“We have to go on that assumption.”
Carlson wiped his sweating face on his NYU T-shirt.
“Goddammit. Do we have any idea where they went? Any ransom demand? Any contact?”
“Nothing so far,” Daly said. “This happened less than an hour ago. His unmarked vehicle is missing, so we’ve notified state troopers and our guys.”
“I know you’re doing everything you can, Commissioner,” the mayor said. “You think of any way I can help, let me know immediately.”
“Will do.”
The mayor stared at the Pause button on the elliptical after he placed his cell back down. Should he call it a night? No, he decided, reaching for the button. No excuses. His cholesterol was through the roof. Not to mention how tight his suits were getting these days, with all the fund-raiser food. Just do it, and all that garbage. Besides, what good would he be to the city if he had a heart attack?
He was just getting back up to pace when Patrick returned and stuck his head in the doorway.
This time, the mayor hit the Stop button as he lifted his cell phone.
“The commissioner again?”
“The other commissioner,” his aide said. “Frank Peterson, from Port Authority Police.”
The mayor gave him a puzzled look. Christ, when it rained, it poured. What did the Port Authority commissioner want?
“Frank? Hi. What can I do for you?” the mayor said.
“One of our cops, a young guy named Tommy Wi, was just shot dead out at Teterboro,” Peterson said somberly.
The mayor shook his head in disbelief as he stepped off the machine. First a kidnapping, then a murder?
“That’s . . . ,” he started to say, but couldn’t find a word. “What happened?”
“Just before Officer Wi was shot, he called in and said an NYPD detective had asked for access to the tarmac. Two minutes later, a twin-engine Cessna was hijacked by a pair of men. Nearby, we found an NYPD unmarked radio car with a little girl inside, saying her daddy is Detective Mike Bennett.”
“Mr. Mayor,” his aide Patrick said, coming in again with another cell phone in his hand. “It’s important.”
Christ, another call? He had only two ears.
“Sorry, Frank, can you hold a minute?” he said to the Port Authority commissioner. What now? he thought as Patrick traded phones with him.
“Hello, Mayor Carlson,” said a crisp male voice. “Tad Billings, assistant director of Homeland Security. You’ve heard about the hijacking at Teterboro?”
“I’m starting to,” Carlson said curtly.
“FAA radar is tracking the Cessna over the Hudson, heading east, inbound toward the city. An F-15 has been scrambled and is en route from McGuire Air Force Base in south Jersey.”
“What?! An F-15?!”
“Part of the new Federal Homeland Security statute,” Billings said. “Teterboro spoke to the FAA. FAA spoke to North American Air Defense. NORAD scrambled a jet. I just got off the phone with General Hotchkiss. The jet pilot has been authorized to shoot the Cessna down.”
“You can’t be serious. We think there’s a cop on that plane, an NYPD homicide detective. He’s being held hostage!”
“The air force has been made aware of that. They’ll try to establish radio contact, but time constraints and the hijacker’s unpredictability are important factors. This is a major threat to your entire city, sir. As harsh as it is, as reluctant as we are to put the life of an innocent on the line, we unfortunately have to prepare for the worst.”
And he’d worried about having a heart attack? A heart attack would have been a breeze, compared to this impossible-to-keep-up-with insanity.
“Is our conversation being recorded?” the mayor finally said.
“As a matter of fact, yes, it is.”