by Dee Davis
"And if not, I have every faith in your abilities as a crack shot." Payton started to smile, then sobered. "Although the guy's obviously damn good if he managed to hit Gabe."
"I think it was luck more than skill." Rage flashed through Nigel, the image of Gabe covered in blood flashing through his mind, Melissa's brave voice playing simultaneously in his head. "And don't worry, I'm not likely to forget."
Or forgive.
Payton nodded, his expression hardening as he mentally focused on the task ahead. "Give me ninety seconds," he said, taking the transmitter, then checking his watch. "Starting now."
He was down the corridor in less than fifteen seconds, disappearing into the radio room without a backward glance. Nigel waited another twenty-five, then moved back around the corner to begin the countdown. Less than a minute to go. He watched as the second hand ticked down, his heart pounding in his ears. Ten seconds, five seconds, three seconds—
Nigel lifted his gun, his muscles tightening in anticipation. A door slammed down the passageway. A last-minute embellishment on Payton's part. Nigel strained into the resulting silence, worried suddenly that the plan had failed, but then he heard the sound of footsteps on the metal floor.
Someone at least had bought into the ruse.
He dared a look around the corner and was treated with the sight of the captain's retreating back. No Khamis. But at least the odds were more evenly spread. Payton would be waiting for Khamis's stooge, so now all Nigel had to do was storm the fortress and rescue the princess.
Easier said than done, but the plan was in motion and there could be no turning back. He made his way around the corner, careful to stay low and close to the wall. The captain never looked back, his attention entirely on the radio room.
In another second, he'd disappeared inside, Payton waiting to surprise him. Nigel pushed all thoughts of his friend from his mind, focusing instead on the open doorway. There was no sound, but he knew they were inside.
Risking a quick look, he pivoted so that he could see through the hinges of the door. Khamis was still holding Melissa. His gun, however, was trained on the door. Not exactly a walk in the park, but at least if Khamis fired instinctively, it would be at Nigel and not Melissa. And if Nigel did his job, Khamis wouldn't be firing at anyone at all.
With a quick inhale of breath, he gathered his strength and, on an internal count of three, launched himself through the doorway, hitting stance and firing as soon as he had Khamis in his sights.
He heard Melissa scream his name, heard the second report of a gun and instinctively dove for her position. His body met nothing but floor, and even before he made full contact, he'd rolled back to his feet, crouching behind the wing chair, his eyes searching for Melissa and Khamis.
They lay together, the big man partially on top of her. Some part of Nigel twisted at the sight, anger and agony combining to fill him with black rage. He crossed the room in seconds, oblivious to any possible danger, his only thought to get the bastard off her.
Grabbing Khamis with his left hand, he pulled the man away, shoving his gun against his temple, his desire to pull the trigger only slightly less than his need to know that she was okay. "Melissa, can you hear me?"
There was a heartrending moment of silence, and then she rolled over and looked up at him. "I'm fine."
"Not shot?"
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking mental inventory, then opened them again and shook her head. "I'm really fine."
Nigel nodded and returned his attention to the man he held, noticing for the first time the blood spreading across the man's shirt.
"Is he dead?" Melissa whispered.
Khamis was slumped against him, but Nigel could feel the taint signs of a pulse beneath his fingertips. "No, he's alive." Nigel looked again at the wound. There was a hell of a lot of blood, but he could see the point of entry in the man's abdomen. "But not for long."
Melissa's gaze followed his to the hole in Khamis's gut, her expression hardening as she assessed the situation. "He's bleeding out."
Nigel nodded.
As if aware of their conversation, Khamis's eyes flickered open, his dark gaze locking on Melissa—his hatred almost a palpable thing.
"Game's over," Nigel hissed in the man's ear.
Khamis shook his head, his eyes seeing only Melissa. "Be-lieve me—it has only just begun." He coughed once, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth, his body sagging against Nigel.
