by Andy McNab
'Secret…?'
On the CCTVs Pointer could see two shadowy figures as they reached the western side of the house, having deliberately avoided the dim light coming from the study on the eastern side.
Pointer knew he had only minutes left as he revealed the final secret. 'Your dad is dead, Elena. Marcie killed him. I heard her talking about it with Watts. They all know but they chose not to tell you.'
For a second he almost panicked as he saw Elena's right hand clench into a fist, and he thought that she was about to explode the device. Her face was etched with pain and her legs seemed to almost give way as she sat down on the bed and stared at the blank TV screen.
Pointer spoke gently. 'They lied to you, Elena, they all lied, but I can't keep secrets from you. You deserve the truth. We've both lived with our pain; we'll both have our revenge as we die. I'll be with you through this, Elena, watching you all the way.'
Elena's fist relaxed its tight grip on the fishing line. When she spoke, her voice was deep and almost unrecognizable. 'Thank you,' she breathed.
'Thank you?' answered Pointer after a moment.
'For telling me. They're evil. All of them. Evil.'
'Yes. And there's so much evil in this world, Elena. It's time to go now. If they try to stop you, if anyone tries to stop you, you must detonate the device.'
Elena nodded. 'I will.'
'Goodbye, Elena. Very soon we'll both be at peace.'
Pointer watched his final Angel walk to the door and leave the room. He heard voices from the corridor; then the door closed and there was silence.
Outside Elena's room a large group of tourists were milling around, talking excitedly, some clutching Phantom of the Opera programmes. They were evidently gathering for a Broadway outing, but had just realized that two of their group had not turned up.
In the stairwell Fergus and Danny had ducked down beneath the window again to avoid being seen. Fergus cursed silently, counting the seconds, looking at his watch as he was forced to wait. He bobbed up to peer through the window, but his view was obscured by the mass of people. There was nothing he could do.
The tourists stood and chatted while the group leader went off to rouse the latecomers from their room. No one took the slightest notice of Elena, as she stepped into the corridor and started walking towards the lift.
Watching the CCTV cameras, Pointer could see the two figures checking windows and doors as they attempted to find a way into the house. Their faces were quite clear now and Pointer recognized them from the attacks on his Winnebagos.
Quickly he sent another message to Elena's Black-Berry, which was still in her room. He wanted to keep Marcie Deveraux guessing for as long as possible. Great goin. Ur doin well!!! Need 2 wait 30 mins now. Take a rest. U need it!!!
On his computer, Pointer watched Deveraux pick up her own Xda and punch in a number. He heard her voice clearly: 'He's making her wait for thirty. You can stop flapping now, Watts; it'll all be over before then. Wait out.'
Pointer smiled as Deveraux cut the call. 'Not quite over, Marcie,' he said. He clicked a link on his computer and closed down the connection to the Xda at the Four Seasons. 'No more clues for you,' he said as he looked at the CCTV monitors and saw that the two intruders were approaching the main door at the front of the house.
He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out an old.45 revolver, thinking again how impressive the operation to hunt him down had been. He opened the chamber to reveal six rounds. The weapon felt comfortable in his hands, even though he himself had never been a military man.
His grandfather had used it during the First World War, and his father had carried it during the Second. When he returned home at the end of the war he had handed it over to his son, confidently predicting that it would never again be used in a conflict and telling him to keep it as a family memento. The Pointers were businessmen and industrialists: they would never have any use for weapons of war.
But Charles Pointer II had a use for the.45 now.
He watched as the man and the woman pushed against the top and bottom of the front door and realized they were checking to see if it was bolted from the inside.
The man took off the bag he had on his back, delved inside and pulled out a cylinder of steel about twenty centimetres in length and similar in diameter to a Coke can. From one end protruded a small shaft; from the other, two short lengths of steel, like handles.
Pointer was intrigued. The man passed the cylinder to his partner, who placed the shaft end against the large cylinder lock on the door. As she did so, the man took a metal-headed mallet from his bag and stood back with the mallet head poised.
The woman nodded and the man smashed the mallet into the end of the cylinder. Pointer heard the noise but continued to watch in fascination as his two potential assassins worked quickly and efficiently.
The man dropped to his knees, grabbed the two handles, turned the cylinder and then kicked open the door. His partner had already taken out a strange-looking pistol. As they entered the house, Pointer's scientific brain was working out that the shaft of the cylinder device must be made of titanium so that it was strong enough to smash the keyway of the lock and the pins, obliterating the key code and enabling the cylinder to be turned easily. He was impressed.
But then he turned to look at the.45. He pulled back the hammer all the way so that it clicked into position and shifted the chamber a little, lining up a round to be fired when the trigger was pulled.
He could hear the pair approaching, running down the marble floors towards his study. He turned off the lamp on his desk so that only his computer and the monitors were casting their pale blue light in the darkness.
He was ready.
He thought of Elena, making her way towards her date with death.
As the door to his study burst open and the woman ran in, weapon up, Pointer thought of Chuck, and as the moment of death approached, he suddenly felt more exhilaratingly alive than he had for five long years.
