The Stolen Chalicel (45 page)

“Do not light the butane lighters. Wheel the carts back into the kitchen immediately!”

The phalanx of waiters extinguished their lighters in unison and began pushing their trolleys back toward the kitchen.

An announcement came over the loudspeaker in a calm but authoritative voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, unfortunately we have run late for the dinner program. Please excuse the interruption, but photos of the guests of honor must be taken at this time.”

A murmur of disappointment swept through the room.

“The gala dinner has concluded. Would everyone please exit the building in an orderly manner.”

The guests collected their belongings and began to move toward
the exits. It would probably take at least twenty minutes for everyone to pass down the corridors and go out the front entrance. If an attack was imminent, it would be too late! Security personnel swarmed the dais and began to move the dignitaries quickly to the rear door.

Sinclair and Holly stood in the steel elevator on the way down to the subbasement.

“I hope to
hell
we’re right,” Sinclair worried. “We may have just caused an international incident for no reason.”

“John, that
has
to be it,” Holly assured him. “You saw his face. He was laughing. He was happy to be pulling it off.”

“It just seems somehow . . .” Sinclair wavered.

Just then the door opened onto the subterranean corridor. The passage toward the safe room was lined with security personnel. Sinclair walked out of the elevator, suddenly mobilized.

“They’re evacuating the dais!” he announced.

Each man stood at the ready, facing the steel elevator. There were at least ten male agents and one female, all dressed in blue blazers.

Sinclair moved rapidly down the corridor toward the safe room, Holly following behind.

“Hols, I just want to check inside one more time,” Sinclair said. “Come with me. I don’t want to leave you.”

Holly nodded tensely. The security personnel let them pass.

As they approached the door, Holly glanced at the lone female security agent. Nondescript in her somber suit, she was an ordinary-looking woman with a thick waist, pulled-back hair.

Then Holly saw the topaz eyes. They were open wide in anticipation. The eyes of a tiger. The color was unforgettable.
It was Lady X!

“John, it’s her!”
Holly said.

Sinclair grabbed Xandra by the arm in a lightning move, his reflexes honed by years of fencing. He spun her around. The agents turned and leveled their weapons at her.

“This woman is Moustaffa’s accomplice!”
Sinclair shouted.
“Get her out of here!”

Xandra stepped back against the wall with her hands up. Sinclair hesitated. There was something in her expression—a hint of smugness in the look. The expression didn’t seem right. He glanced at her eyes. They were triumphant. This was not a woman who had just been caught.
Something was wrong.

Sinclair turned and looked inside the safe room. It was empty. There was only a conference table and twelve chairs. Silent. Ready. Yet he could feel a sinister vibe.

Sinclair stepped into the room and walked around to the other side of the table. There, taped to the leg of the chair, was what looked like a shiny silver fire extinguisher! Attached to the canister was a pressure gauge, a dial like those on Cordelia’s diving gear.

Holly came into the room and walked up behind him.

“John, what is it?”

Wordlessly, he pointed down at it.

“Please move out of the room,” a security agent called to them. “The elevator is coming down.”

“Oh, my God!” Holly said to Sinclair. “He’s put the weapon in here!”

Out in the corridor the elevator pinged, the steel doors opened, and twelve world leaders stood inside. The security team surged toward the elevator to flank the officials along the hallway. The drill had been practiced in advance. The dignitaries would move en masse down the passage, surrounded by armed guards.

Sinclair turned to Holly in horror.

“We have to do something!”

“Just tell them!”
Holly urged.

The group of dignitaries and security men were coming toward them at a fast trot. The cadre of security men had their weapons drawn. They would reach the safe room in a matter of seconds!

Sinclair reacted fast, moving toward the door. There wouldn’t be time to explain! No one would listen.
They didn’t realize they were rushing to their deaths!

Sinclair gripped the handle of the heavy steel door and pulled it. It was very cumbersome but started to swing toward him slowly.

“John, what are you doing!”
Holly shouted behind him.

The door was nearly shut when the first security officer fired at him. It hit the door with a ping.

“You’re going to lock them out!”
Holly yelled.

The door slammed with a heavy clang. The last thing he saw was the shocked faces of the world leaders out in the corridor. Sinclair turned the swivel handle and punched the green button on the automatic lock.
He and Holly were now sealed inside!

