Crisis Four (56 page)
Authors: Andy McNab
Sarah and I were all eyes and ears as we looked at the screens, especially the one that showed the press briefing room. Not much had changed in there. I kept my eye on it, though.
TC took over the brief as he went back to his chair. ‘Crisis Four could be used, say, if anything happened upstairs – the president and first lady would be moved down here to the secure area. It also doubles as the bomb shelter. There’s a kinda neat room beyond this for the VIPs.’ He pointed at a screen. ‘There’s the State Dining Room. That’s kinda neat, too.’
It didn’t look as if lunch was going to be served there today. The long dark wood table just had silver candelabras placed along its centre. Apart from that it was bare. Sarah studied the picture for a while, as if taking in all the detail of the decor. My eyes were focused on the shot of the briefing room.
‘Is that the Diplomatic Reception Room?’ Sarah put her finger on a screen to my left, pointing to a doorway. Looking over, I could see the brown screens blocking off the ground floor corridor, and the ERT escort standing over the CNN guys, who were still fiddling about with cables.
TC confirmed it. ‘That’s right. Any minute now you’ll see the big three appear and walk in there. At the moment they’re across the hall, in the library.’
As I watched the picture he was indicating, flicking back to check the briefing room every few seconds, our friendly waiter came out of the reception room and walked back towards the brown screens. This time his trolley was empty. I heard comms mush coming from TC’s earpiece. ‘The coffee’s there, all we need now are the drinkers.’ The ERT guy began to move the CNN people out of the corridor, back towards their wagon. I flicked my eyes over at one of the screens again. Shit! Bill Gates was in the briefing room. At least, the hair and glasses matched what I thought he looked like. He had walked in and was just looking around. I needed Sarah to confirm, but she was the other side of Davy as we all stood around TC in his chair. I kept looking at her, trying to catch her eye. I couldn’t say anything yet; I could be wrong. Why wasn’t she also checking that screen? They were focused on the other one with the four Secret Service men at the far end of the corridor.
More mush was coming from TC’s earpiece. ‘Here they come…’
A few seconds later the three world leaders walked out into the corridor and turned towards the camera. They were moving quite slowly so that Arafat could keep up. I checked Bill Gates. He was now sitting down and writing. I looked back at the other screen, then at Sarah. Come on, look at me, check the screen, do something! She was oblivious to anything but the three leaders as a group of advisers followed them, clutching folders and nodding with each other as they walked.
‘Hey, let’s give you folks a listen.’ TC leaned over the desktop and hit a button on the console. A speaker in front of us burst into life. A very quick, but calm New York voice was giving commands over the net. People were acknowledging him in just the same tones. It sounded like mission control at Houston. Small red buttons were now lit on three of the microphones on the desk. I checked Bill Gates. He hadn’t moved.
They walked along the corridor for a short way, Clinton between the two others as they moved in line abreast. A few paces more and they turned left into the Reception Room.
I looked across at Sarah. She was checking the large green digital display clock on the wall. It was 10:57; they were right on time. ‘Hey, Sarah, isn’t that Gatesy? You know, that reporter friend of yours?’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I pointed and everyone turned to look.
Sarah took a step forward and looked at the figure sitting down, reading his notes. Standing back, she looked at me. ‘No, it’s not. His hair is much darker. But they do look similar.’
TC stood up ‘That’s it, folks, I’ve gotta go.’ He hit the console button. The sound and red microphone lights died.
We all shook hands again. ‘I hope you people have a good trip. Ask these two nicely, see if they’ll take you over to the Treaty Room.’
Davy said, ‘It’s on the itinerary, after the alley.’
TC nodded as he headed for the door. ‘See you guys. Hey Davy, don’t forget, four thirty this afternoon, we’ve got that meeting.’ They ran through a few details of their work admin while Sarah and I, the gooseberries, just stood by, keeping an eye on the briefing-room screen.
