Marcus scanned the audience. “Thank you.”
The audience sat stunned for ten long seconds. The president began clapping, followed by the First Lady, the King of Sweden, and the rest of the massive auditorium rose to thunderous applause. The King of Sweden stood. The president and first lady stood. Then the entire crowd, a sea of black formal clothing, rose and applauded as if their team had just won the World Cup.
Marcus nodded, turned and walked off the stage into the arms of Alicia. She held him tight. “You said what needed to be said.”
“We have to get out of here quickly.”
A woman stepped from an alcove and said, “Mr. Marcus, Miss Quincy. Secretary Hanover needs to have an urgent word with you. Please come with me.” Jennifer Greene, Secretary of State Hanover’s executive assistant smiled and led Marcus and Alicia through the backstage area. As they followed her, Marcus reached inside his pocket and hit the audio record settings on his cell phone.
One minute later, they entered a private room.
ONE — HUNDRED-FIVE
Secretary of State Merriam Hanover stood alone, beneath a sixteenth-century Renaissance oil painting of a winter scene in Stockholm. She smiled when Marcus and Alicia entered the room. “Thank you, Jen. You may return to the Nobel speeches.”
“Okay,” the woman said, iPad in one hand and her mobile in the other. She smiled and left.
Secretary Hanover lifted her purse from the ornate table in front of her. Within seconds, her face melted from a smile to a mask of hard porcelain. She reached in the purse and pulled out a small pistol, pointing it straight at Marcus. “Paul, I hate to do this. Really, I do. I’ve actually become very fond of you. But you have given us no choice.”
“Us? So you’re with them. You’re one of Carlson’s followers.”
“You have no idea who we really are and what we represent.”
“Yes we do,” Alicia said. “And, you made no real effort to free Brandi and Adam. They were nothing more than pawns in some freaking chess match with your people and Iran.”
“Shut up! Paul, you’re going to put the flash drive on the table. Then you’re going to remove the encryption on that revelation310.org website so we can take it down now. After that, I’ll make a call and you and Miss Quincy will be escorted off the premises.”
“Merriam…put the gun down. There is still time for you to—”
“To do what? You haven’t a clue as to what will happen in the next five years. Give me the drive…now.” She raised the pistol.
“I can’t do that.”
“Then you are forcing me to kill you and your girlfriend. Take the flash drive out of your tuxedo pocket. I can’t afford to hit it with a bullet. Paul, this is all about national security. Nothing, and I mean nothing, trumps that.”
“Bullshit!” Alicia said. “It’s all about power and greed.”
To the far right, an exit door quietly opened an inch. NSA Deputy Director, Bill Gray, raised his Glock and stepped inside. “Drop the gun, Merriam!”
Secretary Hanover turned toward him and pointed her pistol.
“Bill, I didn’t know you made the invitation list.”
“The president invited me. Drop the gun! Drop it!”
She fired a shot. The bullet hit the wall to the left of Gray’s head.
He squeezed the trigger, the round entering Secretary Hanover’s head just above the left eye. Blood sprayed across the snow scene in the painting, and Merriam Hanover fell dead to the floor.
Gray holstered his gun. “She was the one who knew about the Russian physicist, Abromov, and his defection to Israel. And she tried to prevent it. But there is no Abromov.”
Marcus nodded. “I need to get Alicia and I out of here. Can you get us to the airport?”
“I’ll have one of the agents drive you while I take care of this mess.” He touched his forehead with one finger and blew out a deep breath. “What a damn breach…an internal conspirator…dear God…”
As Alicia and Marcus started for the door, she turned back to Gray. “Thank you, Bill.”
He nodded. “You two need to vanish…you need to make the world believe you’ve died. Trust me, there is no other option if you want to live.”
Marcus didn’t feel the adrenaline drain from his nerves and muscles until the Alitalia flight had been in the air more than an hour and was cruising at thirty-five thousand feet over Germany. He sat in coach with Alicia, the spearhead in one pocket and the flash drive in another. Alicia touched his hand. “Are you okay?”
“I keep thinking about Merriam Hanover. How’d they get to her?”
“How do they get to anyone who craves power? They feed the narcissism with appetizers and promise them a meal ticket for life.” Alicia looked across the aisle to a woman who held a sleeping baby in her arms, and then she glanced back at Marcus and squeezed his hand. Something through the window of the plane caught her eye. “Paul, what’s that?”
Marcus stared out the window for a few seconds. He could see a fighter jet in the distance gaining on the plane. “It’s a T-50 fighter jet.”
“Looks like it’s too close for comfort.”
Inside the Alitalia cockpit, the co-pilot watched the radar. In Italian, he said, “Aircraft approaching on starboard. He’s in violation of safe airspace.”
“Call Munich tower,” the pilot said. “Who is this crazy bastard?”
For a few minutes, the pilot of the T-50 fighter jet followed the commercial airliner. In Russian, he spoke into his radio mouthpiece. “Visual established. Permission to take down aircraft. The aircraft should be out of municipality areas within two minutes.”
“Permission granted. Fire when ready.”
Marcus watched the fighter jet keep a close flying distance. He whispered to Alicia. “They’re here because of us.” Marcus glanced around the plane. “Must be at least two-hundred people on this flight, and there’s not a damn thing I can do.”
Alicia held his hand. She licked her lower lip, her heart rate climbing.
Marcus reached in his pocket and pulled out the spearhead. If we go down, maybe the fire will be hot enough to destroy this. He closed his hand around the blade.
Alicia’s eyes widened. “Paul, look — there’s another jet.”
Marcus shielded his eyes from the sun streaming through the airplane window and watched a second jet approach.
“They’ve sent two,” Alicia said.
“No, no they haven’t. It looks like some sort of F-22, America-made, but it’s more aerodynamic.”
Three seconds later, the pilot in the F-22 fired a single rocket into the side of the T-50 fighter jet. The blast from the explosion rocked the commercial jetliner. Passengers screamed in horror as the sky around them turned into a white vapor followed by a fiery orange ball. The T-50 fell to earth somewhere over Germany.
Directly behind his seat, Marcus heard a woman vomit. People openly cried. Babies wailed and Marcus silently prayed they’d touch down in Rome before they were blown out of the sky somewhere over Europe.
ONE-HUNDRED-SIX
Marcus and Alicia caught a taxi out of Rome Fiumicino Airport and instructed the driver to take them to the Castel Sant’Angelo. “No, problem,” said the driver. “You have luggage?”