When she responded, he could hear the hesitation in her voice. “I know — Fort Meade’s voiceprint analysis confirmed that moments before you went in. Nichols…there’s something else you should be aware of.”
“Yes?”
“You were right about Guantanamo…the Antonov was on a suicide mission. Its crew deliberately overshot the Leeward Point Airfield and flew it into the top floor of the naval hospital across the bay.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the anger burn within him. The indescribable sense of guilt. You were right. But not soon enough.
Cassandra on the walls of Priam’s Troy.
“Casualties?” he asked, scarcely daring to hear the answer.
“At least thirty dead, scores of injured. We’re just getting the reports.”
“We’re getting scattered reports out of Vegas, Mr. President,” Cahill announced, entering the small conference room. “It’s being said that the FBI assault team went ahead and stormed the theatre.”
Hancock seemed stunned as he gazed at the images on-screen, video of the burning hospital in Guantanamo. Wounded men staggering out of the carnage. He seemed to process his chief of staff’s words slowly, almost as if in numbed disbelief.
“And?”
“No one knows — yet. There is a report that says the hostages have been secured, but it is unsubtantiated.”
“Dear God,” the President whispered, shaking his head. “Is there any chance…that they caused this?”
He gestured toward the chaos at the hospital.
“What do you mean, Mr. President?”
“If the FBI defied my orders…if they broke the terms of our negotiation, then the strike against Guantanamo could have been retaliation.” Hancock paused, his voice trembling. “Inform me the moment they’re out of the theatre — the moment you’ve confirmed that Representative Gilpin is safe…I want to know who ordered this assault. I want their resignation on my desk by the time the sun comes up.”
He was dying, Harry could see that — and there was no help for it — his body riddled with bullets.
“Should have waited,” he whispered, bending down on knee beside the Israeli.
A wry smile crossed the bodyguard’s face, a trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. “All part of the…job. You never lose your principal — give your life for theirs, if it comes to that.”
“And it hasn’t,” Harry lied, reaching out to examine his wounds. “We’re going to get the EMTs in here to help you…just as soon as it is safe.”
“Don’t bother,” Cohen whispered, suddenly overcome by a fit of coughing. “There’s others that need you more — I’m done.”
He closed his eyes, leaning awkwardly back against one of the seats. As if going to sleep.
Harry could feel someone move up behind him, and he looked back to see Tex standing there.
“We’ve got a problem,” the big man announced, lowering his voice as if to ensure that those nearby wouldn’t hear what he was about to say. “The bombs on the platform with the nerve gas …they weren’t set up for command detonation.”
“Timed?”
A nod. The look on Richards’ face told Harry the answer to his second question: no visible timer.
That was Hollywood — not the real world. No bombmaker worth his salt made it that easy. The explosion would vaporize the soman, spreading the nerve gas throughout every corner of the theatre. And even outside.
“Can you disarm them?” he asked, rising to walk back toward the platform.
“One, maybe…it’d take probably half an hour — maybe more. Whoever built them was a real pro, I’d spend half my time figuring out which of the wires were real and which were decoys.”
Too many maybes.
“One bomb disarmed and the other one goes…” Harry breathed, squatting down next to the nearest IED. “Still enough soman to kill every last one of us. And we don’t have thirty minutes.”
The Texan looked over at him. “Based on what?”
“Think about it. Even if they expected us to hold off until the Antonov was supposed to land…they had to know that the moment they flew it into the naval hospital, all bets were off. Which means they would have set this up to go off shortly thereafter.”
Tex seemed to consider his words for a moment. “Ten minutes?”
“Tops.”
Their options were limited, and they both knew it. The way they had come…there was no possibility of evacuating the injured that way. Too slow — too many people would die. Math. “Focus on disarming the IEDs on the main doors,” Harry responded. “That’s our only way out of this.”
He stepped away from Richards, away from the people they had rescued, keying his mike.
“What’s our status on the auto-injectors from Nellis?”
“Only came up with about twenty of them — my agent is on his way back now. Metro finally has Winchester under control, with all the gunmen either dead or in custody.” Marika’s voice. “Why?”
“The nerve agent is rigged to blow and the doors of the theatre are still sealed with explosives.”
“Dear God…” she whispered. “What can I do from here?”
“Start evacuating the resort. All your people, all the first responders — everyone in the triage.”
“Understood.”
“That means you too, Thomas,” Harry added for Parker’s benefit. “Get outta here. And know this…if Tarik is still out there, this could be another piece of his plan. He’s been one step ahead of us thus far.”
“Everyone is on the highest alert. I’ll pass the word to the Metro snipers, have them provide cover for the evacuation.”
“Do it, and do it quickly. We’re livin’ on borrowed time.”
“Metro, be advised, we may still have an active subject. Snipers, be prepared to provide cover for the evacuation of the Bellagio. Copy?”
“Roger that,” Tarik Abdul Muhammad whispered over the radio headset, the butt of the Accuracy International AE MkIII sniper rifle cradled against his cheek as he lay there on the roof, aiming down and across the street at the north entrance of the Bellagio.
He had hardly expected them to succeed, but it still smote him to the heart to think of all his brethren dead, failed in their mission. As for himself…he had never intended to die this night, Insh’allah.
I take refuge with my Lord, he thought, remembering the words of the Holy Qur’an, from every proud one who does not believe in theDay of Reckoning.
Such a day had been brought to America this night — a day for the sins of men to be weighed in the balances. And many had been found wanting, as the police sergeant he had stabbed to death in the resort’s freight elevator.
The shaikh reached forward, pulling back the rifle’s bolt to chamber a .308 Winchester cartridge.
The final reckoning was yet to come…
Five minutes. Half the time Harry had specified…elapsed. And still no one emerged from the theatre.
Carol stood at the edge of the casino floor, not far from a bullet riddled roulette wheel, glimpsing one of the sculptures of Richard McDonald as she gazed back toward the doors of the “O”.
Stretchers passed her by on their way out, the bloodied victims of the initial assault.
Marika emerged from the security elevator, spying the young woman standing there — as if waiting for something. Someone.