CHAPTER FORTY

A minivan was on fire, cracked up against the perimeter fence and abandoned.

Sean’s car arrived first by seconds, skidding to a stop on new snow. They got out, but the heat of the inferno kept them back.

“They don’t usually burn like that,” Sean said. “Not from a simple crash.”

“I don’t know where the tank is in that thing.” David waved back the first onlookers, who’d arrived in a panting jog from the yard’s entrance. “But probably not right in the middle of the passenger compartment.”

Where the fire was concentrated. The flames might have been more visible because it was dark, but Sean was right: Running off the road shouldn’t have caused it to explode.

“If you were emptying a can of accelerant, though, that might be where most of it ended up.”

“Uh-huh.”

Firefighters pulled up in an engine, stopping a good seventy-five feet away. They’d been unusually quick to respond because, like Sean himself, they were already stationed at the yard’s entrance lot, only a quarter mile away. The first men off began unreeling hose from the redline.

More demonstrators drifted in. It was no stretch to assume that some of them had arranged the minivan’s immolation—as a statement? A distraction? Simple amusement?

David didn’t care.

“Think Newark can get an arson investigator here?” he said.

“Tomorrow morning maybe.” Sean snorted. “Or the next day—the detectives don’t like missing their time off, and New Year’s Day is a big one.”

“Unlike the uniforms, huh?” A Newark cruiser had pulled in next to the them, four of the riot officers getting out.

“They don’t want to be here, either.” Sean gestured them back. “Of course, now that they are, everyone’s hoping for a big confrontation—make it worthwhile, you know?”

“Great,” David said. “They might get their money’s worth.”

Finn stared at Asher. “What do you mean, it didn’t go through the wall?”

“I’m telling you, I’ve pushed in an entire pipe section—five feet. But it’s still boring through concrete and rebar. The wall must be a lot thicker than the plan said.”

“How can you tell?”

“Cutterhead torque and face pressure.” Asher gestured at the displays in front of him. “It’s obvious.”

“Nicola, did you hear that?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got Stormwall’s interior camera feeds, right? I mean the real ones, not the fakes you’re feeding them. Can you look around and see if you can spot anything?”

“Like, oh, a two-ton auger sitting on the floor in a pile of debris?” She didn’t sound fazed. “Hang on.”

Jake had just brought over the next pipe section with the excavator. He hauled on the gantry chains, rattling them up through the block and tackle.

“Should I put this one in place?” he said. “We can keep going.”

“I don’t know.”

Nicola came back on the line. “Nothing. I don’t have three sixty, but one camera sweeps that side. The corner looks normal—just some bins and a table inside one of the units.”

A long moment. Finn ran possibilities through his head. “Asher, how sure are you about the positioning?”

He seemed offended. “We’ve got wireless triangulation guiding the laser, and it’s only a hundred thirty yards away. We should be good to a quarter inch.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And, anyway, I’m telling you it’s in the wall. I can feel it.”

Jake came over and looked at the control panel. “Maybe the plans are wrong. Maybe they put in six feet. Or eight, or ten. Who knows?”

“Okay.” Finn made up his mind. “Drop in another pipe. No reason to stop now.”

“Good.” Asher began reversing the ram, readying it for the next section. “We’ve got, what, ten sections left? The fucker could be fifty feet thick, we’ll still get through it.”

“Fifty more feet, and we’ll be all the way out the other side.” Finn pushed a hand through his hair. “Just get us in, damn it.”