We followed TC out of Crisis Four. When we were all out in the corridor he made sure the door was secure, then turned right and walked off towards the fire doors with a cheery wave of the hand.
A couple of Hispanic women came squeaking along in white overalls and white patent-leather shoes, looking like a cross between cleaners and nurses, and talking at 100 mph in their own language. They stopped as they passed us, nodded and smiled, then returned to their warp-speed conversation. We turned left and moved further down the corridor.
Josh had an idea. ‘Hey, you know what? I’ll go over and see if I can get us into the Treaty Room, and maybe even the VP’s office.’
‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘Would we still be able to watch the press brief?’
Sarah joined in. ‘Yes, I’d love to see that as well. I have—’ Josh smiled as he put his hands up defensively, like a parent fending off an overenthusiastic child. ‘Hey, no problem. In a few.’ He turned and walked towards the fire doors. Sarah and I exchanged a relieved glance as Davy led the way. We stopped two doors down.
Davy grinned. ‘This is the best room in the house.’ He opened the door. Inside was an open space, maybe fifteen feet by fifteen, with stackable plastic chairs arranged around the walls, the same as in the briefing room. Beyond that, in shadow, was a single-lane bowling alley.
The floor was highly polished lino. The walls were painted white, and covered with a couple of posters of bowling teams, and pushed against it was a large wooden box, also painted white, with compartments which looked as if they were holding about eight or nine pairs of bowling shoes.
There was whirring and clicking as all the bits and pieces of alley machinery came to life and the strip lighting along the alley flickered on.
Davy smiled back at us as he walked towards the shoes. ‘I’ve got a great story for you guys.’
By now the bowling balls were rolling up onto the stand and the pins were being positioned by the machine at the bottom of the lane.
Davy had his back to us, his shoulders rolling as he anticipated his own story. His head moved to look at us both again and he pointed at the top pair of shoes. ‘You see these?’ We both nodded. He looked back to pull them out. I took the opportunity for a quick look at Baby-G. Fifty-five minutes to go until the press brief.
Davy turned round to walk back to us. ‘These are Bill’s personal bowling shoes,’ he said. ‘Look at the size of the things.’
They must have been something like size sixteen, at least. ‘He’s a big man all right.’ Hefting them in his hand, he chuckled. ‘You know the old saying, big feet, big…’ He suddenly checked himself in case Sarah didn’t approve. She was smiling.
The shoes were white with red stripes. As Davy reached us, he turned them round and showed us something. ‘See this?’ All smiles, he pointed to the back of the shoes. I saw that each had a little mark in black felt tip. ‘One day Bill came down with some of his bowling buddies. He went to get his shoes, and a couple of the advisors saw this written on the back.’ He pointed again. On one was the letter “L”, and on the other an “R”.
‘There they were, supposed to be discussing world affairs, and his aides were suddenly more worried about how he’d react to people writing on his shoes…
‘Well, Bill picked them up, and for a moment there was silence…’ I could tell old Davy Boy had told this story many, many times, because the pauses were in just the right places. ‘ . . . yep, there he was, the President of the United States, the most powerful man in the world, and someone had gotten a pen and done that to him!
‘Nobody was too sure how he was going to take it. Anyways, he looked down at the shoes, and then Bill started to laugh. “I’ll tell you what, boys, this is just what I need… they are so darned confusing, not being proper shoes and all.” ’
Davy started to laugh. I wasn’t sure if the story was funny or not, and nor was Sarah. I just took Davy’s lead and joined in. I could hear Sarah, standing slightly behind me, doing the same.
The laughter died down and Davy carried on, pleased with our reaction. ‘And that’s why it’s still there. Apparently Bill says it cuts his prep time by a half, so there’s more time to play.’
He was going to put the shoes back. He turned away and took two steps, and there was a thud.
Bill’s shoes fell out of Davy’s hands. There was no blood until he hit the floor, face forwards, and then it started to spurt from his head, dark and thick. I swung round.
