Chapter Eleven

February 5, 2011 – 1:14am

Jimmy's favorite parking lot was just as deserted at 1:14 as it had been – would be – at 5:45, when he and Ducky had arrived last night, or at 6:00, when he'd arrived on his own the night before – though, of course, it was all the same night. He parked at the east end of the lot, farthest away from the office building, then started walking south, toward a residential district.

He didn't have much of a plan, and he knew that should be worrying him; but the events of the last two days – his last two days, anyway – were probably affecting his judgment. He didn't know if he'd get another chance at this if it all went wrong. The one thing Jimmy did know was this – he would do anything, anything at all, if it meant that he wouldn't have to see Tony's dead body tonight. He didn't think of it as courage – far from it, in fact. He was running from his fears, and if the only way out was straight into the inferno, it was still preferable to watching others die because of his failure to act.

After walking three blocks south, Jimmy turned west, back toward the building. He was going to approach by an indirect route, in case they had people watching the area. With any luck, he could find a good spot – he wasn't sure where, maybe behind someone's bushes or something – from which to observe the building.

Hopefully there would actually be something to observe. It was entirely possible that the setup had been accomplished hours before, but Jimmy had to hope that the time loop was set up in such a way that he would actually have a chance to prevent the coming disaster. Otherwise, what was the point?

Don't ask, Palmer. You might not like the answer…

Once he'd gone far enough west, Jimmy turned north again. He'd been analyzing the neighborhood as he went, and while normally he wouldn't feel comfortable walking among the run-down houses in the dark of night, tonight it provided an odd sense of security. Lawns that had been overgrown before the winter cold killed the grass, broken toys scattered through various yards, and a definite lack of working street lights gave Jimmy hope that even he, the inept agent wanna-be, could find something to hide behind.

He saw what he was looking for from two blocks away. The house on the left-hand corner directly across from the building's parking lot had a row of unkempt hedges along the sidewalks of both streets. Jimmy slowed his pace as he considered. If he came up along the side of the house, and stayed low, he ought to stay out of sight of anyone across the street. If he could manage to stay out of sight of anyone in the neighboring houses, that would be a bonus.

'NCIS Autopsy Assistant Shot While Trespassing on Private Property.' Yeah, that would not be a good headline…

His eyes roamed the area as he approached his target. There were no cars on the street, no lights on in any of the houses facing him. He wasn't going to get a better opportunity. Quickly Jimmy ducked around the end of the hedgerow and, bent double, made his way to the corner where the two rows met. The thicker growth here would hide him from view from the street, and the shadows cast by the parking lot lights would help to hide him from anyone looking out from the house. He settled into a cross-legged position on the ground, then carefully reached out and moved a small branch aside so he could see through the hedges.

The newscast had shown a Google Earth shot of the Art Jones Building as it was before the explosion, so Jimmy had some idea what he'd be looking at. The building – formerly a large, old-fashioned department store before it was converted to separate offices – was seven stories high. The ground floor was a large call center; various accounting businesses and law firms occupied offices on the floors above, with a bank's processing center on the top floor. Not exactly the first place you'd pick for a terrorist attack, but then, Jimmy thought, that was the point.

Occasionally he could hear the sound of large trucks rumbling by on the I-66 overpass. The highway didn't extend directly over the building, but was probably less than twenty yards from it, to Jimmy's left. The overpass itself was nearly a quarter of a mile long, stretching over this run-down residential area and the beginnings of the former downtown district that started just the other side of this street.

Man, I'd hate to live here, Jimmy thought as he listened to the semis passing nearby. It's not exactly quiet in my neighborhood, but at least the traffic slows down at night. That highway has got to be loud during the day – and this street, too. I wouldn't want to have kids and live here, on such a busy street. No wonder the homes look like they do – anyone with enough money to make repairs has probably moved to a quieter neighborhood by now, and everyone who's left would be foolish to sink money into a house that no one wants to buy.

Looking around, he was surprised that the highway overpass had been built here, rather than the government using its powers of eminent domain to seize the properties around here and tear everything down to make way for a highway at ground level. Giving it some thought, Jimmy could come up with two possibilities. Either there was some topographical feature Jimmy hadn't yet seen – a creek, or ravine, or something – that was more trouble than it was worth to build over; or whoever owned the businesses in this area had enough money and/or political power to sway the highway commission. Perhaps he was being overly cynical, but he strongly suspected it was the second.

