“So the Iranians finally finished him,” Najir said.
“We don’t think it was them,” she replied. “But whoever it was, they may be more dangerous than any existing regime.”
“What are we talking about?”
“A cult that wants to destroy God.”
He laughed lightly. “What does God have to fear from man?”
“Not God, specifically,” she said. “God’s children. People.”
“Which people?”
“All of us,” she said. “At least all the children of Abraham.”
Now Faisal nodded. Abraham was in a sense the patriarch of the three great Western religions: Judaism, Christianity, Islam.
“We have reason to believe they may be able to do great harm.”
Bashir put his hand on the glass in front of him as if he were about to have a drink, but he did not lift it. He seemed too deep in thought.
“Do you know why I have these bodyguards?” Najir said.
She could guess but didn’t.
“Because I told the Syrians to get the hell out of my country, demanded the Israelis stop bombing us, and warned the Iranians to never come here again.”
It was a proud statement. She sensed it was true.
“Left alone, we Lebanese will find a way to live together. But there is a price to pay for bravery.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen it firsthand.”
“And been part of it, I’d guess,” he said. “Otherwise Arnold would not speak so highly of you.”
Never one to take compliments well, she wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I don’t need you to go with me,” she said. “Just get me inside. Tell me what to look for and who’ll be there. I can do the rest.”
Najir took a drink of water and then broke a corner off his bread. He dipped it in olive oil and turned back to her, his smile as warm as the Mediterranean sun. “That will look suspicious,” he said.
“Because I’m a woman?”
“No,” he said smiling. “Because they will be surprised not to see me.”
She smiled back at him. “Of course.”
“We all have temptations we find hard to resist.”
“That we do,” she said. “When’s the auction?”
“After the evening prayers, we will meet some of our brothers from the other side of the city. And then you will see what Bashir wanted to see.”
CHAPTER 23
Hawker and Sonia took cover in the audiovisual control room while a wave of panic swept through the outside. Sporadic gunfire was interspersed with screaming, and then they heard nothing but silence.
“What’s going on?” Sonia asked.
He was pretty damn sure that she knew what was going on.
“My guess?” he said. “These are the people your father was working for.”
Another burst of gunfire echoed.
“They’re killing those people,” she said.
That was a distinct possibility, Hawker thought, but he didn’t want Sonia to feel that.
“I doubt it,” he said. “They’re looking for you.”
“Me?”
“After they took your father, they went after a lab he’d been working out of. There can be only one reason for that: he didn’t give them everything they wanted.”
“And they think I’ll have it?” she asked. Fear filled her eyes. The type of fear he’d seen once before, years ago, when it seemed they might all die before they got the chance to leave the Republic of the Congo.
He didn’t completely trust Sonia — there were too many red flags for that — but he was certain of one thing: No way on earth would he let this cult get their hands on her and do what they’d done to Ranga.
A small boom echoed from the main room. It sounded like an explosion.
“We have to do something,” Sonia said. “We can’t just hide here.”
Hawker intended to do just that. Sooner or later it would turn into a standoff. Hotel security would rush in and Dubai’s antiterrorist forces would appear. If he guessed right the attackers did not want that. They had to find Sonia quick and get her out of there, probably by using the helicopter they’d flown in on.
The problem was, it wouldn’t take them long to go through the attendees, and then they’d start checking the rooms off the main hall, like the one he and Sonia were in now.
He glanced around, looking for a weapon. As he did he noticed light coming from a long flat panel near the wall. It looked like a mixing room of a recording studio. The controls for the audiovisual displays were still lit from within: The power was still on.
Right off the bat he’d assumed the attackers had cut the line, but that was easier said than done in a big hotel like the Burj. Somehow they’d taken out the lights, but that was it. For all he knew they’d just turned off the damn switch.
“I’m not going to let those people die for me,” she said.
“A lot more people will die if they get their hands on you. Trust me.”
She looked at him as if the statement confused her, but for reasons he couldn’t quite put a finger on, it seemed like a performance. He hoped he was wrong, but once again he heard Keegan’s words in his head. The man was right. He couldn’t tell a friend from a foe.
He crawled to the panel, conscious of more shouting outside in the hall. After a second of looking it over — and realizing he knew nothing about how to work it — he began throwing switches, pressing buttons that seemed to represent Play and pushing levers that he guessed would control speakers or lighting effects.
The sound of the spa music rose up again. He could hear it from the main room. He pushed the lever to full, and then pressed Play on what looked like a giant DVD player.
The music grew louder and the voice of the spokesman cut in, but at a hundred decibels or more.
“You are here in the city of the future,” it boomed.
He threw a bunch of other levers and then grabbed Sonia.
“Come on.”
Out in the ballroom the guests lay flat on the floor. Three of them were dead, blood pooling around beneath them on the marble floor. Several others had suffered beatings.
A group of thugs in black fatigues and ski masks had fanned out around the perimeter. They’d gotten control quickly and now pointed automatic weapons at the men and women corralled between them.
At the center of that group, two others stood. One held his weapon at the ready; the other, without a mask and displaying a long blond ponytail, walked among the prone hostages like a wolf on the prowl.
He stopped.
“You.”
He pointed toward one of the Paradox personnel.
“Get up.”
As the man stood, Ponytail grabbed him by the throat.
“You’re a spokesman?”
The man from Paradox nodded fearfully.
“Then speak. Tell me where she is.”
“Who?”
“Sonia Milan.”
The spokesman choked at a lump in his throat. “She went down the east hall,” he said finally. “With Hendricks.”
“Hendricks? The old man?”
The spokesman nodded.
Ponytail shook his head. “We killed Hendricks. She wasn’t with him.”
“I swear they went together, right before you got here,” the poor guy said.
Ponytail brought a pistol up, placed the barrel against the man’s forehead, and cocked the hammer.
“I swear it! It’s the last I saw of her! I don’t know anything else!”
“Then I don’t need you anymore,” Ponytail said.
He pulled the trigger. The man’s head exploded and he fell backward, dead. Screams rose and were quickly stifled.
“Anyone else have any better information?” Ponytail shouted. “You know, the kind that might keep you alive?”
Before anyone spoke, the huge plasma screens lit up and began dropping slowly on their hydraulic slides. The music came up seconds later, blaring at a painfully loud volume, making it hard to hear. And then the voice-over began. A calm, soothing voice, played so loud it blocked out the music and distorted the speakers.