They backed out. “Now what?”
“Now we go upstairs and get everyone the hell out of here.”
Mason’s hand shook as he turned the key in the lock. The threat hadn’t been real until then, and she figured that confronting a terrorist with a dirty bomb was not something he’d ever anticipated running into in the hotel security business.
“What’s the fastest way to the rooftop?” Sydney asked.
“The service elevator. It’s probably how he got to the kitchen from here.”
He led her to it, then hit the button. When it opened, several men and women—kitchen workers, judging from the food stains on their white uniforms—stepped off, and Sydney looked at each face, but didn’t see her suspect. No fear, only confusion, and she took that as a good sign. One woman saw Mason, telling him, “We were told we had to leave the building. What’s going on?”
“We think there’s a gas leak. Nothing to worry about. Meet at the Treasury Building.”
And when he would have followed Sydney, she said, “I think it might be wiser for you to stay down here. Guide everyone who’s leaving the party through the lobby out the doors.”
“Of course,” he said, looking vastly relieved. She pressed the Up button, and as the doors closed, he said, “Be careful.”
It was a quick ride to the top. The elevator opened in a nearly deserted kitchen, a few workers waiting to descend. Sydney searched the faces, immediately discounting the women, ruling out the men who didn’t fit the profile.
Her weapon drawn, she opened the first door she came to, and found a room filled with large bins of dirty towels, aprons, and uniforms, waiting to be taken to the laundry. She was just about to step in when a noise caught her attention and she looked up. She saw a woman in a black and white uniform backing slowly from the main kitchen, her attention fixed on the double doors that led out, probably to the dining area.
The girl turned, clearly frightened, even more so when she saw Sydney’s gun.
“FBI,” Sydney told her in a low voice, eyeing the name tag on her shirt. “Carla. What’s going on out there?”
“A man’s got a bomb. He put it on a table and he’s going to set it off.”
“Any more workers?”
Carla shook her head.
“Take the elevator down. When you get off, press the Up button for me.”
“Okay.”
When she looked ready to bolt, Sydney put her finger to her lips. “Slowly, quietly.”
She nodded, then left, and Sydney moved to the kitchen doors, grateful that the kitchen was closed off from the main dining area. Though a small window would have been nice, working with what she had, she pressed slightly, opening the door just enough to see out. On the right, tables and chairs were arranged next to floor-to-ceiling windows that gave an impressive and commanding view of the capital skyline with the Washington Monument in the distance. At the moment, every table was empty, including those outside on the terrace.
She hoped that meant the restaurant was also empty, but the look on that girl’s face as she’d turned around told her otherwise, and she edged the door open wider.
A man dressed like a restaurant worker, his back to her, stood in the middle of the room, addressing a group of people standing in a knot by the bar, Griffin and Scotty included. Yusuf. He raised one hand, held up a cell phone, his thumb poised over the keypad. With his other hand, he pointed at something, and she glanced in that direction, saw several PVC pipes bound together with tape and wire on a table near the door that led out to the lobby. “No one else move,” he said. “No one leaves. No one goes near that door to try to escape, or I blow it up and everyone in here dies.”
A clear indication to shoot if she ever saw one. And she might have, had not Griffin and Scotty stood directly behind him.
Right in the line of fire.
65
The movement of the kitchen door caught Griffin’s attention, and he saw Sydney through the crack, her gun pointed in their direction.
He wanted to tell her to leave, not to risk her life, and he willed the information to her, wishing for once she’d do the right thing.
Instead she opened the door more, and he knew that if she was going to be successful, they needed a distraction.
He didn’t expect that it would come from Yusuf himself. The man apparently recognized Senator Burgess and pointed to her. “I saw you on TV,” Yusuf said. “Move over here with the others.”
Senator Burgess looked at the group, then at Griffin, her gaze narrowing.
“Now!” Yusuf said. “Or everyone dies.”
She didn’t move.
“Now!”
From the corner of his eye Griffin saw Sydney slip into the room, heard Scotty whispering, “Jesus,” and knew exactly what she was doing.
Time to help. “Senator. He’s not joking. Do as he says.”
Sydney took a tentative step forward, and Yusuf, his attention still fixed on the senator, said, “Yes! I am not joking!” then held his phone higher. And with every step the senator took, Sydney edged from the kitchen door, clearing the way for a shot.
In the distance, Griffin heard the sound of a helicopter, undoubtedly coming from the White House. Whether to move the President from the grounds or from the Secret Service to get eyes on the interior of the restaurant, he didn’t know. Right now their best chance was with a lone FBI agent who stood behind a wooden door, about twenty feet behind Yusuf.
One more step and he thought she’d have it, but then the rotors of the helicopter were suddenly visible as it rose in front of the windows, the glass shuddering with the spinning blades. Yusuf, startled by the sound, turned in that direction.
Sydney pushed out, to the side, gaining the angle, firing twice.
The bullets pierced through his body. The phone flew from his hand.
The bomb detonated.
66
The blast knocked Griffin back. His head hit the bar behind him.
