Blaze of Glory (24 page)

“Can you zoom in closer?” J. J. said.

“Do it,” Mitchell ordered.

“She looks nervous. Her hands. Focus on her hands.”

The camera tightened its view.

“Pink. Pink fingernail polish.”

Moyer stepped closer. “Short nails. Chewed nails.”

“Someone had better clue me in—” Mitchell began, but a tech cut him off.

“I’ve got smoke!”

“About a mile away—”

The floor vibrated. J. J. turned to the monitor watching the protesters. Thousands were running from something. Some hobbled.

J. J. looked back at the young woman with the pink fingernails. “Oh . . . no . . .”

CHAPTER 26

“BOSS THAT’S GOTTA BE her.” Despite the activity on the other monitors, J. J. couldn’t tear his attention away from the young woman in the maternity outfit. An RFID badge hung from her neck, but J. J. wasn’t convinced.

Moyer didn’t question him. It was one of the things J. J. admired about Moyer’s leadership style: he trusted his men. “Agent Baker. We’ve got serious trouble.”

J. J. started for the door. Moyer and Mitchell followed on his heels. Before J. J. could cross the threshold he heard Mitchell shouting. “Lockdown! I want a complete lockdown—”

J. J. didn’t bother listening to the rest. He had other things on his mind.

The corridor filled with men and women in suits. Most looked confused, several looked angry without knowing why.

“Stairs,” Moyer ordered.

J. J. had already turned that direction. The elevators would be too slow and possibly jammed with people. Most likely the Secret Service had seized control of the elevators.

Slamming the palm of his hand into the panic bar on the door of the stairway, J. J. sprinted into the narrow enclosure, descending the steps three at a time. He could hear the pounding of boot-clad shoes behind him. He heard other steps as well. A glance over his shoulder showed Moyer bearing down on him, Mitchell two steps behind, and a female agent fast-stepping to catch up.

A plastic sign hung by each door listing the floor. J. J. was thankful they weren’t running up the stairs. Seconds passed like glaciers. At the fourth floor a searing realization hammered J. J.’s brain. His weapons were still locked away in the control room. It didn’t matter, he decided. The Secret Service, local police, and other security forces protecting their heads of state would be armed. Not that it would matter.

He thought of the basement workshop in the villa he and the team had searched. The PE-4 plastic explosives had been disturbing enough, but the image of nails and ball bearings took what little breath he had left away. His Commander in Chief was moments from being rattled with bits of metal propelled by the explosive vest worn by the woman standing near the corner of the room.

When he reached the second floor, J. J. yanked the door open and plunged into the hallway. Secret Service agents stood near the entry doors to the meeting room. A line of metal carts holding food, glasses, pitchers, and other items necessary to serve an up-class meal to world leaders and their spouses lined one wall.

He started for the doors when a smallish Hispanic Secret Service agent stepped in his way and raised his service weapon until he had drawn a bead on J. J.’s head. J. J. put on the brakes, stopping just a few feet from the agent.

“I’m on your side.”

“Stand back—”

Mitchell’s voice came from near J. J.’s ear. “Ease up, Danny. He’s with me.”

The agent lowered his weapon.

“What have we got?”

“We’ve got the lockout in place,” Agent Danny said. “Everyone inside knows something has happened but has remained calm. I’m assuming something happened outside.”

“Something is going to happen inside if you don’t let me in there,” J. J. snapped.

Danny looked at Mitchell.

“Give me a rundown, J. J.,” Mitchell said. “Make it the Reader’s Digest version.”

“The woman I pointed out to you. She’s a suicide bomber.”

“How can you know that?”

Moyer stepped between J. J. and Mitchell. “Maybe we could have this chat later. We may be out of time as it is.”

J. J. watched Mitchell weigh the situation. “I’m the demo guy. I’m the guy you need to disarm the bomb.”

“If she’s a suicide bomber, then—”

“Make a decision, Agent.” Moyer barked out the command. “This isn’t practice. Two bombs have already gone off. We don’t have time for a conversation.”

Mitchell straightened. “Let’s go.”

J. J. inhaled so deeply his lungs hurt, then let out the air. Two seconds later he walked into a room that could be ablaze any moment.

DELARAM FINGERED THE BUTTON on the trigger inside the pocket of her maternity dress.

Push it.

Her eyes darted around the room. People, nervous about the lockdown, whispered insistently. Security personnel stood by the doors.

Push it.

The push-button activator felt heavy. She ran her thumb over the button. A simple movement would end it all. Just push the little green button down and it would be over. She’d never know what happened. The explosion would tear through her body, burning every inch of her inside and out. Bits of her bone would become shrapnel, but she would feel nothing.

Just press it. Do it now.

Delaram tried to muster the strength to complete the act. Fire and metal would spread through the whole room. The ocean-side windows would be shattered by the force of the concussion. Those standing near the windows might be carried along with the glass.

