Jack shot him a frown. “Is your com unit working or not?”
Tony smiled. “Loud and clear, brother.”
Jack’s heart was thumping like crazy and he was sweating like mad. And while he knew what they were about to attempt might prevent a major catastrophe, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sara. Wondering what they had done to her.
Wondering what they would do to her if she were still alive.
You’ve got to stop thinking about her, he told himself. He needed to focus on the task at hand or untold millions would die. Sara would understand that. Hopefully, one day, so would he.
“Okay,” he said to Tony. “Let’s split up and do our best to blend in. I figure we’ve got about fifteen, twenty minutes before the show starts. Dave, have you hacked into their security cameras yet?”
“Still working on it.”
“Come on, man, the clock is ticking.”
“Take it easy, Jack. These custom jobs take a little extra time. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m in.”
“All right,” Jack sighed, then turned to Tony. “Shall we join the party?”
Tony nodded, and they moved to the nearest waiter. Each grabbed a glass of plain soda water, to stay sharp, before heading in opposite directions.
As Jack walked, smiled, mingled, he let his mind work on something else that still bothered him, something he hadn’t been able to figure out. Something from the encrypted e-mail.
The reference to “twins.”
The men had spent the night in the tunnels, coming in under cover of darkness when the park was deserted and no eyes were watching. They had slept and prayed on coarse mats they kept rolled up in their satchels, and ate crackers and drank bottled water for sustenance.
They were all good soldiers of Allah, ready to give their lives in his honor, but only one of them would be chosen tonight and the hour was almost upon them. Their leader, Hassan Haddad, was one of the Hand of Allah’s great soldiers and they were privileged to be serving under his command.
Haddad ordered them to stand at attention in a line against the wall, then slowly moved from man to man, carefully studying the eyes of each as he asked, “Are you ready to give your life for the eternal glory of Allah?”
“Yes,” each man replied in turn.
When Haddad made his choice-a slender twenty-year-old named Rashid-he pulled the young man out of line and they all prayed together, asking Allah to watch over his mission and his immortal soul.
Then the others followed as he led Rashid through the tunnel and into the small rectangular room that stood directly beneath the basement of the palace. They took the vest they had prepared during the night and quietly slipped it over Rashid’s head and arms and belted it around him.
It held enough explosives to level the museum.
The young man’s breathing increased visibly, audibly. Haddad held his cheeks and looked into his eyes and smiled. After a moment, the young man relaxed. Haddad then set the timer and an LED readout rapidly began counting off the seconds. It was set to go off in exactly thirty-five minutes.
Right in the middle of the President’s speech.
Haddad gestured toward the rebar ladder that led up through a narrow shaft in the corner of the room. “Your destiny awaits you up there, my son. When the time is right, Allah will show you the way. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Rashid said quietly.
Haddad looked at the other men. “And if Rashid should suffer a failure of strength, or if others should prevent him from achieving his goal, who among you will step forward in his place?”
“I will!” the others said in unison.
Haddad smiled. His work here was done.
Bidding them all assalamu alaikum, he went back into the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness.
“Okay, Jack, I’m finally in and I’ve got visuals,” Dave Karras said. “This place is massive.”
No kidding, Jack thought. There was four thousand years’ worth of art stored inside the Legion of Honor and at least twenty-four huge rooms split between two floors dedicated to displaying it. A third floor below was the archive basement, where works that weren’t currently on display were stored. That left the subbasement, another elevator stop down.
After parting company, Jack and Tony had circulated through the building, moving room to room, each looking for a way to get down to the subbasement. But every stairwell that Jack encountered was being guarded, and the public elevators had been locked off to restrict travel to only the main two floors. Tony reported that he’d discovered the same thing.
The good news was the Secret Service seemed to be concentrating on the main courtyard, where the President would be making his appearance, leaving the museum security staff to handle the rest. Not that these men and women weren’t capable, but Jack felt more comfortable running up against a museum guard than he did a trained Secret Service agent.
That said, the place was still sewn up tight and the clock was counting down. The President would be arriving at any moment.
Jack needed to get down to that subbasement.
He was standing in the main foyer now, looking out toward the courtyard. “Tell me you’ve got something for me,” he said to Karras.
“The main concern of the video network is protection of the artwork,” Karras said. “Each exhibit room is equipped with a camera mounted high in the corner with a wide-angle lens. Unfortunately, it looks like nearly every corridor in the place has something on display, and even the stairwells themselves are equipped with video. You try to make a move, they’ll be on you like piranha.”
“Maybe you should just walk up to one of these guys and tell them there’s a bomb in the building,” Max suggested.
“You forget,” Jack told her, “we don’t know who we can and can’t trust. And how exactly am I supposed to convince them I’m not just some kind of wack-job?” He paused and said, “What about the basement, Dave? Any cameras in there?”
“Not a one, as far as I can tell. And-hold on. I think I may have a way to get you down there.”
“Tell me.”
“You have a problem with small spaces?”
“I live on a boat, remember?”
“I’m talking laundry-chute small.”
“Spit it out, Dave, or I’ll have Maxine smack you around a little.”
Karras paused, as if considering the benefits of hesitating, then said, “According to these blueprints, in the far right corner of the building on the terrace level there’s a small room near the cafe with a laundry chute. It’s probably where they dump all their soiled linen.”
“I can confirm that,” Tony piped in. “I saw one of the white coats pushing a cart in there just five minutes ago.”
“Right,” Karras said. “I’ve checked all the cameras and there’s none in the corridor that leads to that room. It’s a complete dead spot. Apparently wine-stained tablecloths aren’t a security priority.”
“So the laundry chute is our way in,” Jack said.
“That’s the long and short of it.”
Outside in the courtyard the string quartet suddenly stopped playing, then launched into a rousing rendition of “Hail to the Chief,” as a caravan of limousines pulled up to the palace entrance. The crowd of gawkers outside grew visibly excited and started migrating toward the cars as Secret Service men gestured them back.
“All right,” Jack said, checking his watch. “We don’t have much time. Tony, meet me in that corridor in three minutes.”
“Will do,” Tony acknowledged.
Jack turned to head back toward the rotunda. As he did, a voice sang out behind him.
