Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(96)

“Where’s the warehouse?” Mark asked.

“Across the street from the Gangplank Marina.”

“Okay, I know the place. What’s the radiation for?”

“So help me. The minute I get out of here, I’m gonna cut your fat neck,” Stevenson threatened.

Bukowski’s eyes darted from Stevenson and back to Dr. Jitar before he settled on Mark. “Can you really help me, man? I mean, really? You won’t let Stevenson or Fallon get to me, will you?”

“No,” Chief McDonald stepped forward. “I’ll contact the FBI as soon as we’re done here. We can offer witness protection if you cooperate.”

“Bukowski,” Stevenson growled. “Not one more word.”

Dr. Jitar stepped over to his bedside with a roll of white surgical tape. “You must be quiet, sir. Your friend is trying to speak.” He placed a wide piece of the tape over Stevenson’s mouth before he turned back to Bukowski. “Now. What is it you needed to tell these good men?”

Mark nodded at the doctor in appreciation. At last, the man understood what was really going on. Stevenson too. He growled and grumbled, but he couldn’t threaten his buddy anymore.

“Fallon’s got a dirty bomb,” Bukowski blurted.

God, no. Mark’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s how he’s gonna kick off his revolution. With fireworks and lots of dead bodies.”

“When?”

“Today. Umm, tonight, I think. Hell, I’m not real sure. Fallon don’t talk to me much.”

“Where’s the bomb now?”

“I don’t know. Fallon’s making it. Him and this other guy. Them’s the only two who know exactly where it’s gonna blow. I just delivered the stuff to the warehouse like I was told to.”

“What stuff?”

“SEMTEX, C4, and all that damned radioactive crap I been packing for weeks. I’m screwed, ain’t I?”

Mark pressed for more information. “How much plastic explosives?”

“Oh, gawd, I hauled crates of that crap. I don’t know how much there is. A couple hundred pounds maybe?”

“Surely Fallon can’t fund a revolution by himself? Who’s financing him?” Mark asked.

“Don’t know, but he’s got some rich guy jerking his chain. I think it’s the same guy who’s been sending the money. I don’t know who he is, though. Ain’t nobody else talked to him but Fallon,” Bukowski replied, his eyes wide with concern. “Oh, gawd! I ain’t gonna die, am I?”

Mark stepped closer to the frantic man’s bedside. “How’d you meet Fallon?”

“In the Army. A bunch of us were in Iraq back in ’91. I should’ve known he’d do something like this to me. He was a mean bastard back then, too.”

“Do you know anything about the radioactive isotopes you handled?” David asked. “Were there labels on the containers? Did you wear any kind of a dosimeter?”

“Damn it, man. What the hell are you talking about?”

David tapped his cell phone screen a few times before he lifted it where Bukowski could see. “It would’ve looked like this. A dosimeter measures exposure to radiation. Anyone handling isotopes should wear one.”

Bukowski took a quick look and dissolved into whining. “There weren’t nuthin. Oh, gawd! They just looked like big plastic boxes to me. Didn’t have no danger signs or nuthin’ on ’em.” He writhed under the sheets. “Man, he’s done killed me, and I helped him do it. Oh, gawd!”

David placed a hand on the worried man’s shoulder. “The faster we find the bomb, the quicker Dr. Jitar can help you. Time is of the essence. The radiation your body absorbed is eating away at your nerves and muscles as we speak. Is there anything else you can tell us?”

Bukowski rolled his eyes, blinking furiously and panting hard. “Wait. I heard Fallon talking to this new guy one time. They was talking real low and quiet, but all a sudden, Fallon blows up. He tells this new guy to mind his gawddamned business and go to hell. Said something about how the Vice President’s got a thing or two coming to him, too.”

“The Vice President? As in Vice President Winston?” Mark asked to be sure. David’s daring hack into federal servers was spot on. Chaos Now’s target was Winston.

Bukowski nodded adamantly. “Yeah. That’s what he said. Oh yeah, he said something about Constitution Avenue, too. It was all gonna happen on Constitution Avenue. I remember now.”

“That’s where Fallon intends to start the revolution?” Mark asked, shaking his head at the magnitude of this new information.

The poor man’s head kept bobbing.

“When?”

Bukowski glanced at Stevenson before he shrugged his reply. “I don’t know. He don’t like me and Stevenson enough to share what he’s doing. We’re just grunts.”

Mark jerked his head at the door, signaling to David they needed to go. “Mr. Bukowski, you do what Dr. Jitar tells you, and we’ll find the bomb, okay?”

“Yes, sir, I sure will.”

That seemed to calm the big guy. Stevenson still strained and grunted, but his partner in crime appeared to have found some measure of peace.