by Jo Leigh
The area cordoned off was incredibly tight. He wouldn’t have believed it would be safe if he hadn’t seen all the videos of other implosions where the parameters had been even tighter. These were the experts, the best in the world, and they had redundancies on their redundancies.
What Nick was most concerned about, however, wasn’t the destruction of a building, but the destruction of an empire. Every instinct told him to stop messing around with this nonsense and get with Owen.
He knew the bomb was in the city, and he’d given Owen the name of Potereiko, so by now they must have the rundown on the guy and, just as important, pictures.
They’d identified another potential buyer, a Pakistani, who was holed up in the private suites at the Xanadu. The influx of special agents and support crews had been going on for days and by this afternoon, everything should be in place. Command central was at the Mirage. Once Nick was finished here, that’s where he was headed.
Coordination was everything. No one could afford to tip off Todd or his men. He hated trusting anyone else to get Jenny and Patrick to safety, but he had no choice. He had to get the bomb, get Todd. He couldn’t be distracted.
The whole group went out, across the street to where the detonation would take place. There was a platform for Todd and the city bigwigs. Next to that, the camera trucks were already setting up, crews from all over the world. It was going to be a zoo out here, and that’s what worried Nick. How they were going to spot Potereiko amid the throngs and, even more critical, how they were going to take him without civilians getting hurt. It was a Herculean operation with the potential for a major body count.
The plan was to find Potereiko as he made his way to the meet and to take him and the bomb at the same time they took Todd. The one good thing was that the city streets would be ablaze with lights. The bad thing was that the crowds would be packed together like sardines.
He had to get the hell out of here, over to the Mirage. If at all possible, he wanted to check in on Jenny, at least for a minute, before the games began.
This was gonna be one hell of a Fourth.
JENNY LOOKED at her watch again. It was late, almost eight-thirty. So where were they? She hadn’t heard a word, except that Todd expected her to be ready to go at nine.
She had put on the wedding dress. Done her makeup and hair. Even put on some perfume. If Todd stopped by, he wouldn’t suspect a thing. He should be gone by now, though. Damn it, where were they?
She checked the little pouch she’d sewed on her panties and, sure enough, the ring was there, safe and sound. Grabbing her overnight bag, she left her room and walked over to see Mrs. Norris and Patrick.
The door opened seconds after she knocked and Mrs. Norris let her in. The nanny’s eyes widened as her gaze moved from white wedding dress to Nike running shoes.
“I’ve got the sandals in here,” Jenny said, holding up the suitcase.
“Ah. Well, how practical.”
Then there was Patrick, all dressed up in his little black tux. She grinned as he ran on stout little legs to show her how handsome he was.
Mrs. Norris stood by him, smiling like a proud grandma. “He’s quite fetching, isn’t he?”
“He sure is.” She lifted him into her arms. “You’re the handsomest boy in the whole world.”
“I get to stay up late.”
“I know! How lucky you are.”
“Can I take my truck?”
“No, honey, not tonight.”
“But I need it.”
“I know, but you’re going to be very busy tonight and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to the truck, right?”
“No,” Patrick said.
“Yes,” Jenny countered.
He frowned extravagantly. Jenny kissed him on the down-turned lips, then looked over at Mrs. Norris. “Is he packed?” she whispered.
Mrs. Norris nodded.
“Are you?”
She nodded again.
“I don’t know where they are. It’s getting so late.”
“Why don’t I fix you some tea while we wait?”
“I wish it could be something stronger.”
“I have some port.”
“No, that’s okay. I need to keep a cool head.”
“I agree. Now, you two stay clean while I fix up a quick pot.”
Jenny took Patrick over to the couch. She let him down, then sank onto the cushion. Her head hurt like the dickens. She had aspirin in her purse and she’d take a couple with the tea. She hoped it was caffeine-free, as her heart was already racing. And she kept finding herself holding her breath.