The man was immediately behind his partner, but at first neither of them spotted Pointer in the dim light. But they both saw the flicker of movement as he pushed the revolver into his mouth, pointed it upwards towards his brain and pulled the trigger. Charles Samuel Pointer II had not let assassins take his life; he had been in control of events until the very end.
The small room resounded to the thunderous roar of the.45 as Fran and Mick dived to the floor, taking cover and firing towards the sound of the weapon's report at the same time.
There was no further noise; the silence told the story.
Cautiously Mick got to his feet and found the switch for the room's main light.
Pointer was still sitting on his chair, his head lolling over to one side, the back of it missing. Blood was splattered on the ceiling, the walls, on the computer and the monitor screens.
As they moved towards him, Fran and Mick saw that Pointer's body had taken three further rounds from their Plls.
Fran went over to the wall behind the computer and pulled off the photograph of Elena, shoving it down into her jacket pocket as Mick checked out the body.
'He doesn't look all that much like the photo but it's definitely him.'
'Saved us a job, anyway,' said Fran as she searched through the desk and shelves for anything that might compromise the mission.
Mick pulled the PC from the desk, smashed it onto the ground and then stamped on it several times until the hard drive was exposed. Fran wrenched it out and then shouted one word: 'Kitchen!'
Her partner knew exactly what to do. In the kitchen he went directly to the cooker and ripped out the gas pipe. He heard the expected hiss of gas and cleared the room speedily, leaving the door open, and then running to other rooms to look for gas fires.
'You got two minutes!' he heard Fran yell.
Mick was closing every door where there was no gas fire, ensuring that the gas escaping from the kitchen would head directly towards Pointer's study.
At the far end of the co
rridor there was a huge lounge with a log-effect gas fire. He tore out the piping, heard the escaping gas and ran from the room, leaving the door open.
'All done. RV at the door!'
Fran had piled up furniture, paper and anything flammable she could lay her hands on, around, beneath and even on Pointer.
With the lighter she had grabbed from the ready bag she lit the paper and saw the flames spread over his body. With the computer's hard drive shoved into her jacket along with Elena's photograph, she hurtled down the corridor to the front door, the smell of gas making her gag.
As Fran emerged, Mick pulled the door shut and they ran back to the fence. Fran went over the top and jumped down as Mick started to climb. By the time he hit the ground, Fran had dug the Xda out of the mud, pulled it from the surgical gloves and was punching in Deveraux's number.
They started back towards the car and the night sky suddenly changed to daylight as the ground floor of the house erupted in flames.
44
Deveraux pulled the Xda away from her ear as the sound of the explosion and shattering glass drowned out what Fran was telling her. But she had heard enough to say, 'Well done. End ex.'
That was enough. She closed the call and instantly rang Fergus's mobile. 'Black Star is dead. End ex. Get her out.'
Fergus nodded to Danny. The corridor was finally clear and Danny wrenched open the door and went hurtling towards Elena's room while Fergus followed, still with the phone to his ear as Deveraux told him what to do before they left the country. Fergus was going through the motions, letting Deveraux give orders he had no intention of obeying.
Danny was knocking on the door and trying the handle but was getting no response. He turned to his grandfather with a look of fear and confusion.
'Deveraux, shut up!' said Fergus into his mobile. 'Call Elena.'
'What?'
'Call the BlackBerry! She isn't opening up!' He hung up.
Danny put his ear to the door. 'Elena? Open up! End ex! Open up!'
There was still no response and they heard the sound of the BlackBerry's ring tone going unanswered.
'Maybe she's hurt,' said Danny. 'The fumes…'
Fergus pushed his grandson to one side. 'Give me your key card. Come on, quickly!'
He pulled the key ring with the two small torches from his pocket as Danny handed over his key card.
'Elena?' said Fergus more loudly. 'If you can hear me, open up!'
There was still no response. The BlackBerry stopped ringing.
'Get on stag,' said Fergus to Danny urgently.
Danny turned away from the door and watched the corridor. Fergus pulled away the DO NOT DISTURB sign and dropped to his knees, feeling a stab of pain shoot through his injured leg. He slid the key card into the slot, then switched on the UV light torch and moved it rapidly from side to side along the slot.
He was attempting to confuse the UV light that shone from the lock onto the metallic strip of the card to check the opening code.
Nothing happened. 'Shit!' He pulled the card from the slot and started again. 'Come on, come on!'
The door lock clicked open, and at the same time they heard the ping of the elevator doors.
They pushed their way into the room and closed the door. Fergus instantly recognized the acid smell. 'Elena?' he shouted.
Danny pushed open the bathroom door. 'She's not here – she's gone!'
Fergus looked in the wardrobe, hoping desperately to find the IED. When Danny emerged from the bathroom, he spotted the bag of cocaine sticking out from under the bed. It hadn't even been opened.
'Granddad, look!'
Fergus stared. 'Oh shit!'
On the bed the BlackBerry began to ring again.
'Danny, check the DLB,' said Fergus. 'Do it!'
Danny rushed to the door and headed for the DLB as Fergus tried to gather his thoughts, hoping his worst fears were unfounded. He snatched up the BlackBerry and answered the call. 'Elena?'
