Beneath him was an empty room lit by a single lamp. He slid the panel back farther and lowered his head through to gain a better view.
It was a meeting room, dominated by a large conference table surrounded by chairs. McCracken’s eyes, though, went straight to an inner door connecting this room with the one next to it: Sahhan’s office. Blaine praised his luck.
He slid the ceiling panel all the way out and lowered himself softly onto the conference table below. He stepped down from it just as lightly. The carpet swallowed what little sound his stride made as he moved to the connecting door.
The knob gave enough to tell him it was open. He could hear Sahhan’s voice clearly now coming from the other side.
Blaine fit the silencer onto the barrel of the automatic Belamo’s contact had provided. He moved his shoulder against the door and grasped the knob tightly.
Then he burst into Sahhan’s office.
Chapter 25
“Put it down. Slowly.”
McCracken’s rapid inspection of the dimly lit office showed no guards, only Sahhan seated behind his desk holding the telephone receiver tightly to his ear and wearing sunglasses as usual. Blaine stepped closer and made sure the fanatic saw his gun.
“Tell whoever you’re talking to that something demands your immediate attention. Not a word different. Say one and I’ll kill you now.”
Sahhan obeyed the instructions exactly. Blaine could sense the fear in his eyes behind the dark lenses. The receiver clicked into its cradle.
“But you haven’t come here to kill me, have you?” Sahhan asked.
“Not unless I have to.”
The radical shook his head and turned his chair to better face McCracken. “No, if you had meant to kill me, you would have done so already. You’re a professional. Professionals do not need to arouse their anger to motivate their kills.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I meant it as one.” Sahhan leaned forward, his face screwed up into a tight ball. “Wait, I know you. You were at the reception a few days ago at George Washington. Mr. Goldberg, wasn’t it?”
“It was Goldstein.”
“And so, Mr., er, Goldstein, if you have not come here to kill me, what can I do for you? Surely you know that there are guards everywhere in this building, so you cannot possibly hope to get away with whatever it is you expect to.” Sahhan moved his sunglasses lower on his nose, as if to get a better look at the man holding the gun on him. “But then, that wouldn’t bother a man of your resources, would it? After all, you discovered a way in here. I’m sure you’ve devised a way out as well.”
“You’re going to escort me out yourself, Sahhan.”
“Kidnapping?”
Blaine shook his head. “A decision you’ll arrive at yourself after you’ve heard what I’ve come to say.”
“If you plan to ask more challenging questions, I assure you that the answers will—”
“No questions this time. Just statements. I know about Christmas Eve.”
Sahhan’s expression didn’t waver. “I suspected as much when you mentioned it at the reception. The proper people were alerted. Apparently they failed to eliminate you.”
“You called Randall Krayman or one of his representatives, am I right?”
Sahhan’s mouth dropped. Any words that might have been about to emerge were lost.
“Don’t bother answering, Sahhan, I already know the truth. Krayman’s financing your private army. He’s bankrolled this entire Christmas Eve rampage of yours and even set you up with Luther Krell to make sure your men were outfitted with the proper weapons.”
Sahhan looked away. “Knowledge can be a dangerous weapon itself, sometimes a mortal one.”
“So can guns. And in this case you know about only half of them.” Blaine moved behind the desk until he was barely a yard from Sahhan. He could see the fanatic stiffen. “Listen closely, Sahhan, because here’s where the fun begins. Krayman’s been using you all along. You’re part of a much greater plan. I’ve just come back from an island in the Caribbean called San Melas. Krayman owns it. He’s been training mercenaries there for God knows how many months, training them to destroy your troops once they’ve accomplished their purpose. I’m not talking about just your troops either. You personally will pose too much of a threat for him to leave around. Krayman’s after some kind of ultimate control. The PVR was important to him only because it would give him an excuse to mobilize his private army into the nation’s streets.”
Sahhan looked at him calmly. “You have your facts wrong, Mr. Goldstein. It is I who am using Krayman. This entire affair was my idea.”
“No,” Blaine insisted. “Think back to your dealings with Krayman and his people. Weren’t they too neat, too clean? How many ideas did they put into your mind, how many words into your mouth? Where did you come up with the logistics for this strike? This is a large-scale operation, professional all the way. Krayman arranged consultations for you. Advice was given, so subtly perhaps that later you might have thought the ideas originated with you. There are men who specialize in such areas. Believe me, I know.”
“You know nothing!” Sahhan flared, his voice rising slightly. “You think I haven’t considered everything you’ve said? Krayman and I are working together to achieve mutual goals, but when all this is over, only mine will be achieved. There are fifteen thousand of my followers out there waiting for Christmas Eve to come. But once they begin to spread the justly deserved chaos throughout this nation, hundreds of thousands more will join them. The poor, the oppressed, the downtrodden, the frustrated — they will rally together against their oppressors. Then whatever else Krayman has planned won’t matter because he won’t be able to accomplish it without me. The paralysis will be total and only I will be in a position to lift it.”
“This is great,” McCracken said in disbelief. “He’s got a plan to double-cross you and you’ve got a plan to double-cross him. Now, that’s a match made in heaven if ever I’ve heard one. You really want to beat Krayman? Then call your troops in. Call off the Christmas Eve strike now. His mercenaries will be frozen in place, unable to mobilize because there will be nothing to mobilize against.”
“Even if these mercenaries exist, they will play right into my hands,” Sahhan returned, his eyes glowing. “Yes, their battles with my front-line troops will spur the rest of the oppressed into even faster action. I should have considered such a scenario myself.” His stare sharpened. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my patience grows thin. …”
McCracken saw his finger move and lunged forward. Too late. The button beneath his desk had been pressed and the office door sprung open, a parade of guards charging through. Blaine grabbed Sahhan by the shoulder and jammed the silenced gun barrel against his temple. The guards froze, unsure, but held their own guns steady.
Then Sahhan broke the silence.
“Take him,” he ordered his guards. “He won’t kill me if it means he has to die himself.” His eyes shifted briefly to McCracken. “I know his kind.”
Blaine wanted to kill him just for that, but couldn’t pull the trigger. Sahhan’s guards approached slowly. McCracken turned his gun from the fanatic’s head and raised his hands in the air.
A sea of huge arms were upon him, grips as sure as iron. They yanked Blaine viciously toward the door, and he didn’t bother to protest, didn’t bother with one last-ditch attempt to sway the radical fool who sat grinning behind his massive desk.
“Deal with him in the usual manner,” Sahhan ordered his men. “But be especially careful. He may have friends watching him.” He slid the sunglasses back to the bridge of his nose. “See that they don’t have a chance to intervene. Now get him out of my sight.”