He returned his attention to the building. The same lights that cast his hiding spot into shadow also reflected off the windows, making it impossible for Jimmy to tell if there were any lights on inside. There were a couple of cars in the parking lot, both parked on the outskirts, on opposite ends of the lot. It wouldn't surprise Jimmy at all to find that a couple of employees had left their cars behind to go out drinking with their friends – it was Friday night, after all. He'd done the same thing himself. But knowing what he knew, Jimmy couldn't help but be suspicious…

Time passed. Jimmy pulled his hand out of his pocket so he could check his watch. He'd been here for maybe twenty minutes, but it felt like two hours. He was just starting to wonder if his time wouldn't be better spent elsewhere, when the slightest hint of movement from a side entrance near the rear of the building caught his attention.

Wishing he'd brought a pair of binoculars – not that he knew where he'd find one – Jimmy stared at the building across the street. From his vantage point, he could see both the front and the east side of the building, and the entrance he was watching was on the east side, all the way at the rear of the building. It was about the right size for an employee entrance, rather than the grand double doors at the front. There were several ground floor windows on the east side, including one right next to the door – and that was where Jimmy thought he'd seen something.

I can't see the light reflected there, Jimmy noticed. Is it open?

His vigilance was rewarded a moment later when he saw a dark-clad figure emerge from the window. It was followed by another, who turned and pulled the window closed behind it. The two stood together for a moment; then the first started walking toward one of the parked cars. He – Jimmy was pretty sure from their sizes that both were men – got into the car closest to Jimmy, pulled out, and drove away, heading east. After a full minute had passed, the other man stepped away from the building. He got into the other car and left, going west.

Jimmy looked at his watch. 1:46am. The smart thing would be to wait – no, the smart thing would be to not be here in the first place, but since he was, he figured he should wait at least five minutes before leaving his hiding place, just in case the men came back.

One minute and thirty-seven seconds later, Jimmy's patience was at an end. Knowing just how foolish his actions were, nevertheless he emerged from the hedges and ran across the street. He didn't stop running until he'd reached the rear of the building and ducked around the corner, out of sight of anyone driving by. Once there, he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath before poking his head around the corner to examine the door.

His earlier guess was correct – the door was clearly marked as an employee entrance. The window next to it had been pulled down most of the way – in fact, a casual glance would likely miss the small gap between the bottom of the window and the window frame. If Jimmy hadn't seen the two men climbing out through it, he wouldn't have looked twice.

Director Vance said that the entrances were boobytrapped. This is how they were able to get out after they were done setting up, without blowing themselves up. Tony and the others must have figured it out last night and climbed in through the window, avoiding the trap. But they were still inside when the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was passing overhead, and so, when the terrorists detonated their main bomb…

Don't think about that. Just do what you have to do.

He closed his eyes, listening intently. A truck was passing by overhead. Once it was gone, he heard nothing – no other cars, no footsteps, no dogs, nothing to indicate that someone might see him. Quickly he stepped around the corner and reached for the bottom of the window. Before his courage could fail him, he grabbed hold and heaved upward, expecting any moment to see a blinding flash –

But the window opened smoothly – almost too smoothly, given its age. Someone had gone to some trouble to make sure that it would open quickly and quietly, and right now, Jimmy was grateful. He climbed awkwardly through the opening, then turned and pulled it down again, careful to leave it an inch or so above the windowsill, as he'd found it.

So far, so good. Now what?

The room he found himself in was dimly lit by the exit sign over the door and by emergency lights in the hallway just beyond. Jimmy turned to examine the door, and saw right away that Vance had been correct. Small wires were connected to a tiny metal plate inserted between the door and the strike plate – the metal bracket set into the doorjamb. Opening the door would break the connection between the two pieces of metal. Following the wires in the other direction, Jimmy saw what appeared to be a metal lunchbox sitting on the floor behind the door – only he was sure that what was in there was more sinister than a ham-on-rye.

Glancing around, Jimmy saw that this was basically a locker room for the call center employees. Rows of lockers took up most of the three interior walls; the window, a wall-mounted time clock, and a bulletin board covered in OSHA regulation posters used up the available space of the fourth.

Wishing he'd thought to bring a flashlight, Jimmy crossed the room to the opposite door. The emergency lights provided just enough illumination to keep him from bumping into things, but not enough to really see any detail. Stepping through the door, he found himself at one end of a short hallway. Closed doors were spaced irregularly along both sides and at the closest end. Two were restrooms – men's and women's, next to each other. The door at the end, to Jimmy's right, appeared to open into a stairwell. The others could have been offices or storage rooms – Jimmy couldn't tell.

