almost visible. There is only the emptiness within. My daughter is gone. I fall to my knees and shake with such grief that I feel my body shatter into thousands of shards of glass. Surely it is just my broken heart. I have been robbed of the one joy I loved above all others. My wails echo through the jungle as I lay helpless among the mangled bodies, soaking the blood from the ground into my jeans and into my soul.

* * *

I hear the therapist’s voice. “Go on, Lily, you must get to the end of your dream.”

The sky is ablaze. Clouds hang in the air suspended like red rockets as I struggle to return to the scene.

“I can’t, I can’t finish the dream,” I shout in anguish. “I just can’t.” Only it’s not a dream.

“You can,” he tells me. “What happens after you find your tent empty? What happens next, Lily?”

“I, I don’t remember. I can’t find her body; where’s my baby’s body? There are so many bodies. There’s blood everywhere. I wander around the campsite. I must be in shock. I don’t know, I think I started walking. Yes, I walk back into the jungle. I, I’m exhausted.”

I’m sobbing now, sitting in that plush chair; my body tense with knees curled to my chest as I tell the dream. The sun is finally emerging. It peaks slowly at first, but then it bursts into the sky like a hot fiery ball and announces morning. I feel the fire; the emotional flames singe my face and burn in my mind.

“Lily, try and focus,” he says. You walk into the jungle. What happens next?”

“I don’t know. I, I think I find another camp. Yes, that’s it. I find another camp. The people there are surprised to see someone so lost in the jungle. Alone. Alone and lost. I, I can’t explain to them what has happened. I don’t know what’s happened. They see I’m covered with blood and look all over my body to find my wounds.”

I look into the therapist’s face. I know we have struggled for years to get to this place. We both know that the wounds were not to be found anywhere on my body. Instead, they were buried deep in my heart, and in my mind, well out of the reach of all, except perhaps a shaman.

* * *

What Lily didn’t know at the time was that she had walked into a foreign government sponsored clandestine operation. They had infiltrated the Colombian jungle to gather information on several drug cartels that were operating under the cover of coffee plantations. In the next decade they would work their way through the organizations until they would crush them one by one. When Lily Robinson had inadvertently discovered them, she was clearly in shock and traumatized, and had lost touch with reality. They discovered what had happened at her camp a day or so later, but could not reveal their cover so kept Lily with them until she was well enough to travel. She had lost most of her memory regarding the massacre and only remembered collecting frogs for her research. She was told her small daughter had died in a horrible accident in the rain forest. They never used the word murder, and they never recovered any bodies. The government managed to suppress all news and information about the incident so they could continue their work in secrecy. Lily Robinson and her daughter had been collateral damage. They kept in touch with her through the years and later, when the time was just right, pressed her into service to help them achieve their own goals. She had been an easy target. Once again, the tip of the scorpion’s stinger went deep, right into the heart, and just between beats.