06 Double Danger (32 page)

“Which would, of course, make him a valuable asset for any attempt at peace talks. He’d be the ideal negotiator.” Simon felt anticipation rising.

“Anyone else seeing a similarity here to another lost son?” Jillian asked, excitement coloring her voice.

There was silence for a moment and then Hannah let out a whoop. “Joseph. Oh, my God, Bilaal is Yusuf.”

“It fits,” Jillian said. “And if you think about it, what better way to instigate an incident whose ramifications would certainly threaten the world as we know it. Bilaal is a hero among his people. And he’s respected by certain parties within Israel. But if he were killed in a meeting with Israelis taking place on U.S. soil, you can bet your bottom dollar the entire Arabic world would want retribution. And they’d look first to their sworn enemies. The Israelis—”

“—and us,” Harrison finished for her. “We’d be drawn right back into the heart of a war in the Middle East.”

“It’s Operation Yusuf,” Jillian continued. “It has to be. But if it’s going to work, they can’t just bomb the meeting or crash a plane into the building. They can only take out Bilaal. It has to be an assassination.”

“I think you’re right,” Hannah agreed. “And all the other stuff that’s happened was designed either to facilitate the strike or to keep us from figuring out what was really going on.”

“Well, they damn near succeeded there,” Simon said. “But no matter what they were planning, the meeting has been canceled. So the threat, if there was one, has been eliminated.”

“Except that it hasn’t,” Harrison asserted. “Look at the last page of the document. At the very bottom. There’s a date and an address. They didn’t cancel it. They moved it. And buried the details in the fine print. So much for standard operating procedures.”

“Well whatever the original intent, the meeting is happening today at three.” Jillian leaned closer to the screen, her expression grim.

“That’s in less than twenty minutes,” Simon said. “If they’re sticking to the original schedule, Bilaal is giving the opening statement.”

“Which means there’s no time.” Their eyes met across the table. “We need to let them know.”

“I’m trying to contact security at the summit,” Harrison replied, “but there’s no one answering. Looks like someone’s jamming signals. Unless they are trying to make a call, they won’t even realize the phones are down.”

“What do we know about the location?” Jillian asked, pushing to her feet, tablet in hand.

“The building is on the East River in Murray Hill,” Hannah said. “It’s mixed use, commercial and residential. The UN maintains a conference room there. And it looks like you were still right about the FDR. According to my information, the building straddles the highway just like the UN. You guys are only like ten blocks away. If you hurry, you can make it.”

T
he Essex Arms had been built at the turn of the century, its graceful lines indicative of the financial wherewithal of the original tenants. But at the moment, Simon wasn’t interested in architecture.

The UN conference suite occupied both the third and fourth floors of the building. What had originally been two apartments had been combined to make the main conference room with a mezzanine built above it in the back to house the translation booths.

The suite was accessed by a private elevator. Entrance required a passcode, which Hannah had provided before they’d lost telephone contact, the lines still jammed. Simon and Jillian stood in it now, watching as the numbers slowly inched upward.

“We’re going to have to move quickly,” Simon said, checking his watch. “There won’t be a lot of time for explanations. We’ve got to size up the situation and identify the interloper before he has the chance to get off a shot.”

“My guess is he’ll be in the mezzanine. It’d provide the best angle for a shot.”

“I agree. According to the blueprint Hannah downloaded, access is up a set of stairs in the back of the room to the right. If necessary, we’ll split up. One of us will stay with Bilaal while the other heads for the mezzanine, hopefully cutting the shooter off. But with communications down, if we have to move fast, UN security isn’t going to know who we are.”

“Which means they could mistake us for hostiles.” Jillian nodded. “But I don’t see that we have any other choice.”

“Hopefully, we’ll have enough time to explain ourselves, but just in case, be ready. And follow my lead.” He drew his weapon as a bell dinged and the doors slid open.

They stepped out into a short hallway with a single door at the end.

“I’d have expected there to be security,” Jillian said, pulling the Glock from its holster.

