Hotchner sat with his arm in a cast, looking thoroughly disheveled. If it weren't for Reid handing him an emergency kit and fresh clothes, the bandages on his leg would have been plainly visible. Jack didn't fare much better; his suit jacket was caked in dust, and he reeked of gunpowder. Without a change of clothes, he appeared even more battered than Hotchner.
"Joanna is okay?" Jack asked, even though he already had a sense of the answer.
Hotchner's expression turned odd. "She's still in surgery, but the doctors say her life isn't in danger. Her facial injuries, though, might be an issue later."
Jack didn't press further, but something about Hotchner's demeanor seemed off. When Jack had arrived at the scene earlier, Joanna was unconscious but clearly didn't need CPR. Reflecting on it now, the way Hotchner had been kneeling by her side wasn't consistent with standard first aid. The logical conclusion was embarrassing: Joanna must have said something dramatic, leading Hotchner to kiss her, believing it to be her dying wish.
Jack resolved to ask Garcia for footage from the nearby hawk-eye surveillance cameras. The perfect angle might confirm his suspicion.
Meanwhile, the command center and meeting room screens displayed live feeds from various news outlets. Helicopter footage of Central Park dominated the broadcasts. Some daring reporters, donning safety helmets, had even ventured close to the blast site, using the firefighting efforts as a backdrop for their live reports.
Jack sat in the small conference room, fidgeting and trying to distract himself from intrusive thoughts. It wasn't working. Hannah's and Jessica's perfume smelled too good. Emily's figure was stunning. His boss had an undeniable elegance. Even Garcia's chubby cheeks seemed adorable.
He pinched his thigh hard, the sharp pain snapping him out of it just in time to hear Rossi's voice.
"…So, the real goal of 'Dark Jihad' wasn't a series of coordinated attacks like the London bombings. Instead, it was a single large-scale explosion aimed to rival 9/11 in terms of casualties. For this, they prepared at least 1.5 tons of C4 combined with chromates and other explosives."
"That's my rough estimate of the blast power," Reid added, stroking the stubble on his chin. "Besides C4, they also used chromates, peroxides, perchlorates, chlorates, and even red mercury to amplify the explosion."
"Maybe they felt their C4 stockpile wasn't enough to completely destroy the hospital and added those materials," he continued. "According to ATF intelligence, they've already uncovered some leads."
"What about the source of the C4?" Jack asked, unfazed by the after-the-fact insights. He was more curious about how the Durango Cartel had acquired so much military-grade explosive. "Let me guess—somehow this ties back to the CIA?"
"Based on previous intel, the Durango Cartel's C4 came from the Bolivian military," Dana Moje explained with a nuanced expression. "Since Anthony Vargas' arrest, they've refused to disclose their smuggling routes. But certain departments suspect they mixed the C4 into cocaine shipments to sneak it into the country."
Jack was speechless. Smuggling contraband by mixing it with other substances was standard practice, but this was the first time he'd heard of C4 being hidden in cocaine.
"Some people think they can bend the rules indefinitely without consequences," Rossi remarked cryptically.
Jack understood the implication. It wasn't that no one knew about the cartel's smuggling routes—it was that certain agencies, likely the CIA or DEA, had their reasons for looking the other way. With the Central Park disaster so high-profile, however, someone would have to take the fall.
Even so, the economic damage from the explosion was staggering. Nearly a quarter of Central Park had been severely damaged, with culturally significant statues and rare flora among the casualties. Given American bureaucracy, it would take years and tens of millions—if not billions—of dollars to restore the park.
The surrounding historic buildings also bore the brunt of the shockwave. Central Park is a long, narrow rectangle: four kilometers from north to south, but only 0.8 kilometers wide. Iconic structures line its periphery, and some sustained significant damage. One news report mentioned a wheel hub smashing through the window of an apartment 1.3 kilometers away, terrifying the young couple inside.
As usual, the chaos triggered unrest in high-crime areas. Several shootouts had already broken out between overly "enthusiastic" residents and the NYPD. By tomorrow, news outlets would likely feature tearful interviews with mothers defending their sons with phrases like:
"He was the heart of our community, always helping neighbors."
"If you knew him, you'd see he was a good man—a loving husband, father, and friend. He didn't deserve this. We need answers."
The NYPD was in for a long night. Following the deafening explosion, the city would be echoing with sirens until dawn.
"So, who exactly was in St. Barclay's Hospital?" Jessica asked. "What kind of VIP needed Secret Service protection and made it a target for 'Dark Jihad'?"
Hotchner, as a firsthand witness, knew most of the story. However, since Jack and Joey Reacher had communicated via radio, he'd only heard Jack's side of the conversation.
"The President of Bolivia," Jack revealed. "According to Rossi's earlier intel, the only obstacle to Anthony Vargas' extradition was the Bolivian president's faction.
"The Durango Cartel's true objective was always the Bolivian president, who was in the U.S. for heart surgery. By bombing the hospital, they intended to frame it as a massive terrorist attack carried out by 'Dark Jihad,' with the president as collateral damage. It was a brilliant plan—meticulously orchestrated and mutually beneficial."
Durango provided the money and materials. 'Dark Jihad' supplied the personnel and reputation. Both sides had something to gain. Whoever masterminded this had a truly imaginative, almost genius-level mind.
"So, they completely played us," Emily fumed.
"All the prior incidents—the random shootings of eight innocent pedestrians, the NYPD system hack, the car bomb attack on Hotchner and Joanna—were just a smokescreen. Their ultimate goal was to use the chaos of a terrorist attack to assassinate Anthony Vargas."
Reid, ever the rational voice, analyzed, "That's why our profiling seemed inconsistent. Fortunately, their attempt to stage a 'suicide-by-cop' scenario tipped us off. Without that, we wouldn't have linked the shootings to terrorism, let alone taken preemptive action."
Hotchner added, "Thanks to Jack, you're not digging through rubble for our bodies right now. Without his quick thinking, we might never have connected this to the Durango Cartel. The evidence would have pointed to a premeditated terrorist attack, not an assassination."
"But without the team's profiling, we wouldn't have stopped it either," their boss interjected with a smile. "St. Barclay's is a 22-story hospital. If that truckload of explosives had detonated in the basement, it would've been the worst attack on New York since 9/11.
"So, thank you all for your help. And of course, a special thanks to our fearless Agent Jack Tavoler. Without you, thousands of families in New York would be in mourning tonight."
"Strictly speaking," Rossi interrupted with mock indignation, "Jack is still part of the BAU."
"Yes, yes," Dana Moje teased, taking Rossi's arm like a mother placating a child. "Why don't we all grab a drink? Tonight has been way too exciting, don't you think?"
(End of Chapter)
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