“He’s right, fellas,” Ryder said in the calm, everyday conversational tone he used in almost any situation. “Our job is to get to the plane and get out of here as quickly and safely as possible. Mr. Marten’s plan is as sound as it can be under the circumstances. The only problem is that it puts him and you”-he looked at Agent Grant-“and the hospital people in some serious jeopardy.”
“Unless they suspect something, White and his people aren’t likely to take action anywhere close by. The neighborhood is too dense and too upscale,” Marten said evenly. “It would be almost the same as storming the hospital itself. It would draw too much attention. My sense is they will have given their driver instructions where to go. If he doesn’t go where he’s supposed to, they’ll think he’s playing along with orders we’ve given him, so they’ll follow the truck, shifting tails with as many cars as they have. Then, at someplace out of the way, a park or abandoned lot or something, they’ll make their move. That means the beginning of the ride should be relatively safe.” Marten looked to Gama. “My main concern is you and your people, because it will be dangerous. This is our fight, not yours. There’s nothing that says you or any of them have to do it. If you decide against it we’ll do something else.”
“Let me find them, and you can talk to them yourself.”
“Fair enough,” Marten said. “The thing is, it all has to be done fast, before they begin to think about coming in.”
Mario Gama smiled. “I already have three people in mind who I am sure will be more than happy to help. Perhaps you don’t know. Raisa Amaro is, or perhaps… was”-his voice caught in his throat; then he recovered and went on-“a leading member of the hospital’s board of directors. She fought for and saved many jobs during economic hard times. She is a legend here. People love her. Give me five minutes and I will be back with the people you desire. If necessary you can then give your speech, but I don’t think you’ll have to.” With that Gama nodded at the others and left.
Marten looked at his watch, then at Anne. “Ten minutes at best until we get out of here. How much longer is White going to sit still?”
“Not much,” she said, then abruptly opened her purse and took a small notebook from it. “If something happens and we get crossed up-” She scribbled something on a page, tore it out, and handed it to him. “My cell number. I’d like yours if it’s alright.”
“Sure,” he smiled and took the notebook from her, then wrote the number in it and handed it back. When he did, their eyes met and held there. It was an exceedingly private moment despite the fact that Ryder and his RSO protectors stood only feet away. In that instant everything they had been through together registered in gut-wrenching shorthand, one that left them wondering-fearing-if this was the last time they would see each other. If, in the next hour or minutes, one or the other would die.
Then it was over. It had been a moment, nothing more. But it had been there nonetheless. Powerfully felt by both, yet neither saying a word. Love? The terrible fragility of life? A deep understanding between human beings of how much had been shared in so brief a time? Something else? Who knew.
11:30 A.M.
112
11:39 A.M.
Immediately Irish Jack and Patrice perked up, their hands going to their earphones.
Conor White clicked on his microphone. “Go ahead, 3-3.”
“Do you know how many there are?”
“Take the bait, 3-3. I repeat your instructions. You are a driver sent by Raisa Amaro. You were to meet them at the hospital and drive them to wherever they want to go. That’s all you know. Once you get them in the truck, take them directly to the construction site off Avenida Infante Dom Henrique. We’ll be right behind you. And take the earpiece out. We don’t want them wondering about it. Copy?”
“6-4, did you read that? Copy.”
“
“6-2, did you read? Copy.”
“
“Copy, 6-2.” White clicked off and glanced outside as the shadow of a cloud passed overhead. He studied it for a moment, mumbled something about rain, then reached down, opened his briefcase, and took out one of the two MP5 submachine guns. He checked its clip, then absently felt for the short- barrel SIG SAUER 9 mm semiautomatic tucked under his jacket at the small of his back. “Systems are go, gentlemen, load up,” he said quietly to Patrice and Irish Jack. “Systems are go.”
11:43 A.M.
Moses followed security director Gama down a hallway past a number of examination rooms. Two-thirds of the way down, Gama stopped and knocked on a door.
“Security,” Mario Gama said. The door opened, and Moses saw the people Conor White had described. Nicholas Marten, Anne Tidrow, and Congressman Ryder. What he didn’t see were the two RSO agents who were supposed to be guarding them. Immediately he tensed. It was too late. Gama shoved him inside. The door slammed closed behind him, and he found himself in the iron grip of the men he was looking for.
“Relax,” one of them said, and the other quickly frisked him for weapons. “Nothing.”
“What are you doing?” he pleaded in English. “I’m only doing what I was-”
“Oh, yeah?” the first man said.
In the next instant his laundryman’s jacket was stripped from him. They saw the wire on his left wrist running up to a small transmitter under his armpit. Instantly he jerked away, trying to push the KEY TO TALK button. Grant and Birns scrambled to get him. Marten got there first, grabbed his arm, and twisted it back. Moses cried out in pain.
“Get that damn thing off him!” Marten snapped.
Birns did, and then Grant shoved him back hard against the wall.
“Mario,” Marten said, and Gama stepped in with a pair of handcuffs.
“You are being detained in accordance with the antiterrorist laws and statutes of Portugal,” he said in English, then repeated in Portuguese. Immediately he raised a radio of his own and spoke into it. Within seconds the door opened, two uniformed hospital security guards came in, and Moses was taken from the room.
11:47 A.M.
Irish Jack shifted impatiently, his hands on the wheel, his eyes on the hospital’s
