“A private airfield.”
“Was that the target?”
“Don’t know.”
“What size was it?”
“Small enough to conceal. Big enough to do a lot of damage. Depending on where it was detonated, if there were fewer than fifty casualties it would be a miracle.”
“What if it exploded on a plane? If the plane was the target, not just the transport. If it blew up over a city. Or a shopping mall. Or a stadium.”
“That’s possible, but unlikely. The bomb we found was packed with shrapnel. That’s an antipersonnel configuration. If a plane was its target we’d expect it to have a shaped projectile to ensure it could breach the fuselage or at least cause major system damage.”
“That’s something, I guess. What about the timescale, if they have other bombs?”
She shrugged. “Tomorrow. Next week. Next year. Can we afford to wait?”
“How many bombs did Michael make?”
She shrugged again. “Could be any number. Distributed anywhere in the country.”
We were looking at hundreds dead, potentially. Maybe thousands. Dendoncker had the means. The opportunity. And there were plenty of groups out there with the cash to make it worth his while. All of a sudden fifty-fifty with a chance of collateral damage didn’t look so bad. I drained my cup. “Wait here. I’m going for a word with the ME.”
Chapter 14
I walked faster. The sun was hotter. The buildings seemed closer together. The empty sidewalks, narrower. The atmosphere was almost oppressive. I reached the medical center and went straight in. The foyer was just as it was before except that there was a woman at the reception desk. It was hard to say how old she was. Not far from being the wrong side of retirement age, I would guess. Her hair was silver and it was wound up in an elaborate series of braids. Her glasses were pointy at the temples like ones I’d seen in pictures from the 1960s. She had a discreet string of pearls and a neat, cream blouse. She glanced up when I approached but when she realized I was heading for the door that led to the basement she looked away. A benefit of Dendoncker’s people doing business there, I guess. But I wasn’t happy about being mistaken for one of his goons.
I paused in the lower corridor and listened at the door to the morgue. I could hear music. It was classical. Mainly piano. Something by Beethoven, I thought. I knocked and went in without waiting for an answer. Instantly I was hit by the stench. It was like an invisible wall. Made up of things I’d smelled before. Blood. Bodily products. Disinfectant. Preservative chemicals. But it was so strong it stopped me in my tracks.
Ahead of me there was a guy in the center of the room. He had white hair. A white lab coat. Metal-rimmed glasses on a chain. And a pronounced stoop. Behind him was a row of steel doors. Five of them. To the side, a desk. It held a computer, which was switched off. A stack of blank forms. And a fancy pen.
Right at the guy’s side there was a metal table. It was made of stainless steel. It had raised sides, and a body was lying on it. A man’s. It was naked. The top of its skull had been sawn off. Its rib cage cracked apart. Its abdomen cut open. Blood was running along the channels on both sides of the table and trickling down a drain. There was a trolley covered with tools. They were sharp and bloody. There was another trolley, covered with jars full of red and brown gelatinous things, and a scale. With a brain in its pan.
The guy took his glasses off and glared at me. “At least you knocked. That’s something. Now, who are you? What do you want?”
He seemed like a straightforward guy, so I decided to take a straightforward approach. “My name’s Reacher. You’re Dr. Houllier?”
The guy nodded.
“I’m here to ask for your help.”
“I see. With what? Is someone sick? Hurt?”
“I need you to stay away from work tomorrow.”
“Out of the question. I’ve worked here for more than forty years and I’ve never missed a day.”
“That’s an admirable record.”
“Don’t blow smoke.”
“OK. Let’s try this. There’s a guy in this town I believe you’re acquainted with. Waad Dendoncker.”
Dr. Houllier’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”
“Just how well acquainted are you?”
Dr. Houllier snatched up a scalpel, still slick with blood, and brandished it at me. “Cast an aspersion like that again and to hell with my oath. I’ll cut your heart out. I don’t care how big you are.” He gestured to the body at his side. “You can see I know how.”