“Despite what Ms. Giovanni said, security at the UN is notoriously lax even for something as delicate as this. And besides, according to public record, this meeting isn’t even happening.”

“Yes, but I’m thinking this is our missing link. Moving this meeting had to have been a result of the attacks on the city and the elevated terror alert. Maybe not a perfect example of standard operating procedures but probably a predictable one,” Jillian said as they moved to flank the door. “Which means that there had to have already been a plan in place to move the meeting here should something happen to compromise the security at the Secretariat.”

“And if the Consortium has someone on the inside, they’d have known that.”

“So clearly there’s a reason why they wanted the meeting moved here. Easier access or maybe even less security.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time to figure it out. You ready?”

She nodded, and on a silent count of three, Simon reached for the door and swung through it, weapon raised, Jillian following right behind. In front of them, just to the right of a set of double doors, a man in uniform jumped to his feet, eyes wide with surprise as he reached for his gun.

Jillian held up her credentials as Simon lifted a finger to his lips.

For a moment, he thought the guard was going to refuse to cooperate, but then he nodded, and both men lowered their guns.

“Has the meeting started?” Jillian asked, keeping her voice almost to a whisper.

The man nodded. “About two minutes ago.”

“And Bilaal Hamden? Is he in there?”

“Yes. I saw him myself.” The guard frowned, his eyes still on the gun in Simon’s hand. “What’s this all about?”

“We have reason to believe that someone inside is planning to kill Bilaal.”

“Impossible,” the man said. “The only way inside is past me. And everyone attending was cleared, first through the UN and then through me.” He waved a hand at a list on his desk.

“Then you’ve got a mole.” Jillian reached past him to pick up the list, scanning it quickly. “I can’t be sure, but I don’t see any names that weren’t in the original file.”

“Is your radio working?” Simon asked the guard.

“As far as I know.” He retrieved it, holding it out for Simon to see.

“Is there someone in there you know you can trust?” Simon continued.

Confusion and doubt washed across the man’s face.

“Look,” Simon cajoled, “I realize we’re asking you to take a leap of faith here, but if we’re wrong then there’s no harm done, but if we’re right, then you’ll be helping us save a life.”

“All right. Yes. There is a guard inside that I trust. His name is Mikhail.”

“Great.” Simon nodded. “Quickly now, see if you can raise him on the radio. Tell him you’re bringing in some last-minute guests. We don’t want to alarm anyone.”

The man pressed a button on the radio, speaking quietly in what appeared to be Ukrainian.

“English,” Simon ordered.

“It doesn’t matter,” the guard said. “It’s not working.” He spoke again into the radio, this time in English, and then held it out for them to hear. A burst of static filled the room.

“They must be jamming the radio frequency as well,” Simon said, his mind turning over alternatives. The idea of walking into the room blind did not appeal, but they really had no other choice. At least they’d had a chance to study the blueprints. “Is there another way into the room besides through those doors?”

“No.” The guard shook his head apologetically. “There’s only one way in. It was designed that way for security.”

“All right, then we’ll just have to go in blind,” Simon said. “I assume you know how to use that gun?”

“Of course.” The guard was back to indignant.

“Okay then—” Simon paused, his eyes dropping to the man’s ID badge, “Danya, we’re going to count on you for backup.” He waited while Danya drew his pistol and then looked to Jillian. “You ready for this?”

“Absolutely,” she said, already moving toward the double doors. “And like you said, if things go south, we’ll split up.”

“You go first.” Simon waved the guard forward. “They’ll be expecting you.”

Danya looked for a moment as if he was going to balk, but then, with a nod, he pushed through the doors, careful to keep the gun out of sight.

As if on cue, the man standing at the podium off to Simon’s immediate left introduced Bilaal. A young man in a business suit and traditional kaffiyeh rose from his seat on the dais, his broad smile filling the room as he lifted a hand in greeting.

Across the room, another security guard started toward the door and the newcomers, but Danya waved him off with a shake of his head. Jillian moved farther into the room, keeping close to the wall, her eyes scanning the attendees for signs of danger.

