He turned back to the computer screen showing the CCTV feed. ‘Anyone know how you play back images on this?’ he called out to the room.
Susan came over. ‘Yes, press control-delete on the computer to get the controls up, then use the cursors.’
Myles nodded his thanks then followed her instructions, concentrating on the screen. Instantly a time-stamp appeared at the bottom of the image.
Susan squinted at it, then looked up at a clock on the wall. The times didn’t match. She seemed puzzled. ‘Our clock’s fast,’ she said, frowning.
Myles wondered too, then he understood. He shook his head. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘The images are slow. Five minutes slow.’
They hadn’t been watching a live feed, but a delayed image with a five-minute lag. Myles had reached the entrance within a minute of seeing Juma at the scanner, but that was really almost six minutes after Juma was there — plenty of time to escape. ‘Can you get me a feed from other cameras?’ he asked.
Susan pressed something which brought a rectangle up on the screen. It contained three columns with four images in each. She pointed at them to show how Myles could click on each one to enlarge it, then use the cursor keys to fast forward or rewind.
Myles selected the image for the main entrance. He fast-forwarded until Juma appeared in his summer suit, then played it. It was definitely him. The dogs reacted to him, and one of the Marines made him take off his jacket. The low-quality images showed the Somali being padded down by the soldiers.
The soldiers seemed to find nothing. Then Juma asked them a question, got directions, and went out of shot towards the café — now carrying his jacket…
Myles clicked on the image of the café. The chair where Juma had left his jacket was clearly visible in the left-hand side of the screen. He rewinded the image, then played it when he saw himself. He was going through the pockets of the jacket, then the Marines approached him.
Myles went back further. It showed him arriving, looking around, then seeing the jacket.
He scrolled back two more minutes. The jacket wasn’t there. He fast-forwarded until he saw Juma enter, then pressed ‘play’. The Somali leader still looked calm. He scanned around, peering at the coffee queue. Then he put his jacket on the chair. He took out the pills — laxatives — and popped several of them into his palm, knocking them back into his mouth. Juma put the half-empty packet of pills back, and looked around some more.
Suddenly Juma reacted to something. It was his phone. He pulled it from his pocket and answered it. Someone had warned him. Quickly, Juma jumped to look down the corridor. Then he ran away from view, towards the toilets.
Seconds later Myles appeared in the image, searching for him.
Myles thanked Susan. ‘You need to get a message out: they need to seal off that café area,’ he said. ‘Tell them to look out for this man.’
Susan understood and moved towards the radios.
Myles turned to one of his Marine escorts — a tall man who looked more intelligent than the others. ‘And you need to come with me,’ said Myles.
The Marine nodded, and Myles and the Marine darted out of the room. For the second time, Myles ran along the corridor, trying to bump into as few people as he could, but this time with a US Marine closely behind him. Down the stairs, past the entrance and the dog handlers, along the second corridor, to the café.
The Marine stayed close. Already the message had got out, and other Marines were alert and on duty, actively guarding the café.
Myles and the Marine stopped opposite the door to the toilets. Checking they were both ready, Myles silently pressed on the door. It swung open. Myles held it for the Marine, who used hand signals to instruct his colleagues: they were to guard the entrance.
Then the Marine followed Myles in.
Inside, an elderly delegate was washing his hands. The man realised Myles and the Marine were looking for something. Myles put his finger to his lips, indicating the man should be quiet. The man understood, exiting with his hands still wet.
Myles and the Marine inspected the cubicles. Only one was in use. Locked.
The Marine bent down to see a pair of shoes on the floor. He nodded to Myles. Myles peered down and saw the same thing.
Silently, the Marine pointed at his boot then at the door. Myles indicated that he agreed.
Taking only a moment to prepare himself, the Marine suddenly gave the door a huge kick.
The door flipped back on its hinges, the broken lock flying against the wall.
Before the Marine could see what was inside, he was knocked straight down, onto the toilet floor.
He had been shot.
A man with a bare torso barged out, jumping over the body of the Marine.
It was Juma.
Sixty-Eight
Myles bent down to check on the Marine. Juma’s bullet had hit the body armour on his chest, knocking him to the floor and winding him.
The Marine was moving his head around as if he was dazed. Myles hauled him up until he was sitting on the floor.
Then Myles felt a terrifying presence standing above him. Juma hadn’t left the toilets. Instead, he was holding his pistol just a few inches from Myles’ nose. ‘My Mr Englishman,’ sneered the Somali pirate. ‘Looks like you just can’t get enough of my bullets, can you.’
Myles didn’t reply immediately. Instead he made eye contact with the Marine. He could tell the soldier, still sitting on the ground, was thinking of making a move. Grabbing Juma’s legs, perhaps.
Quietly Myles shook his head. He knew Juma: the man would kill them both on a whim. The Marine understood and stayed where he was.
Slowly Myles lifted his eyes. Juma’s face was sweating and his smile was not as confident as it once had been. As well as his jacket, Juma had taken off his shirt, revealing the scar on his abdomen where his kidney had been stolen as a teenager. His muscles were glistening as though he was feverish. ‘Juma. So you made it here,’ said Myles.
Juma was breathless. ‘I did, Mr Munro. And now I’m going to do what I said I’d do.’
‘Bring down America like the Roman Empire? You know this is Rome, not America, don’t you?’
Juma pretended to laugh, but he was clearly in some pain. He put his free arm on his stomach. ‘Englishman, stand up,’ he ordered.
Myles obeyed. Juma indicated to the Marine. ‘You, too.’
The Marine came to his feet as Juma walked back, creating extra distance between him and the two men. Myles kept questioning him. ‘So come on, Juma, what’s your plan?’ he asked. ‘How are you going to destroy America?’
Juma took the question straight on. ‘I’m going to destroy this conference, which will help destroy the dollar,’ he said.
Myles shook his head. ‘Rome didn’t collapse because they devalued their coins — it was the other way around. They devalued their coins because the Empire was falling apart.’
Juma pretended to chuckle again. ‘Thanks for the history lesson, Mr Professor. You’ll be history yourself soon.’ He motioned his gun in a circle. He wanted the two men to face away from him. ‘Hands on your heads, please. Both of you walk towards the door.’
Myles raised his hands, but refused to be humbled. ‘Which of the conference delegates do you want to kill, Juma?’
‘That’s easy, Englishman: all of them.’
‘But they’re all fat, middle-aged bankers. There aren’t even a lot of them — America loses more men in road accidents every day than there are here,’ said Myles.
‘They hold the key to America’s economy.’
‘Who told you that, Juma?’ taunted Myles. ‘It’s nonsense. They all have deputies ready to replace them, anyway.’