Patrick was full of energy, running from toy to toy, showing her his treasures. She wished she could take it all with them, but Patrick would get over it. She’d get him new toys, and while they wouldn’t be the high-ticket items, he’d have plenty to play with.
Of course, she was going to be very wealthy, herself. She could duplicate Todd’s largess. On the other hand, she didn’t want to spoil Patrick. She’d ask Nick what he thought.
“See, Mommy? It’s a dolphin.”
“Wow, what a beauty!”
“He can’t go in the water, though.”
“No?”
Patrick shook his head. “I took him in the bath and he almost drownded. Mrs. Norris says he has to swim in my ’magination.”
“Mrs. Norris is very smart, isn’t she?”
Patrick nodded distractedly as he’d caught sight of a Tonka truck. He dropped the dolphin like a used tissue and crouched to play trucker.
“Ah, he’s found the trucks.”
Jenny looked up as Mrs. Norris brought in a tray with two teacups and a pot with a cozy. Very British.
“I’ve made Earl Grey,” she said, sitting next to Jenny on the couch. She straightened her plain navy skirt, smoothing it down below her knees.
She reminded Jenny of the queen, although Mrs. Norris was younger. It was the reserve, the bearing. No wonder she’d worked for the royal family.
“Patrick, I have some juice for you.”
He dropped the truck and lurched over the dolphin to get at his treat. After he was happily drinking through his bendable straw, the nanny poured two cups of the dark, rich tea.
The amenities, pouring milk, adding sugar, relaxed Jenny more than she would have guessed, although she was still listening hard for sounds of rescue. She’d have liked to talk about it, but there was no reason to throw caution to the wind just yet. Best to just play along and practice patience. She could take a lesson from the supremely calm Mrs. Norris.
She sipped her tea. Slowly. Serenely. She would live through this. All she needed to do was to remember to breathe.
NO ONE, not the CIA, not INS, not Interpol, had a picture of Edward Potereiko. It was as if the man had wiped the Internet clean, made himself invisible. Actually, there was one picture, but his face was obscured to the point of uselessness.
Nick swore again, slammed his hand against the wall of the fifth-floor hotel room that was the communications headquarters for Operation Suitcase. Owen was on two phones at once. There were computers and faxes running on three different tables. Activity was at maximum level.
Nick hadn’t made it over to the hotel to check on Jenny and it was damned hard to see how this was going to turn out well. Things kept going wrong. The bomb guys were the worst of it. Their vehicle had been hit broadside by a drunk driver on his way home from Lake Mead. Two of the guys were at the U.M.C. medical center and, while no one was going to die, they weren’t going to be defusing bombs, either.
Another team was on its way from California, but that was a delay that could cost them. What he had to do now was to meet Henry Sweet to get the lowdown about tonight. They were meeting at The Mystique, which was catty-corner to the El Rio, just a couple of blocks down.
He checked his watch. He could make up an excuse and run over to the Xanadu, except that the damn streets had wall-to-wall traffic, and what would normally take him five minutes would take an hour he d
idn’t have.
He signaled the assistant director, who was looking older by the minute, that he had to leave.
“Hold on,” Owen told him. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
Nick nodded. He used the time to get a cup of stale coffee and a doughnut. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real meal. Or a good night’s sleep.
He sat in one of the folding chairs the team had brought. Four adjoining rooms had been emptied of beds and filled with war-room supplies. No one was allowed on this side of the hotel floor, and there were plainclothes cops everywhere in this wing of the building.
His gaze went back to A.D. Owen Coffey, his immediate superior for the past five years. He was a hell of a boss and a damn good friend, and he’d been there for Nick during the hardest phases of his undercover life. He’d given him an airtight background, complete with relatives, family pets and school records. No way his cover could have been blown at any time, unless Nick had screwed things up himself. Which he almost had, getting involved with Jenny.