Sarah was in a perfect firing position, standing at forty-five degrees to Davy, with her right pistol hand out straight, pushing the suppressed weapon at the target, her left hand cupped around both the pistol grip and the other hand, pulling back. She looked so relaxed she could have been on the range.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I shouted. What a bone question; I could see precisely what she was doing.
I didn’t know why, but I was half whispering, half shouting as she lowered the pistol. ‘For fuck’s sake, we agreed, no killing. What are you doing bringing that thing in? We don’t need it.’
She just stood there, in a different world, calmly putting the pistol back into her waistband.
This was out of control. No matter what happened now, we were in a world of shit and I had no idea by whose rules we were playing.
I started to move towards the door.
She looked at me quizzically. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m locking the door – what do you think I’m doing, letting everyone in? We’re in deep shit, Sarah. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? This won’t stop anything; it makes it worse.’
I reached the door and turned the lock inside the tumbler. It was pointless going over to Davy. There wasn’t a sound from him, and dark, deoxygenated blood seeped from his mouth.
I stayed where I was, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘It was under control, Sarah, for fuck’s sake. Midday – the press brief, remember? What the fuck are you doing?’
She started towards the door. I moved across her, putting my arms up to stop her. ‘Whoa, this is way out of control. It’s time to stop this, now, and get help. Just get thinking of a fucking good story.’
I pointed at Davy as I turned towards the door once more. Why had she done it? It took two seconds before it became obvious to me why. She’d stitched me up. ‘You fucking bitch!’ I started to turn back towards her.
At the same instant I felt pain explode in my stomach. The wind was knocked out of my lungs as I fell to my knees. I felt a fierce burning sensation on the left side of my gut.
The left side of my forehead hit the floor, then my nose. There were sparks flashing in my head. I tasted blood in my throat. I’d never taken a round before.
I couldn’t see Sarah. I was too busy curling into a foetal position as I tried to control the pain.
I started a low moaning noise that I couldn’t stop. I slowly, slowly rolled my head to find her. She was crouched over Davy. His ID was now around her neck; at a casual glance she would look part of the environment. Her loafers tiptoed around him, avoiding the blood, then took the pistol from his belt and the two mags from their carrier.
I didn’t want her to know that I was still alive. I lay as motionless as I could, eyes closed, trying to stifle my own moaning. It wasn’t working.
I sensed her standing over me. I opened my eyes. She was just too far away for me to reach her, even if I’d been able to.
She looked at her watch and then at me. The weapon came up and stopped in line with her eyes. For the first time in my life I thought of someone I would miss, and I decided that my last thought would be about Kelly. I looked at Sarah and waited. There was a delay, but no emotion, no explanation. Then she said, ‘You have a child now. I hope you live long enough to see her.’ She lowered the weapon, checking her watch again as she walked away.
The tumbler was turned and the door opened. I tried to shout, but it didn’t happen. The only sound that came out was a weak rasp. ‘Fuck you!’ Blood sprayed out of my mouth. She glanced down at me, no reaction in her eyes.
There was a pause as she checked outside, then the door closed quietly.
She was gone.
The pain was intensifying. I looked around frantically for a panic button or a phone, but I couldn’t see too well, things were getting hazy. Two others left to kill him? My arse; it had been her all along. How the fuck did I not see it?
Being curled up in a ball on the floor wasn’t going to do me or the VIPs any good. I needed to do something, even if it didn’t work. As I died, I would at least know that I’d tried to right my fuck-up.
My vision was starting to blur. I was taking short, sharp breaths, and my stomach muscles were tensing of their own accord. I moved my hand over a hole in my belly the size of a five-pence piece and plugged it with my thumb. At least I didn’t have to worry about an exit wound; I knew it was subsonic ammunition for the silenced Chinese thing. The round would still be kicking around inside me somewhere.
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