He sat there, stunned for several seconds, his ears ringing. He looked around for Sydney, saw her moving toward Yusuf, who was sprawled on the carpet a few feet away. She pointed her gun at the man’s chest, said, “Is he dead?”
Griffin shook himself, got up, checked Yusuf’s carotid. “Yes.”
“You okay?” she asked, holstering her weapon.
“Fine.” He looked around at the others, several dozen men and women, some on the floor, others standing, many with shrapnel cuts. They’d survived. He wasn’t sure about the man and woman nearest the door, lying there, not moving. A strange silence pervaded the room, and then a murmur of low, panicked voices grew as they started to rouse themselves, take in the situation.
A woman started crying, and someone said, “Oh my God!”
“Scotty,” Griffin said. “I need you and Sydney to get everyone out. Now. And no cell phones.”
Scotty nodded and he and Sydney started helping others to their feet, then guiding them to the lobby, Sydney directing them to the stairs, not the elevator. Senator Burgess, her face pale, her hands shaking, probably from being singled out, did not exit with the others. Instead, she moved toward the injured couple near the door, kneeling down beside them. When Scotty returned, he reached for the senator’s hand to help her up but she shook her head no. “I used to be a nurse. I’m not leaving until these people get help.” She took the woman’s arm, placed her fingers on her wrist, feeling for a pulse. Her gaze, however, landed on Yusuf. “Who is that?” she asked Griffin. “And why did he target us?”
“A loophole in your refugee program.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And I don’t have time to go into it right now,” he said, then regretted his sharp tone. She was only trying to help. “How are they?”
“Alive.” She turned her attention back to the woman. “I’ll stay with them until the EMTs arrive.”
“We can’t let anyone up here,” he replied. “There may be a secondary device.”
The senator looked
up sharply. “Another bomb?”
“The first was probably a distraction,” Griffin replied as Scotty and Sydney walked in from the lobby. “Why else make it so obvious? There were two empty watch boxes in that apartment, which means two timers.”
“Jesus,” Scotty said. “What do you want us to do?”
Griffin eyed the couple on the floor by the senator, the man trying to sit up, the woman just beginning to stir. “Get those two out of here. Scotty? Do you think you and the senator can handle that, while Sydney and I search?”
“Sure.”
Scotty moved to the senator’s side, and together, they tried to assist the man to his feet. It was clear he was going to have trouble, probably due to the blow on the head. He was a big man, too big for the senator to help, and Griffin doubted she’d be able to carry the woman on her own. Scotty would have to drag them out.
So be it, he thought, motioning Sydney away, out of the senator’s hearing. “I don’t suppose you saw his backpack on your way up? I’m guessing it contains the bomb with the cesium 137.”
“Just his clothes downstairs. I made a cursory search in the kitchen, but there’s a dozen places he could have stashed it.” She angled her head toward the windows. “That helicopter spooked him when the glass started rattling.”
Griffin looked in that direction. “Enough to think it might have been the second bomb going off?”
“Definitely.”
“It makes sense. Yusuf would want to take out as many people as he could. Where better than the dining area?”
“And he wanted everyone away from the door.”
“Let’s start at the windows and move in.”
Sydney took the end closest to the bar, and Griffin started near the kitchen. He saw several tray stands against the wall, each draped with a red cloth to cover the aluminum legs and wheels. He pulled up the first one, found nothing. Repeated it with each. All empty. Griffin started looking around the room, realized just how many there were. Yusuf would have seen the same. He would have picked one centrally located.
Before Griffin finished the thought, Sydney called out.
“It’s here!”
The tray stand draped with red cloth was next to the bar, covered with glasses and plates from the revelers. Not even noticeable, until Sydney held up the red draping. He saw the dark blue backpack sitting in a gray dish tray beneath it.
“I’d feel a lot better about this if you weren’t here,” he said.
“What about you?” Sydney asked.
“Unless you know something about defusing bombs, I’m all that’s left.”
“And you’re going to need help until the bomb squad arrives.”
“Assuming we even have that much time. Go see where Scotty and the senator are.”
Sydney moved toward the door, glanced out. “They’ve got them by the stairwell.”
Griffin lifted the red cloth that draped the tray, noting there was nothing around it. No wires, just a backpack sitting upright in the plastic bin. He slid the knife from his boot, inserted the tip of the blade and sliced slowly up through the canvas, careful to keep his knife from touching anything inside. He cut across as well, until he could peel back the sides of the backpack, revealing the bomb beneath.
“Oh, shit.”
“Oh, shit?” She returned to his side. “That phrase does not go good with bombs.”
He pointed. “Photoelectric switch. It started the timer once the light hit it.” He tried to think what he’d need to work in this area. “Bring me one of those big laundry hampers filled with very wet towels. Roll it out here, then empty half of the towels out.”