The chief of operations looked at the screen. The subterranean passage was cluttered with people milling about. It wasn’t supposed to work like this. By now, they should be in the safe room!

Agents had formed a ring around the world leaders, but some of the dignitaries were very agitated and started banging on the safe room door. It was locked. Nobody could open it! At least not for a half hour.

The security officer glanced at the monitor that revealed the interior of the vault. John Sinclair and Dr. Graham were inside, apparently having a heated argument. Just beyond he could see the outline of a cylinder, taped to a chair.

He picked up the mouse and zoomed the interior camera in on the object. Yes, it was a canister! Sinclair had closed the door to protect the others.
Bravo!
That was very fast thinking.

But right now the top priority was to get all the officials out of the corridor and into their motorcades. Sinclair was on his own.

“Oh, my God, John, you’ve just locked everyone out!”

Holly was shouting at him.

He squared off to face her, taking her by the shoulders.

“Holly, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

“But they won’t understand, John. They’ll think we are the terrorists. They just
shot
at you!”

“I don’t care what they think. We can’t let them in here. They will die!”

Sweat was pouring down his face. He couldn’t believe it had come to this.

“So we’re locked in?” she asked.

He looked over at the canister and didn’t reply.

“With that?” she asked, white-lipped.

“Yes.”

“Can they get in?” she asked.

“No, once the door locks, it can’t be opened for at least thirty minutes. And even then, only by the people inside the room. That’s how it’s designed.”

“We can’t get out!”
Holly said.

“No,” he said.

“Can anyone help?”

“There’s a hotline. I’ll call upstairs.”

“But that canister could be on an automatic trigger,” Holly said, pointing to it. “It will kill us.”

“If it goes off, it will. And the timer is probably set to go off relatively quickly,” he added.

Holly shrank back against the door. Sinclair turned and approached the canister. The phone was on the table, the canister right below it, taped to the chair leg.

“John, please don’t go near it!”

“I have to. It’s our only chance.”

Paul Oakley looked at the monitor of the safe room camera. Sinclair and Holly were inside. Another camera in the hall showed a cluster of men on the other side of the door. The U.S. president and the prime minister of Japan were trying to open the door. Others were pounding on it. Shouting. Security teams surrounded the group with drawn weapons. But there was nothing they could do. The room had been sealed.

What had Sinclair done? He knew about the lock. There had to be a reason.

The phone on the console buzzed next to him. Oakley stared at it. It was the hotline to the safe room. Everyone else had left the command center. He was alone.

“Oakley here.”

“Paul, it’s Sinclair.”

“What’s going on?” Oakley asked, breathless.

“Are you near a monitor? Look at the chair in the corner,” Sinclair replied.
“The canister is here.”

The MoonSonnet
Motorsailer

C
ORDELIA,
J
IM
G
ARDINER
, Carter Wallace, and Ted VerPlanck were all standing around the wheelhouse of
The MoonSonnet
listening to the commotion. The ship-to-shore radio was squawking and breaking up into jumbled noise. From the sound of it, the command center at the conference hall was filled with shouting.

“It’s happening!” Carter blurted.

“They just said they’re evacuating the ballroom!” VerPlanck said with a gasp.

Cordelia sat down on the captain’s bench.

“I feel sick,” she said.

Ted VerPlanck came over and put his arm around her.

“Don’t worry, they have it under control,” he lied.

Sharm el-Sheikh Conference Center

S
INCLAIR, DON’T TOUCH
it!” Oakley said into the phone.

“What should I do?”

“Move away and stay near the ventilating shaft. If it goes off, at least the incoming air will blow the aerosol away from you.”

“OK, Paul, will do,” Sinclair’s voice came back. “There’s only one canister. Weren’t we expecting more?”

“Yes. We thought the attack would take place in the ballroom, but this room is much smaller.”

“Understood,” Sinclair said grimly. “I guess you are telling me one is enough.”

Oakley didn’t answer. He put his head in his hands. There was no way they would survive if the weapon had an automatic trigger. They were as good as dead.

“Paul, get the security team down here,” Sinclair was saying. “There has to be a way to override this door lock!”