“Chambers,” she began, raising her voice slightly. “All of our people are already out, hardening the perimeter. Time to go.”
The young woman glanced back over her shoulder, meeting her eyes — and she could see the determination of youth.
“I’ll leave with them.”
“No purpose in it,” Marika replied, moving closer to her — brushing a strand of silver hair up under her FBI ball cap. “Nothing anyone can do at this point.”
Run. It’s what she had done with Vic — left him lying there facedown in his own blood.
“Pray,” came the whisper, so soft that she almost missed it.
“There’s that.” The older woman shrugged. “God might be able to hear you better outside.”
“No,” Carol replied, shaking her head. The anguish was clearly visible in her eyes, resolution not unmixed with pain. “I’m staying. Right here.”
And she could see it.
“You love him, don’t you?” Marika asked, her characteristic bluntness coming to the fore. She’d seen the look before…even felt it herself once, in a long-ago time.
It seemed a long time before the young woman replied — and when she did, it was as a single defiant tear fell from her eye, rolling unheeded down her cheek. “Yes…”
“What are we looking at?” Harry asked, dropping down beside Richards at the entrance doors.
The big man shook his head, not even looking up. “Spent most of my time getting the trip wires clamped so I could cut them,” he responded, gesturing to the two long wires that had extended out from either side of the IED, spanning the breadth of the entrance. “Then had to get the cover of the housing off before I could even get at the mechanism.”
“Trembler switch?”
“None that I’ve found,” came the grim response, a small screwdriver clenched between the Texan’s teeth. “God knows he’s got everything else…a mercury tilt switch over here in this corner of the housing — and from the looks of these wires leading to the encased battery, he set up a collapsing circuit.”
Good times, Harry thought. Cut just one wire — didn’t matter which one — and the whole thing exploded. Another thing Hollywood wasn’t too keen on telling people. “All that matters is getting it off the door — after that…they can throw it in Lake Mead for all I care. Focus on the tilt switch.”
“Already on it, boss,” Tex replied, taking the screwdriver out of his mouth.
Harry glanced down at the hostages in the seats below them, sensing the raw tension — nerves worn threadbare by the trauma of the night. The delay had them on the brink of panic. If they only knew the half of it…
“And hurry it up if you can. The natives are getting restless.”
“We just received an update from Las Vegas, Mr. President.”
Hancock allowed himself a weary smile, glancing across at Cahill before turning his attention back to the aide. “And Congresswoman Gilpin is safe?”
The young man shook his head. “Not yet, sir. The hostages and the rescue team are still trapped inside the Bellagio’s theatre trying to disarm the explosives on the main door. Mr. President, the presence of the nerve agent has been confirmed. It’s contained in a pair of bombs within the theatre. They were set up for timed detonation.”
Hancock’s eyes widened, realizing the import of the words. “Then you mean…”
“The terrorists were on a suicide mission.” The aide paused, seeming to hesitate before going on. “All the negotiations…were a fraud, just a ruse to receive access into our restricted airspace over Guantanamo.”
“Out,” the President whispered, anger and fear distorting his features. The look of a man who had been outplayed and knew it. “Just get out!”
“What’s he dealing with?” Han asked, glancing up as Harry walked back to him. The SEAL looked exhausted, his expression devoid of emotion.
Harry knelt down beside Gilpin’s wounded campaign manager, watching the young woman’s eyes. She was in shock, biting down on a pen to keep from screaming as the SEAL bandaged her shattered knee, preparing her to be moved.
“A mercury switch,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “If he moves the bomb or even jostles it — game over. He’s…making progress.”
Neither one of the men needed to look at their watches to know the truth. Time had almost run out.
Any moment now.
“Thank you.” Words seemed so…insufficient in this moment, and yet, to leave them unsaid?
“No more,” Han whispered, glancing down at the blood covering his hands, his face tightening into a grimace of pain. “After this, Harry, after all of this is done…I never want to see your face again. Where you go, Death follows — and I just can’t be a part of it any longer.”
Perhaps that was justice, even, Harry thought — unable to bring himself to answer the accusation. Knowing there was no defense.
He glanced over to where Laura Gilpin sat, bruised and battered. Her hand was clutching her side from the beating she had received, the faintest hint of fear showing in her eyes.
“Just a few minutes more,” he whispered, taking both of her hands in his. “And everyone will be safe. But I need your help.”
“Yes…of course,” the congresswoman replied, seeming to summon up whatever last reserves of strength she had within her.
“When those doors open, my partners will help your campaign manager and Mr. Winfield out — and I’ll be at your side. But we can’t have this turning into a stampede. If it does, more people are going to die. Your bravery’s kept these people alive so far this night. I need you to be their leader once more.”
She nodded her understanding. “Where’s Gilad?”
“Dead,” he responded, glancing up the aisle to where the bodyguard lay, the Sig-Sauer still resting beside his lifeless body. “He gave his life for yours — now let’s not have that be in vain.”
Harry looked up to see Tex standing there at the head of the steps. “The doors are clear.”
A nod and he reached down to help Gilpin up, wrapping an arm around her waist. She staggered against him, a moan of pain escaping her lips.
“Now hear this,” he called, his voice echoing off the distant wall of the theatre.
Knowing it was time for one final lie.
“The way out is clear — the danger is past. Let’s move out calmly, we all get to go home tonight.”
He saw several people glance at Gilpin, saw the look of reassurance she gave them.
“Go on,” she said, looking over the faces of her supporters. “I’ll be the last to leave.”
Trust.
She had never imagined that she could feel this way…but she found her breath caught in her throat as she scanned the crowd for his face, watching the people emerging in safety from the Bellagio’s theatre.
The people he had saved.
And then she saw him, his ballistic vest cinched over his bare chest, black jeans soaked from their immersion in the tank — supporting the congresswoman as they limped out of the theatre. The last to emerge.
“Thank God you’re safe,” Carol exclaimed, pushing her way through the crowd to him. It seemed like an eternity since he had disappeared into the darkness, preparing for the assault.
Harry looked up at the sound of her voice, his face changing suddenly. “Why — what are you doing still here? We’ve got still got two bombs, timed to go off any minute.”