"Where is the nerve gas?" Melissa asked, moving to stand only inches from the dying man. "Tell me where it is." Desperation mixed with anger colored her voice, and Nigel again lelt the urge to pull the trigger.
But it would only mean killing a dead man, and Nigel had never been one for overkill. Instead he released Khamis, leav-ing him lying on the floor.
"He's not going to tell us anything." Nigel moved to Melissa's side, reaching out to caress her bruised cheek, needing to touch her, to know that she was in truth all right.
"But he has to." She shook her head, stepping away from him, her attention still riveted on Khamis. "Tell me where the R-VX is."
"You are too late." Khamis's voice was weak now, as if every word was an effort.
"That's not good enough." Melissa's voice was pleading now.
Khamis ignored the outburst, his gaze shifting upward to stare into empty space. It was almost as if there were someone there, and Nigel watched as the man's lips curved upward into a smile.
"It is as I promised, my love." The words were so soft now that Nigel and Melissa had to move closer, Nigel bending so that he could hear. "The guilty shall suffer," Khamis whispered, "and in so doing, your death shall have been avenged." He sighed once, and then there was nothing more.
Khamis al-Rashid was dead.
THE FREIGHTER WAS AWASH with activity. A rescue helicopter occupied the midship deck area, and two Coast Guard cutters were anchored only a hundred yards or so from the ship. Melissa sat on a folding chair in the bridge area, clutching a cup of hot coffee.
She'd tried pacing, but the motion jarred her aching head, and at least for the moment, it seemed better to stay seated.
Gabe was being prepped for evacuation, St. Vincent's hospital already alerted as to his condition. He'd lost a lot of blood, but Sam assured her that he was going to be fine. The remaining crew members, including the captain, had already been off-loaded onto one of the cutters, their destination Homeland Security.
Nigel and Payton were standing in the corner discussing something, Nigel waving his hands in a very un-English fashion. She watched as they talked for several more minutes, then finally with a nod, Nigel turned to walk in her direction.
There was something in the set of his shoulders that sent alarm bells flashing. She set the coffee on the table, and stood up, already bracing for whatever it was he had to tell her.
"How're you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Melissa insisted, countering her words by lifting her hand to her injured cheek. "It's just a bruise."
Nigel looked for a moment as if he wanted to argue, then seemed to think better of it. "Payton and I have been talking. About Khamis and what he said."
"The bit about the guilty being punished?" Melissa asked. "I know, I haven't been able to get it out of my head, either."
"Payton thinks he meant you."
She nodded, the thought having already occurred to her. "But it wasn't true. I mean, I'm still here. He didn't kill me."
"That's just what's been bothering me. He had every opportunity, Melissa, so why the hell didn't he?"
She frowned for a moment, trying to follow his train of thought, then suddenly everything became clear. The idea sent fresh panic racing along her nerve endings. "To punish me, he has to hurt the people I love."
"I'm afraid that's a distinct possibility."
"Oh, God, there are only two ways for him to do that." She tightened her grip, pulling him closer. "He could hurt you. Or he could hurt Alicia. And Nigel, he didn't know about you."
"Have you tried to reach your sister?"
"Cell phones aren' t working and with the storm, the Coast Guard couldn't patch me through." She released his shirt, reaching instead for his hand. "I can't lose her, Nigel. I just can't."
"You won't. I promise. We're not even sure there's a real threat. Payton still believes the bomb is here on the ship. Or it not here, then on another ship somewhere. There simply wasn't time for him to have gotten it into position."
"But we can't know that for sure."
"No. That's why we're redoubling efforts to find it. Pay-ton and Sam here on the freighter, and the Coast Guard coordinating a search of all ships in the area that could conceivably be carrying the warheads. In addition, Homeland Security has issued alerts to up security on all high-profile targets."