Screw it. She was the only bright light in years of darkness. When he’d taken the assignment, he’d been bucking to become an assistant director. Now, he didn’t give a damn about the job. In fact, he didn’t want to play anymore.
All he wanted was Jenny and Patrick and a nice, quiet life. He had gone to law school and passed the bar in California, Nevada and NewYork, but he’d never practiced. He’d been thinking about that a lot lately, in between worrying about the end of the world, and he’d concluded that a nice law practice in some small town where he wouldn’t get too many clients sounded real nice.
He wanted someplace quiet, where he could fish, maybe have a little boat. Take his boy with him to catch their limit. He wanted a real community, where neighbors helped each other and the folks at the local store would call him by name.
No more of this. He’d had enough.
“What now?” Owen asked.
“I’ve got to go meet Henry Sweet. I’ll be at the grandstand by ten-thirty. The building will go down at eleven-thirty and I want Potereiko and Todd in custody by eleven forty-five.”
“If we can find a picture of the bastard.”
“Find it.” Nick stood, finished off the coffee, but left the doughnut on the nightstand. “I’m late. I’ve got you on Channel Eight. Sweet will be on Channel Four. Got it?”
“Got it.” Owen stuck out his hand. “You’ve done a hell of a job, Nick.”
“It’s not over yet.”
“Don’t worry. The good guys are gonna win this round.”
“We’d better.”
JENNY GOT UP, went to the door, looked out the peephole, but all she saw was the wall across the hall.
“Finish your tea, Jenny. It will help, I promise.”
She sighed as she walked back to the couch. “You’re right. I just can’t understand where they are.”
“They’ll be here. Have faith.”
“I do. I truly do, it’s just that it’s all so frightening. I want so much for it to be over.”
“Soon. I promise. It looks like someone has lost a little steam.”
Jenny looked over to see Patrick curled up on the Persian rug, his stuffed dolphin tucked under his chin. Sleep had found him, despite his excitement. Good. He needed his rest. It was going to be a terribly busy night. She hoped.
“Tell me something,” Mrs. Norris said. “How is it that you ended up with Mr. Todd?”
She took another sip of the sweet, hot tea. “He dazzled me.”
“Oh?”
She nodded, still ashamed, still angry at her own foolishness. “I was young and I let the glamour blind me. He can be quite persuasive, you know.”
“I do. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.”
“Or,” Jenny said, “I imagine, been anywhere like this place.”
“No. Never.” Mrs. Norris lifted her cup but didn’t drink.
A wave of dizziness hit Jenny and she put her tea down, the cup clattering against the saucer. “Whoa.”
“Are you all right?”
“Dizzy.”
“It’s all the excitement. Sit back and breathe deeply. I’m sure it will be fine.”
Jenny obeyed, resting her head against the plush cushion of the couch. She closed her eyes, but that made the dizziness worse. “God, I…” She gripped the armrest, trying to stop the world from spinning.
Mrs. Norris stood. “Is there something I can get you?”
“No, I don’t…” She cleared her throat, took in a deep breath. But instead of clearing her head, she felt worse. Drunk. Her eyes felt heavy, her tongue thick. “I don’t understand,” she said, although her voice sounded odd, her words slurred.
“Please believe me, dear. I had no choice.”
“Choice?” Her hand slid from the armrest to lie on the couch, heavy as a brick.
“You said yourself he’s a very persuasive man. And he threatened the life of my sister. I’m so sorry.”
Jenny tried to open her eyes, tried to understand. But she was in a dense fog and the room kept getting darker and darker.
“They’re coming now, dear. I hope it all ends up well for you. And that someday you can forgive me.”
Jenny tried one last time to sit up. But the blackness was too strong.
Chapter Seventeen
Sweet called just as Nick reached the back entrance of The Mystique. The meeting was going to be held on the forty-fifth floor, in Todd’s suite. He hadn’t said whether Todd would be there, but it made sense he would be. The El Rio grandstand was a five-minute walk from The Mystique, even with the crowds cramming the streets.