She ran toward the kitchen. A moment later he heard water running, and was glad she was out of the room in case this thing went off unexpectedly. The bomb seemed fairly simple. Several pipes taped together; wires leading to the zippered opening, which would have set it off had he tried to unzip it; and wires to the photoelectric cell and also to another cell phone. Had Sydney not killed Yusuf after he set off the first bomb, he would have undoubtedly set off the second one as they tried to move away from the first explosion. She’d bought them some much needed time, and he used his knife to tilt the digital watch to see exactly how long.
Four minutes, twenty-nine seconds and counting down fast.
That, however, was not what set his heart racing. There at the bottom, a clear plastic zip-top bag containing the bluish white powder.
The good news was that if it blew before he could take action, he wasn’t likely to suffer a slow radiation death. Sydney, however, wouldn’t be so lucky, since the powder would spread with the blast. Gray duct tape was used to secure the bag of powder to the bomb, and he used his knife to slice down the right side of the tape, careful not to pierce the bag or touch the pipes. He cut slowly.
The kitchen doors clattered open as Sydney pushed the cart through. Heavy with wet towels, she had to lean into it as she wheeled it toward him, then started pulling the sloshing towels onto the floor as he sliced into the tape.
He stopped. His heart thudded at the near fatal mistake.
He gently slid the knife out.
This was not going to end well.
Scotty showed up in the doorway. “We need help. The man can’t walk on his own. He’s too big for the senator, and she can’t carry the woman, who’s still mostly out of it.”
Sydney didn’t move.
“Go!” Griffin ordered. Syd hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave him. He looked up at her. “There’s less than three minutes for me to try to contain the bomb. I can’t worry about you. Not while I’m trying to do this.”
He could see the indecision in her eyes. “Okay,” she said, then turned and ran after Scotty.
The second she cleared the restaurant doors, he lifted the plastic tray, backpack and all, setting it inside the large hamper. He gathered the wet towels, laid them on top, his eye catching on the timer as he covered the backpack. One minute fifteen seconds. He tried not to think about her as he examined the bomb, the tape across the powder, and the wire hidden behind the tape. If only he had more time. If only he had a way to get the powder from the device.
This thing was going to explode and there was nothing he could do about it.
All he knew was that when this thing blew, he didn’t want it anywhere near Sydney and that stairwell.
67
The sound of heavy booted feet echoed up the stairs as Sydney and the senator carried the woman down, Scotty and the injured man following behind them. It was slow going. The woman was near dead weight, and the senator felt the need to query Scotty about Yusuf and this loophole Griffin had mentioned.
“Not the right time, Senator,” Scotty said.
“I intend to fix it. This loophole,” she said. “Or try.”
“That’s all we can ask.”
They’d just reached the second landing down, nearly running head on into three men in black gear, armed, helmeted, gloved, and wearing gas masks. Undoubtedly members from the NEST team.
The first man took the woman from them, hefted her into his arms, then turned back, headed down.
The second and third officers stepped up to assist Scotty, when the bomb exploded.
The stairwell shook. It felt like an earthquake rocked the building, and Sydney balanced herself against the side, her heart racing as she looked toward the top of the stairs. The whole world seemed to stop in that one moment. No one moved. Suddenly her heart started thudding as she realized what had happened. “Griffin!”
Scotty grabbed her around the middle, and her knees started to give out.
She gripped the banister. “He’s in there.”
“We’ll find him. I promise.” He pulled her hand free from the banister, guided her forward.
The next few seconds and minutes blurred together. She had no idea how she got down the next eight flights of stairs and out to the street. The whole time, Scotty held her tight, refusing to let her back into the building.
“He did i
t,” Scotty said. “He saved everyone.”
Only then was she aware of the chaos around her. The police cars cordoning off the block, the sound of sirens as fire trucks rushed to the area. And then Scotty was leading her across the street to the back of a white utility truck, where uniformed personnel were removing equipment. One turned around and ran a radiation detector up and down the length of her.
“She’s clean.”
He moved off to check someone else, and Sydney turned, looked over at the hotel, her gaze moving up the stories to the top, toward the restaurant she couldn’t quite see from this angle. She had no idea what sort of damage was done, if it had been survivable. She couldn’t see smoke or signs of a fire, and she prayed that was a good sign.
“I think we should have EMS look you over,” Scotty said, taking her hand once more.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “I need to find Griffin.”
“They’re not letting anyone in there.”
He was right about that. They had stationed uniformed officers around the entrances of the hotel to keep everyone out as NEST prepared to enter.
“Besides, Sydney, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Not now, Scotty. Please.”
“The Wingman Squared case.”
She looked at him, and it took a moment for her to gather her thoughts. “Why would you bring that up now?”
“Because you left the coffee shop before I could finish telling you, and it’s not like I can talk about this in the office. I know you think you know everything about BICTT and your father’s case, but . . . well, when this is all cleared up out here, when you want to come by, I—I have a file you might be interested in.”
“A file . . . ?”
Someone shouted, and several people started running in that direction. She turned, tried to figure out what was going on. And then she saw him. A half block away, coming from the side of the hotel.
“Oh my God. Griffin . . .”
She started toward him, and Scotty caught her hand, stopping her. “Sydney?”
The Black List Page 30