Sherry pounded the door again. “Mr. Lee? Are you all right?”
A figure emerged from the smoke, a member of the housekeeping staff who was racing for the stairs. Sherry snagged her arm.
“My friend is in there. He’s hurt. Please open the door,” Sherry pleaded. The woman muttered something in Spanish while she fumbled in her pocket. Finally she produced a universal card key and slid it through the slot. The green light went on and Sherry pushed the door open.
“Thank you,” she said. But the housekeeper was already gone.
Lee’s suite had been battered by the blast, but there was no sign of occupation. The lamps were down, so Sherry tried the overhead light. The lights seemed dim, and Sherry deduced the power was low.
She searched the suite, found Lev Cohen in the bedroom. He’d been stabbed to death. The murderer had placed him on the bed, folded his arms across his chest, but had not bothered to close his dead staring eyes. Sherry stepped closer to examine the corpse, then stumbled backwards, choking back a sob. More smoke filled the hallway, and she coughed.
I have to get out of here.
Turning, Sherry fled the grisly scene, praying that the fire would engulf this suite, and obliterate any evidence of what really happened to David Palmer’s Chief of Staff.
Outside, panicked patrons fled the hotel, to spill out through the shattered portico, onto sidewalks littered with broken furniture and shards of glass. Those fleeing the rear doors had to climb over a huge section of the famous Hanging Garden balcony that came crashing to earth in the explosion. Debris continued to rain down, along with tons of soil, trees, flowers and shrubs, as the balcony continued to crumble.
Smoke filled the air around the hotel, most of it pouring out of the underground garage. More smoke, funneled through the tower as if it were a chimney, emerge through the shattered glass walls of the rooftop ballroom.
The area jamming ended with the destruction of the transmitter in the explosions. People on the grounds around the hotel, and passersby on Las Vegas Boulevard bombarded 911 operators. Soon sirens wailed in the distance.
Underneath the Babylon, secondary explosions rumbled as gas tanks from hundreds of cars began to cook off.
13. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 12 A.M. AND 1 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
The fire alarm wailed, a deafening sound. Jack Bauer and Nina Myers entered the Babylon’s chaotic security center, stepping over the shattered remains of the glass doors. A uniformed security officer moved to stop them. Nina flashed her CTU badge and the man backed off.
Unruffled amid the room’s frenzied activity, a lanky, gray-haired man in a charcoal suit approached them. “I suspect you’re looking for your agent,” the gray man said. “Mr. Manning is over there.”
Curtis stood at a work station, phone to his ear. He nodded to Jack, then returned to his conversation. Agent Manning was bruised and battered, but alive.
“What’s the situation?” Jack asked.
“The Babylon is still standing, but I don’t know for how long,” the man replied grimly. “The balcony has mostly collapsed. The underground garage has caved in. There’s a fire down there, too. More smoke than anything else, but the fire department reports that the chance of finding survivors is… minimal.”
The gray man adjusted his tie with a long-fingered hand.
“You have electricity,” Jack observed.
The gray man nodded. “Emergency generators are located in an outbuilding, so they were undamaged. We’ve even gotten some of the computers up and running and we’re hoping to restore one or more of the elevators soon. That is our top priority.”
“How many people have you evacuated?” Nina asked.
“Thanks to Mr. Manning’s early warning, we managed to clear the casino and all of the clubs and restaurants. Some of the lower guest floors were cleared as well. But people are still trapped in the upper suites and in the ballroom at the top of the building.”
Nina pushed her hair back. “What kind of numbers are we looking at?”
“Several hundred, at least,” the gray man replied. “There was an event upstairs. The guest list says three hundred, but there’s also the wait staff, bartenders, support — there may be as many as four hundred people trapped up there.”
Jack nodded, a tight grin on his face. “Then no one’s gotten out of the ballroom?”
The gray man shook his head. “Not since ten or fif-teen minutes before the blast. That’s when the elevators failed. The device that jammed our phones also interfered with the computers that ran the elevators.”
“How about the stairs?”
“Since the explosions, the lower portions of the stairwells — the areas closest to the blast — have been blocked. Two stairwells have collapsed entirely. A third may be intact, but it’s also filled with toxic smoke, deadly enough to suffocate anyone who inhales it.”
The gray man paused, his hands fluttering around his tie. “I’m told the fire department sent two men up that stairwell, but carrying oxygen and all the other bits of fireproof gear, it will take them a while to reach the ballroom.”
Nina faced Jack, comprehension dawning on her face. “You think the bombers are still up there, don’t you?”
Jack nodded. “Lilly Sheridan was on the phone with me, waiting for instructions from the man who held her daughter hostage, when the jamming device kicked in and ended our conversation.”
Bauer faced the gray man. “Curtis, Nina and I are going to be on the first elevator to go up,” Jack declared.
Grim faced, Curtis appeared at Jack’s shoulder. “I just spoke with Morris O’Brian,” he whispered. “There was an explosion at Bix Automotive. It looks like Hugo and his gang have been wiped out…”
Banquet Manager Evelyn Ankers, with help from Congressman Larry Bell and Senator Palmer, had gathered everyone trapped on the upper floors inside the main ballroom. It was a wise strategy. With most windows broken the ballroom offered plenty of fresh air, a welcome reprieve from the smoke filled lower levels. Several people were injured, and Sherry Palmer had appeared to supervise their care. Seven victims had been killed. Their bodies were covered by bloodstained table cloths.
Lilly had scanned all the faces in the room, but did not see the man she was searching for. As soon as she had the chance, Lilly ducked out of the ballroom to search for her daughter. She was sure Pamela and her kidnappers were still on this floor, even though she hadn’t seen them.
Searching, she moved through the empty kitchen, to the corridor that led to the elevators. She was walking so fast she passed by the open door. It was the sound of voices that stopped her.
“Someone must have defused one or two of the bombs,” a man’s voice said.
“Lucky thing, my brother. We would all be dead now if things had gone as planned,” said another voice, one Lilly recognized.
She peered through the open door, nearly gasped. Stella Hawk was there, hands clutching her daughter’s shoulders. Then Lilly saw the others. Two men, both armed. One was the man who’d given her the bomb.
Lilly began to tremble, uncertain what to do next. She ducked back into the kitchen, grabbed a carving knife from a steam table.
Then the cell phone vibrated in her pocket and she fumbled for the phone. “Hello.”
“It’s Jaycee.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m near the ser vice elevator. It will be working soon, in ten or fifteen minutes. Then I’m coming up.”
“Oh, god, Jaycee. They’re here. They have Pamela—”