The other end of the hallway opened out into an enormous room – more than half of the available space, given the size of the building – filled with cubicles. The back wall of one was right in front of Jimmy; he could see posters and what appeared to be sales charts, depicting a downward trend, as far as he could tell. Jimmy had never been in sales, but he'd heard stories; very likely this was supposed to be a motivational tool, situated right where everyone would see it as they came in to work. He was glad that his performance was not judged based on volume… Now wouldn't that be depressing?

As dark as the place was, Jimmy was concerned that he might get lost in the cubicle maze. Not that he couldn't find his way out again, but it would be difficult to carry out any sort of systematic search if he couldn't keep his bearings straight. He decided, after a moment's thought, to skip the call center and focus his search higher up.

I already know the entrances are rigged to explode, and I know a safe way in, so I'll let the agents worry about those bombs. But the second night, it really looked like the main force of the explosion came from the top floor; otherwise, why would it do more damage to the overpass than on the first night?

Jimmy retreated down the hallway and paused outside the door to the stairwell. Hand hovering over the doorknob, he closed his eyes and wished for luck.

If I blow myself up tonight, at least Tony and the others will survive, he thought. It's true that the overpass would still be damaged, and people could die; but the odds are that there will be fewer cars this time of night. It's a risk, but I have to take it.

Holding his breath, he put his hand on the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open…

The door opened onto the bottom landing of the stairwell, sans explosion. Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief, but then saw that the door opposite, which led to the outside, was wired similarly to the door into the locker room. Feeling a little foolish for doing so, Jimmy found himself hugging the nearer wall as he started up the stairs, trying to stay as far away from the deadly lunchbox as possible.

The door onto the second floor was locked, as was the third. Jimmy kept going up, trying doors as he went. After the fourth floor door refused to open for him as well, he started to worry. This stairwell was probably here to allow people to escape in case of fire, but of course no one was going to allow access into their offices – the back of their office, at that – by the other tenants of the building. He hoped that the call center's door hadn't locked behind him; otherwise, it was going to be a very long night – or far too short, depending on his point of view…

He breathed a sigh of relief when the door to the seventh floor opened for him. If his hypothesis was correct and the main bomb was located somewhere on this floor, it made sense for the terrorists to have left the door unlocked to allow them access. With luck, the call center's door would be unlocked as well – after all, they'd had to exit through the window, so they had to be able to get to it. Hopefully, that meant the way out would still be open to Jimmy, as well.

He stepped through the door onto the seventh floor – the sign on the door proclaimed it to be the Item Processing Center for Tri-State Bank and Trust – and paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He hadn't realized just how much the lights from the parking lot had been adding to the lights in the call center, but now that he was on a higher floor, he missed the extra illumination. Back pressed against the wall, Jimmy took a moment to consider his position.

Unless I'm completely turned around, the part of the building closest to the overpass should be… that way. He looked to his right, along the wall that contained the door he'd just come through. Down that wall to the corner, then along the adjacent wall about a third of the length of the building, should be the best place to put a bomb to ensure the maximum amount of damage to the road as possible. Of course, the exact placement would depend on whatever might be in that part of the room. Knowing there was only one way to find out, Jimmy began to move carefully in that direction, one hand on the wall to guide him, the other held out before him.

He made it five whole feet before running into a table. He threw out his arms to catch himself and knocked what felt like several piles of reports to the floor.

Fantastic job, Palmer, he thought sarcastically. I really hope the terrorists have managed to disable the alarm here, or this is going to be a bit awkward to explain…

Truthfully, he hadn't even considered the fact that this was, technically, a bank that he was, technically, breaking into. He found the idea didn't freak him out as much as it once might. Even the thought that he'd forgotten gloves and left his fingerprints all over the place didn't worry him. Avoiding prison was so far down on his list of priorities tonight, it didn't even make the first page.

Kneeling down, Jimmy carefully felt around until he found the toppled reports. Fortunately, he didn't seem to have knocked the papers out of their folders; there were no stray sheets that he could feel. He picked them up and set them back on the table, hoping he'd managed to place them in approximately their original position. It didn't occur to him to not pick up the folders, even though it would either be wasted effort or could be blamed on the terrorists. He'd been bumped into by rude classmates and had textbooks and notepads knocked out of his arms hundreds of times; he refused to be the kind of person who would leave someone else's belongings on the floor.

Moving carefully around the table, Jimmy continued along the wall. There was another table a few feet past the first one, but he had learned to keep his outstretched hand lower and thus managed to avoid another accident. A few feet farther on, and now he was coming closer to the emergency lights mounted at the intersection of the two walls. It still wasn't bright by any means, but now at least he should be able to see the shapes around him.