Simon, his gun held down at his side, lifted his gaze to the mezzanine. The glare from the room’s chandelier bounced off the soundproof glass of the two translation booths situated on either end of the little balcony. In the middle, a narrow, open hallway connected the two rooms, the head of the staircase just visible at the center of the hall.

Bilaal began to speak, and all other noise in the room dropped to a hushed whisper. Above, in the hallway, something moved, light bouncing off something metal.

“Gun,” Simon yelled, already in motion as he ran toward the dais and Bilaal, taking the stairs two at a time, his mind registering Jillian running for the staircase and the assailant as he leaped into the air, the sound of a shot ringing through the room.

His body slammed into Bilaal, driving the younger man to the ground, the two of them rolling off the dais onto the floor behind it. For a moment, the room went silent, and then it erupted with cries of panic as terrified summit attendees dove for shelter.

“Are you hurt?” Simon asked, as he rolled off the Palestinian, wincing as red-hot pain shot down his injured leg.

“No.” Bilaal shook his head. “I am all right. But what happened?”

“Someone tried to kill you,” Simon said, fighting off the pain to look up toward the mezzanine where the shot had originated. There was no sign of the assailant or of Jillian. His gaze dropped back to Bilaal. “Do you have bodyguards here?”

“Yes.” The man nodded to two burly men pushing their way through the panicked crowd.

“Good. I’m going to need you to go with them. They’ll get you out of the building safely. My people should be downstairs by now. They’ll make sure you’re all escorted to safety.”

“What are you going to do?” Bilaal asked.

“I’ve got to help my partner,” he said, the word taking on a new depth of meaning as he thought of Jillian. “She’s gone after the shooter.”

“I can help,” the young man said, clearly eager for payback. “I have been trained. And I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing.” Simon shook his head. “If half of what I’ve read about you is true, you’re the hope of the future. So go, now. Be safe.”

Simon pushed to his feet, stumbling slightly as his leg protested. Damn it all to hell. Calling on every ounce of training he’d ever had, he pushed aside the pain, focusing instead on the mezzanine, watching for any sign of movement.

Then as soon as he was certain Bilaal was safely surrounded by his own men, Simon took off, heading for the staircase, ignoring the ripping pain accompanying each step. There’d been no further shots. But there was also no other means of escape, which meant the assailant was still up there—with Jillian.

About halfway up, he forced himself to slow his pace, not wanting to walk into an ambush. Behind him a stair squeaked, and he spun around, leading with his gun, but it was only the guard, Danya.

“What are you doing here?” Simon asked.

“I thought I could help,” the man offered, lifting his hand to show that he still had his gun.

“All right.” Simon nodded, motioning them both upward again. “But keep as quiet as possible. The guy up there is cornered, so he’s bound to be spooked.”

They covered the last of the stairs, and then together moved into the hallway, turning back to back in a slow circle trying to assess potential danger. But the hall was empty.

“Can you handle the room on the right?” Simon asked, shooting his gaze in the direction of the translation booth.

Danya nodded, already moving out, staying in a crouch as he made his way forward. Satisfied that the
security guard knew what he was doing, Simon turned toward the other translation booth, inching forward, leading with his gun.

He paused at the open doorway, and then, heart pounding, swung inside. The room, like the hallway, was empty. On a sigh of pure frustration, he turned back in time to see Danya emerging from the other booth, shaking his head. They met in the middle, Simon spinning around, trying to find some other method of egress.

On the back wall, there was a shallow closet crammed with equipment and heavy metal shelving. There was no way it was big enough to hide a grown man, let alone a man holding a woman hostage. His imagination intent on presenting the worst-case scenario, Simon moved to the railing, looking down into the now almost empty conference room.

There was still no sign of Jillian.

He forced himself to replay the image he’d seen as he’d jumped to protect the Palestinian. She’d been running for the stairs. He’d actually seen her start up as he’d slammed into Bilaal. So she simply had to be up here somewhere.

He turned back to face the empty hallway, his mind spinning, his heart twisting in pain. Where the hell had she gone?