It was Deveraux.
'She's gone,' he told her, 'and the device has gone with her! You said we had another thirty! We've missed her, and I don't know what's in her head. Maybe he has groomed her; maybe she is going through with it!'
Danny raced back into the room. In his hand was the invitation card that Elena had taken from the padded envelope earlier that evening.
'She's gone to the Time Warner Center, where she was last night,' he yelled as he thrust the invitation towards Fergus.
Fergus read the words on the card, still holding the phone to his ear.
MS ELENA OMOLODON
PLEASE JOIN OUR CELEBRATION IN THE TIME WARNER BUILDING IN THE MAGNIFICENT NEW TWIN TOWERS AT COLUMBUS CIRCLE
LOUNGE SUITS
HANOVER FINANCE
As Fergus stared at the card, he heard Deveraux's voice. 'Where is she? Did Danny say the Time Warner Center? Is that it? Tell me what he said. Watts, I want-!'
Fergus cut the call. He kept his voice low as he spoke to Danny, trying to keep him calm. 'Listen in. I don't know what's going on, Danny, but it could be all this grooming has affected her. She's told us where she is – maybe that's so we can find her or maybe it's-'
'- so we'll see her detonate the device?' said Danny. 'It can't be that, Granddad. It can't be! She wouldn't do that!'
'Get to Columbus Circle now – run, it'll be quicker. I'll get there as soon as I can.'
Danny was staring, listening intently as his grandfather continued.
'Do whatever it takes, but you've got to make sure the two det leads are disconnected from the battery, then you have to twist the leads together. Remember everything I told you before.'
Danny nodded and turned to go.
'Wait!' said Fergus. 'You must twist the leads – otherwise they become an antenna and any electricity in the air could still detonate the device. Just keep her there until I arrive. Now go!'
Danny sprinted from the room and Fergus followed. He picked up the DO NOT DISTURB card, which was lying on the floor, and hung it back on the door. Danny had already disappeared; he was tearing down the fire escape stairs.
Fergus limped towards the elevator, his leg burning with pain. Maybe he would be lucky; maybe he could pick up a cab and get to Columbus Circle quickly.
But it looked as though saving Elena was going to be down to Danny.
45
Manhattan's grid system means that it's easy to get around. The numbered streets run east to west, starting at 1st Street in Lower Manhattan to way up in the hundreds uptown, with the famous name avenues and Broadway running north to south.
In only two days, and greatly aided by his surveillance stint, Danny had quickly latched onto the system and felt he could now find his way anywhere in Manhattan without getting lost.
But getting lost wasn't the problem. Getting where he wanted to go was.
As he sprinted past shocked-looking guests and porters in the Pennsylvania reception and out through the revolving doors, he could picture his quickest route. He would simply turn to the left and head for Eighth Avenue, where he would turn right for the long run up to Columbus Circle.
It was an easy route, and Danny reckoned he could cover the distance in around twenty minutes. But as soon as he went through the doors he hit trouble.
The road was jam-packed with traffic and the pavements were heaving with New Yorkers and tourists out for a stroll, taking in the sights or window-shopping.
And no one apart from Danny appeared to be in a hurry.
He was dodging and weaving through the crowd and he didn't see the fur-coated middle-aged woman and her jacketed Pekinese until he had tripped over the dog's lead.
The Pekinese yelped, the woman yelled, and Danny went stumbling into a mobile pretzel stall trundling towards him from the opposite direction.
'Hey, buddy, watch it, will yer!' shouted the pretzel seller as Danny struggled to keep his feet.
'Sorry, sorry,' said Danny. The woman glared at him and bent down to comfort her quivering pet.
He had to stop; other pedestrians were six-deep in front of him, all of them waiting for the signal to begin the cavalry-charge to the other side. Danny tried to edge his way through to the front, but he was still three back when the lights changed and everyone moved together.
It didn't get any better as he turned onto Eighth Avenue. Danny had always been a runner, but he barely managed more than five or six strides at a time before having to skid to a halt or dodge away from an oncoming pedestrian.
He was getting more and more angry and frustrated, and when he was held at another junction, he took the gamble of crossing against the lights. A car horn blared and Danny leaped back, almost into the path of a pedal taxi.
'Jerk!' yelled the rider as he swerved by. 'You got a death wish or something?'
The words just made Danny think of Elena. A death wish: was that what she had now?
Deveraux was pacing up and down in her room. Fergus and Danny were not answering her calls. She had to consider her options and make a decision. Fran and Mick were still too far away from the city to be of any practical use. She thought about calling the New York police or even her opposite numbers in the US Security Services, but swiftly pushed the thought from her head.
Too many problems; too much explanation. She had her promotion – no, her entire future – to think of, and the only way that could be guaranteed was if she ensured the mission was a complete success.
Killing Black Star had been the aim of the mission – at whatever cost – and Deveraux had calculated that the cost could have been one or more of her team.
But now the cost could be numerous innocent victims, and that would be the end of all her plans. Despite Dr Jacobson's and Dudley's warnings, Deveraux had never believed that Elena really would go through with a suicide bombing. Now it seemed she was wrong.