"But if he's after Alicia, it won't be a high-profile target. I know you both think it would be overkill to use stolen nerve gas on my sister, but maybe it's meant to kill two birds with one stone." She winced at her words but forced herself to continue. "A strike for the holy war and for Khamis's personal vengeance. I'm betting the R-VX is out there somewhere, primed and ready for Alicia. It's the only way he could be sure I would suffer."
"Look, there's no point in imagining the worst. We won't know anything until we find your sister. Which is why I've arranged to take the speedboat. Payton and Sam can catch a ride with the Coast Guard when they finish here."
"Okay, then let's go." She tossed off the blanket the medic had wrapped around her, her thoughts centered firmly now on Alicia.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to trust the job of finding Alicia to me while you let a doctor check you out? There's room on Gabe's transport." Nigel nodded his head toward the helicopter.
"No way in hell."
"I figured as much." His smile flickered, then died. "So let's get going. The sooner we find Alicia, the sooner you can put this all to rest. Any idea where she might be?"
"Most likely at home." Melissa quickened her pace. "Their apartment is on East Eighty-ninth, across from Central Park. I'll know more as soon as we're in cell-phone range."
"All right, then, let's go. If Khamis did manage to plant the nerve gas, there won't be much time. I saw his face when he died. Whatever the hell he was looking for, he'd found it. And that doesn't bode well for us."
"Or Alicia."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
"SHE'S STILL NOT answering." Melissa clicked her cell phone closed with a snap. "And I've called Aaron's numbers, as well." Panic laced through her, but Melissa held on, determined not to let her terror take hold. All it would do was distract from what was important—finding Alicia.
The cabdriver honked as a car pulled out in front of them, the resulting swerve throwing Melissa against Nigel. Automatically his arm came around her, and even though it was merely reaction, she took comfort in his closeness.
"Look," he said, settling back against the seat, not bothering to remove his arm, "this is still all just supposition."
"But you should have heard him," Melissa said. "He blamed me. He said I was responsible for the deaths of his wife and sons. So what better way to punish me than to hurt the people I love?"
"I agree with your logic. It's just that if Khamis's principal goal was to hurt you by killing Alicia, it seems like there are a hell of lot easier ways than stealing old Soviet warheads to do it."
"Like I said, maybe he's piggybacking on someone else's plans. Maybe his affiliation with terrorists is driving the overall agenda, and Khamis saw a chance to get to me at the same time."
"If that's true, then he had to have targeted more than just your sister."
"Aaron's a diplomat, maybe it's about him, too."
Nigel shook his head. "Still not a big enough impact to be worth the effort that had to go into obtaining the R-VX and transporting it here."
"Well, they live in one of the wealthiest areas of the city. Maybe there's something in that?" She tried to process the information, to arrange it into a logical whole, but her brain was so flooded with adrenaline she was finding it difficult to think.
"Could be, but again, there are easier ways to take out a block. I just can't shake the feeling that it's got to be something higher profile than that."
"Oh, my God." Melissa's heart seemed to stop, her exclamation so tortured even the cabdriver looked back. She reached over for Nigel's hand, her eyes wide. "Alicia's at a fund-raiser tonight. To raise money for cancer research. The event is top-shelf. Anyone who is anyone will be there. Plates were something like five thousand a piece. Alicia even wanted me to go, but I told her I couldn't—not in light of everything that was happening."
"Where is the event?" Nigel asked, already leaning forward toward the driver.
"The Waldorf. The party is in the main ballroom, the Starlight Roof."
Nigel reached for the phone, dialing a number. He waited a few minutes then disconnected with a curse. "I can't reach Payton. Probably something to do with the storm."
"How about Harrison? He and Cullen are back in the city by now surely."
Nigel nodded and dialed again, while Melissa leaned forward to tell the cabdriver they'd switched destinations.
Nigel explained their fears, nodded at the phone a couple of times and disconnected again. "He's going to alert the Waldorf that there may be a problem, as well as the police, and then he'll try to contact Sam. In the meantime, we'll need to get there as quickly as possible and assess the situation. This isn't the kind of thing to be handled by rank-and file security."