Push it, Delaram. Push it. Push it for your mother. Push it for your father. Just press the button and be done with the nightmare.

The image of her battered parents—her brutalized father resting his head in her mother’s lap—played on her mind in vivid colors. She stopped seeing the others in the room. Tears began to flow.

“Hello.”

Delaram raised her eyes. Before her stood a man about her age, dressed in black. He had a friendly smile and kind eyes.

“Do you speak English?”

Delaram applied a slight pressure to the button.

“My name is J. J.” He touched his chest, then motioned to her.

“You don’t want to be here.”

“I’m guessing you don’t either.”

“I have to do this.” Her voice sounded robotic, even to her own ears.

“I can help.”

“No one can help. I have to do this. I have to do this now. Then it will all be over.”

“I know what you’re here to do.”

“They left me here to do this alone. He left. He made me do this, then left.”

“That’s the way those animals are. Let me help you.”

“It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late. You left your fingernails for us.”

Delaram wasn’t sure she heard correctly. “You . . .”

“We found them at the villa outside of Rome. You were there, weren’t you? You left them because you thought someone like me would find them.”

She shook her head. “It’s too late. If I don’t do this, he will.”

THE WOMAN’S BLEAK WORDS chilled J. J. to the marrow. “Who?”

“I don’t know who he is. They call him Abasi. That’s all I know . . . I have to do this.”

“No you don’t.” J. J. lowered his tone. “I told you my name is J. J. What’s yours?”

He heard rustling behind him.

“No one move!” Delaram’s voice echoed off the walls.

J. J. looked over his shoulder. Mitchell and two other agents stood there, guns pointed at the woman’s head. “Boss, I need working room here.”

“Back off, Agent Baker,” Moyer said.

Mitchell glared at him. “You don’t call the shots here.”

“I know that, but you’re not helping. Take a step back.”

J. J. watched as Mitchell and his crew withdrew one step. He looked into the woman’s eyes and saw fear and surrender. “If I’m going to die, I’d at least like to know who I’m dying with.”

“Delaram.”

“Delaram. It’s time we put an end to this. I can help. Will you let me? I know—”

“You know nothing!”

J. J. raised a hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared . . . scared like you.”

“They have my parents. If I don’t do this, they will kill them.”

J. J.’s heart stuttered. A person would do almost anything to save a loved one. “I figured it was something like that. I can tell you’re not a zealot.”

“I don’t believe in anything.”

“I think you do. You’ve hesitated. You’ve hesitated because you believe there is a difference between right and wrong.”

“I’m going to die anyway.”

“I’m not going to leave you, Delaram, even if that means I die with you.”

She lowered her head. “Nothing matters.”

J. J. spoke softly. “You matter, Delaram. These people matter. I know you’re in a horrible situation. Let me help.”

“You can’t. There is nothing you can do. Even if you shoot me, the bomb goes off.”

J. J. didn’t like the sound of that. “Delaram, look at me.” She kept her eyes down. J. J. raised his voice. “Delaram, I said look at me.” She did. “Look in my eyes. Do you think I’m lying to you?”

She shook her head.

“I’m going to help you, and you’re going to let me. Understood?” She didn’t respond. “The first thing we’re going to do is empty the room.”

“If I don’t kill them, my parents will be killed. I don’t care what happens to me—”

“But you do care what happens to these people. Let me help.”

Tears cascaded down her face. J. J. turned to Moyer. “Clear the room, Boss.”

Moyer studied Delaram. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, J. J.”

“We can’t wait any longer. I believe her when she says someone else could set off the bomb. We have very few choices.” He turned back to Delaram. “I will stay with you. I will try to disarm the bomb.”

“My parents . . .” She began to sob.

“I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, but I know you will do what is right, even if it means the worst for your parents.”

Delaram gave a slight nod.

“Do it, Boss. Take the team with you.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to disarm the thing.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then I can’t, but I’ll be getting off easy. You’re the one who’ll have to tell Tess.”

Moyer’s gaze said volumes. “Agent Baker. Clear the room.”

As the dignitaries filed from the room in silence, J. J. took a step closer to Delaram. “You’ve done the right thing.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me about the bomb.”

MOYER BACKED INTO THE corridor to make room for the crowd to exit. He bumped into someone. At his shoulder stood Zinsser, behind him Rich, Pete, and Jose.

“We felt the rumble,” Rich said before Moyer had a chance to ask. “Figured something might be up.”

“How did you know to come here?”

Rich shrugged. “Simple. We followed the Secret Service agents.”

Moyer was glad to have them there. “Here’s the skinny. Two explosions outside, one about a mile distant, one in the middle of several thousand protesters . . .”

“Don’t tell me—” Pete started.

“Yeah, one woman inside packing enough explosive to blow out a good size chunk of this floor.”

“J. J.?”

Moyer looked at Zinsser. Did he sound worried? “He got the girl’s confidence. He’s going to try to disarm the bomb.” Moyer explained about the remote detonator.