It had taken Nick almost half an hour to go the two blocks from the Mirage, and he’d had to travel the back way, as the police had cordoned off most of Las Vegas Boulevard to vehicular traffic.
As he’d driven, he’d been gratified to see the FBI presence. Teams in cars of all kinds were stationed at every available parking lot, every street that had access to the Strip. He didn’t know the agents personally, but he knew the type and he knew the look in their eyes. No way Todd was getting out of here. Neither was the bomb.
He parked, then headed for the elevator, making sure his radio receiver was safe in his vest pocket. It looked exactly like the earphone for his cell phone, so even if it was spotted, it wouldn’t raise suspicion. While he was with Sweet and Todd, he was incommunicado with Owen, and he didn’t care for that one bit.
All he had to do was to get through today. At the end of it, there was Jenny. And Patrick. Enough of a brass ring in anyone’s book.
He felt a certain peace whenever he thought of their future together. It was right. She was right. And together, they were better than either one alone.
But he’d think about that later. He punched the button for the express elevator and it opened immediately. He was alone, which wasn’t surprising, as this elevator wasn’t available to the public. Only key holders could go up past the fortieth floor.
The ride was swift and he was ready for whatever he had to face. Hell, lying was second nature to him now. Todd believed him to be a loyal subject. There was no reason to start worrying.
At his floor he got out and turned right, heading halfway down the hall. This suite wasn’t nearly as grand as the one at the Xanadu, but still it was extraordinarily over-the-top. Five thousand square feet, four bedrooms, six bathrooms. The decor was French Rococo, with ornate furniture covered in damasks and velvets, sheer drapes that pooled on the hardwood floors. The rugs were pastels instead of Persians, but all in all, it just looked expensive as hell.
Sweet was with two men Nick didn’t recognize. Todd wasn’t in sight.
“What’s up?”
“Not much. Waiting for the boss,” Sweet said.
Nick, wanting to avoid Sweet before Todd arrived, grabbed an apple on the running board against the wall.
It never got to his mouth.
The pain was like his own private bomb exploding at the back of his head. Then…no
thing.
JENNY WOKE on a hard, cold floor, with every part of her body in agony. It was dark, quiet, and she felt terrified.
When she tried to get up, she couldn’t move her hands or her feet. It took several panicky moments to realize she’d been bound.
She breathed in, exhaled, over and over until the blind terror passed and she could think. She wasn’t dead. Yet. So there was still something to be done. Some way of finding out where she was, how she’d gotten here and how he planned to kill her.
There was, of course, no doubt this was Todd’s handiwork. Somehow he’d discovered her plan. She just prayed he hadn’t known Nick’s part in it.
“Hello?” she said, her voice scratchy and soft. Even that echoed, telling her that wherever she was, it was large. Large and empty and smelling like gasoline.
A garage. That’s where she was. In a deserted garage. She rocked, trying to get into a position where she could see more. And where she wasn’t lying on a rock. Every move hurt so much. She cried out and in the back of her mind, she kept thinking, He’ll hear me. He’ll come.
When she finally did get to a better position, two things occurred to her. One, the rock she’d been lying on was her engagement ring. And two, that the deserted garage was at the bottom of the El Rio Hotel, which was going to be imploded with her in it.
Not good.
She struggled to her right, her stupid wedding dress offering minimal protection against the harsh concrete floor. Her foot hit something soft.
As her heart sped up, as the fear turned her insides to mush, she struggled to sit up. Patrick, her baby, the one pure thing she’d ever known, was lying in a splash of oil, his black tuxedo jacket hiked up around his middle, his hair flopping over his eyes. He looked as though he was asleep, but she didn’t know. If he was…
“Patrick!”
She called his name over and over, the sound echoing off broken and battered columns, huge bundles of dynamite waiting for ignition. She called until she was hoarse, until her tears blanketed her cheeks, dripped off her chin. She called until she saw him move.