Melissa leaned back against the leather seat, her mind rac-ing. Outside, she could see the lights of Grand Central Station as they turned to circumnavigate it, a giant gold eagle seeming to momentarily block their path. Just around the curve they would merge onto Park Avenue. Only a few blocks away. But traffic was backed up to a crawl, commuters trying to get home out of the weather. Melissa knew it could easily take them forty minutes just to get beyond Grand Central.
"Just stop here," Nigel told the driver, flinging a fifty through the sliding window. The man opened his mouth to argue, saw the size of the bill and nodded at the door. They jumped out of the cab, dodging traffic, ignoring shouted curses and honking horns until they'd safely reached Park and Forty-sixth. The rain was falling again, making the sidewalks an obstacle course of bobbing umbrellas.
The traffic light on Forty-seventh cooperated and they ran across it, pushing through the crowds almost as if they weren't there. Nigel reached for her hand, dashing out into oncoming traffic on Forty-eighth, the squeal of brakes echoing in her ears.
Safe on the north side, they headed across Park, dodging between idling cars and taxis in both lanes, oblivious to the light, the traffic jam actually playing to their advantage. Melissa could see the Waldorf ahead, her breathing coming easier when she realized it was unharmed. At least to the naked eye. She could see a couple of taxis out front, and a liveried doorman helping someone out of a car.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost eight. The fundraiser had begun at seven, but would only just now be reaching full swing. It was a dinner affair, which meant people seated at tables, listening to speakers as they talked about the dangers of cancer and the importance of continuing research.
A captive audience if ever there was one.
"Where do we start?" she asked as they slowed to a brisk walk, the doorman giving them a curious look but refraining from comment as they made their way through the revolving door. "The place is huge. If the R-VX is here, it could be anywhere."
"It'll be somewhere high," Nigel said, ushering her through the ornate lobby toward an elevator marked Star Roof. "R-VX is heavier than air, so if you want maximum effect you need it to detonate as far off the ground as possible. That way it has the capability of raining down on the target. Saturating it, so to speak. If the nerve gas is in the hotel, I'm betting it's up there." He shot a look toward the ceiling. "Not only is it on target as far as your sister is concerned, but the room's got a glass ceiling."
> "Meaning if it blows, the gas will be disseminated throughout the area."
"Exactly," Nigel said, cupping her elbow to move her forward.
The elevator door dinged open, but before they could move inside, a blue-jacketed security man stepped in front of the elevator, blocking their way.
"I'm sorry. I think maybe you have the wrong elevator." He eyed them dubiously, obviously taking in their bedraggled appearance, and Melissa's now-quite-pronounced bruise.
She swallowed a bubble of hysteria, wondering if after everything they'd been through they were going to fail because some over-testosteroned yahoo in an ill-fitting suit was going to insist they be thrown out of the hotel. Fortunately Nigel had no such reaction.
"I'm with British intelligence." He held out a hand, open-palmed, just in front of his jacket.
The man's eyes narrowed, but he nodded, his hand on the holstered gun at his hip.
Nigel produced his identification, and handed it to the man. "We've reason to believe there may be a problem upstairs. All we need to do is take a look around. Someone should have called to let you know we're coming." He produced a business card and handed it to the man.
The security man read the card and examined the credentials, and then read the card again. Finally he pulled out a two-way and had a whispered conversation with someone at the other end. Melissa could feel the seconds ticking away and had to forcibly keep herself from making a dash for the elevator.
Everything in its time, her granny used to say.
Finally, the man disconnected and handed the credentials back with enough deference to make Melissa feel as if she'd fallen down the rabbit hole. With something akin to awe, he ushered them toward the elevator. "Will you require backup? All I have to do is call it in and my men can converge on the floor in five minutes."
"I'll keep you apprised." Nigel nodded with the formality of a king granting favors, and pulled Melissa onto the elevator.