He looked around, and groaned when he realized that this area of the processing center was covered by yet another cubicle maze. It started about ten feet out from the wall he'd been following, creating a sort of hallway that he'd been moving through. As he approached the corner, he saw that there was about twenty feet between the adjacent wall and the cubicle wall on that side. Once he rounded the corner of the cubical wall, he saw why.

About thirty feet away, some sort of large machine was placed in between the wall and the cubicles. There was a break in the cubicle wall there, allowing for a hallway into the cubicle maze; the machine basically sat at a T intersection. Just past the machine was darkness; the only other set of emergency lights on this wall was all the way at the far corner, too far to aid Jimmy now.

What is that thing? Jimmy asked himself as he moved toward it, now hugging the cubicle wall. The actual wall of the building had windows spaced along it every ten feet or so; Jimmy doubted that anyone would be able to see him from the outside, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Once he reached the intersection, Jimmy spent several moments examining the strange contraption. It was white, approximately ten feet long and three or four feet wide, and was about the same height as his desk at work. The end farthest from the light was, fortunately, the easiest to puzzle out; a chair, a monitor, and a small numeric keypad implied that this was where the operator would sit. The rest of the machine was harder to understand – until an old memory suddenly popped into Jimmy's head.

I know what this is! Back in high school, his economics class had taken a field trip to the Federal Reserve Bank in Philadelphia. Until now, the only parts of that trip that stood out in Jimmy's mind had been the display of shredded dollar bills – what happened when money became too old and mutilated to be used – and the trouble that Brad Potter had caused when he was caught shoplifting in the gift shop. But now he recalled part of the tour where the teacher and the tour guide had actually been trying to teach them something; and he thanked the geek he had been – and still was, he'd admit – that had paid attention.

When a check was written, he remembered, it would be deposited into a bank, which would send it to the Federal Reserve Bank. The Federal Reserve then would send it on to the bank that held the account. To facilitate this process, the check would have its bank's routing number – a unique code – and the account number encoded in magnetic ink along the bottom of the check. The bank where the check was deposited would encode the amount on the check, also in magnetic ink. When the check was sent to the Federal Reserve, large document sorters were used to read the encoded numbers and sort them to be sent on, first to another branch of the Federal Reserve if necessary, and then to the account holder's bank.

Banks received several thousand checks per day, Jimmy had learned, and obviously they could not all be processed by hand. The checks that the bank received from the Federal Reserve were run through a similar document sorter that would read the encoding on the check. What Jimmy was now looking at was a smaller version of the large sorting machines that he'd seen on his field trip – much smaller, but probably capable of processing the volume of checks that a bank the size of the ill-named Tri-State Bank and Trust received each day.

The mystery solved, Jimmy moved past the sorter and continued down the main hallway. He had to slow down as he left the last vestiges of light behind him, and he continued to use the cubicle wall to guide him. He encountered two more breaks in the walls – two more entrances to the maze – before finally reaching the far wall; but other than that, he saw nothing.

Part of him wondered idly why the cubicles were designed so that no one got to look out the windows. But this was just a distraction from the bigger question that was worrying him – how was he going to find a bomb, something that he had no idea what it would look like, in the dark?

I'm never going to be able to see anything inside the cubicles… but then, they couldn't, either. Unless they risked turning on the lights – but I can't imagine they wanted to do that any more than I do. Of course, they were probably smart enough to bring flashlights with them, so that gives them a definite advantage over me.

Frustrated and no little bit disheartened, Jimmy turned around and started back. His original estimate for the optimal placement of the bomb, if it wasn't along the wall itself, would then indicate the rows of cubicles between the first and second cubicle hallways. He was really wishing for a flashlight now; he didn't relish the idea of searching the cubicles by feel and possibly triggering an explosion by accident.

He had just reached the sorter again when he heard a most unwelcome sound – that of the doorway to the stairwell banging open. And then –

"Jesus, Carl! Can't you be careful?"

"What? The alarm's off and there's no one here. Unless you didn't disarm it –"

"I told you, I know what I'm doing! Besides, if I hadn't, there woulda been cops here a long damn time ago, wouldn't there?"

Frozen to the spot, Jimmy broke out into a cold sweat. He could see the beams of their flashlights bouncing off the walls; he could hear the sounds of their footsteps – not to mention the loud arguing. At least they hadn't snuck up on him… but what was he going to do now?