“Sorry, Mike. That was pretty fruitless,” Emily said as we were driving back into Manhattan from Teterboro Airport after our return flight the following evening.
“What do you mean?” I said as I tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. We sat at a dead stop after going through the George Washington Bridge tolls. Up ahead on the span, blue and red emergency lights flashed around a broken-down charter bus they were trying to tow away.
“I should have anticipated that Kaczynski would only use this as an opportunity to spew his warped ideology. We probably would have done better if we’d hit the Coors tour, like you said.”
“Chin up, Parker,” I said. “We took a stab. Besides, I think he gave us some insight into our perpetrator or at least confirmed what we were already thinking. And oddly enough, some of the stuff he said about technology I think is actually true. These military robots they’re starting to build really are scary.
“And this self-driving smartcar idea? Maybe it’ll make some things cheaper, but won’t it also put every truck driver and cabbie and FedEx and UPS worker in the world out of work? For what? So college kids can drink and drive safely? That you can do something amazing is amazing, but when is it too much?”
“You got me,” she said. “Come to think of it, his comments about the perpetrator’s anger and introversion are actually pretty interesting. Kaczynski left the world to live in his cabin until the world intruded upon him in a way that truly pissed him off. Maybe that’s what happened with our guy. He’s sitting there hoarding and counting buses or what have you, and suddenly the world—or, more specifically, New York City—hurts him in a deep, fundamental way. Name some ways the city can hurt you.”
“Gee, that’ll be hard,” I said, gesturing at the unbelievable traffic. “Let me count the ways. Taxes, tickets, traffic, red tape, fines, towed cars, broken buses, broken trains, stuck elevators, jury duty, getting mugged, no place to park, homeless people urinating on your doorstep. How am I doing so far?”
“You’re on a roll,” she said. “Maybe this guy is an ex–city employee who got fired without justification. Or he lost a lawsuit. Got screwed on a business deal by a city councilman. Maybe he was hurt on the subway, considering the first blast.”
My cell rang. I glanced at the screen.
“Open the window. Maybe I’ll start my Luddite conversion after all by chucking my phone into the Hudson. It’s my angry boss, Fabretti.”
Instead, she lifted my phone and hit the Accept Call button and handed it to me.
“Hey, Chief. Just got off the plane,” I said.
“Good. Get over to City Hall as fast as you can. They just called.”
“Who just called?” I said.
“The bombers. They just called the acting mayor. We have first contact. Get over here now.”