Betrayal (37 page)

Odi knew that his survival was a miracle. He felt touched by the finger of God. He did not have to question the intervention of the Almighty. Odi understood. God had a purpose, and Odi knew exactly what that was.

He shook off the water as best he could and brushed back his gel-slicked hair. Kostas’s glasses had fallen into the drink, but at this point that hardly mattered. To stop Ayden, Odi had to come into the open. He had to surrender his alibi.

Chapter 68

The SS Queen Mary 2

A
YDEN
PLAYED
WITH
the condensation on the side of his frosty mug, waiting for Breaking News. There had been no word of a threatened terrorist attack, and now that Odi was dead Ayden knew there would not be. He checked his watch and smiled. The planes were in flight. He was moments from making a difference to the world, moments from saving the children—if the bombers had gotten aboard; if they had the courage to swallow; if the Creamer worked; if, if, if …
 

He took a long swallow of Boddington’s and looked around the modern nightclub of the grandest vessel ever to grace the seven seas. Club G32 was dimly lit but brightly furnished. Colorful roving lights moved randomly around, pulsing and flashing with the hypnotic music. Why they called the club G32 Ayden neither knew nor cared. His only interest in G32 was the bank of television monitors it sported on one wall, one of which was tuned to CNN. Even sitting just a few feet away, however, he could not hear the broadcast over the blaring music. He knew that would all change soon. Soon the world would stand on its ear and he would be able to hear a pin drop.

With the announcement of the first exploding airplane, someone would turn the volume up. When the second aircraft blew, even the deaf DJ would take notice and turn the music off. By the third everyone would be standing openmouthed, staring at the reports jamming every screen. That was why Ayden had come to G32 rather than watching in his own suite; he did not want to witness the birth of the new world alone. Oddly enough, he wished Odi could be there, Odi and Arvin.

But he was alone, and that was just as well. He could not permit himself more than a few minutes’ celebration. He still had work to do. Once the pattern was established—only SASC-member planes—Marshall’s phone would start ringing off the hook. That was when he would order coffee. That was when the chairman would get his Creamer. That was when—

A red banner began flashing on the CNN screen. Ayden stared at the welcome words: Terror Strikes. He stood up and moved to within inches of the hanging screen. There was a volume button on the bottom edge. He turned it up. “... more than a dozen flights. Though details are still sparse, CNN has just received an amateur video. We need to warn our viewers that it contains graphic content.” Ayden caught himself grinning ear to ear at the prospect of seeing the first pictures, not for what they would show, but for what they would represent. He wondered what the image would be. A flash in the sky? A plummeting plume? A smoking crater? Or all of the above?

Chapter 69

Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay

L
YING
IN
A
crumpled heap on the deck of her ex-lover’s yacht, Cassi prayed that his shadowy accomplice was still on the front porch. She screamed into the walkie-talkie. “You’re too late, Stuart. Odi’s already gone. He swam to the mainland—with a waterproof bag tucked inside his wetsuit. Wanna guess what was inside?”

It was a short message, but it ought to be enough—she hoped. When Stuart’s reply came, it was not what she expected. “It was me, you know. Not Sal. Not an accident. I played you like a violin. I—“

She turned off the walkie-talkie. Stuart could troll all he wanted; she would not take the bait. It did not faze her that the daycare center bombing was a setup. That incident was trivial compared to what lay before her now.

She permitted herself a long moan. Her left arm was in agony. She rolled her head and used her right arm to pull her shirt away from her body. She inspected the damage. Her arm looked like a garden snake that had swallowed a mouse. The swelling was intense, but concentrated. Her humerus had obviously broken clean through. The bone was not protruding through her skin, however, and given the level of bruising her veins and arteries appeared to be intact. She would live. She wished she were as optimistic about the twenty-four planeloads of passengers whose lives hinged on her performance over the next few minutes.

She allowed herself one final sobbing wail, then she steeled her will and said, “No more.”

Using her right hand to keep her left arm steady, Cassi rolled up onto her feet. White-hot bolts of pain radiated sporadically from her shattered arm. She did her best to ignore them. The painkillers in the first-aid kit she had raided earlier beckoned her with a Siren’s song, but she had no time for such a diversion. Stuart’s search of the garden would not last forever. Once he satisfied himself that she was no longer there, he would understand that her taunt had been a diversion. He would make a beeline for the boat. She had to be ready.

She staggered to the aft gate where she collected her stash of supplies—the driver, the air horn, and the tape. Once on the hard dock, each footfall sent a shockwave trumpeting up her spine and down her arm where it detonated an explosion. She looked ahead at the marina’s staircase, and winced. Each of the thirty-six steps represented a mountain of pain she had to climb. Cassi wedged the driver between her teeth in place of the proverbial bullet, and had at it. At one point she saw a flash of white light and felt herself starting to faint. Still she moved on. She could not help but picture jagged bone grating nerves and slicing flesh. Still she moved on. As excruciating as it was she knew that worse was yet to come. Still she moved on. “Twenty-four planeloads,” she repeated to herself. “Twenty-four.”

Eighteen stairs into her climb she had to stop. Sweat was gushing from her face. Her heart was pounding two hundred beats a minute, and her arm was so swollen she thought that it might explode. She took a deep breath, and continued, counting each stair off like a battle won. When at last she got high enough she peeked over cliff’s edge. Stuart was nowhere in sight. Relief swept over her like a warm wave. Her struggles had not been wasted. The passengers still had a chance—if she hurried. Stuart would be coming any second now. He knew the yacht was what she wanted.

She took the Ping driver from her mouth and laid it down along the base of the fourth stair down from the top, noting with satisfaction that the handrail’s supporting brace camouflaged the protruding club-head. She withdrew the air horn from her pocket and unrolled a foot of medical tape. She looked down to take a deep breath and saw that a puddle of sweat was forming between her feet. This was it, she realized, the point of no return.

She risked another peek over the top of the stairs and saw him. Stuart was just leaving the garden, walking briskly in her direction. She shot back down, ignoring the jolt of pain. She did not know if he had seen her too. At this point it did not really matter.

Using her chin and knees and one good hand, she positioned the cardboard roll over the air-horn’s button. She pressed down on the roll. The air horn began to blare. She knew the sound was coming but it still frightened her it was so loud. Wrapping as fast as her awkward appendages were able, she tried to lash the roll down so that it pressed the button, but the jet of air caught her jacket and the air horn flew from her grasp. Reflexively, she grasped at it with her left arm. Flames erupted around the break and again a searing flash consumed her eyes, but she caught it. She knew that Stuart was just seconds away. She could not fold. Summoning all her reserves of willpower and strength she continued wrapping until the roll was secure. She scooted four steps lower and stood. She aimed for the roof of the yacht and lobbed the air horn toward the sky with the arcing throw used on hand grenades.

Cassi ignored the missile the instant it left her hand. For better or worse, her only die was already cast. As it arced through the air she slipped under the staircase rail and climbed beneath the stairs. Endorphins were overriding her pain at last. Her body knew that it was do or die. She heard the horn clatter onto the cabin roof as she reached up for the Ping. She followed the sound of the horn as it slid off the roof and plummeted to the main deck where it continued to emit a muffled wail. Stuart would be running full out with the assumption that she was signaling a passing boat.

She strained to hear the sound of pounding of feet. Only then did Cassi realize that her ears were still ringing from the air horn’s close-up blast. She felt a surge of panic. She was lost if she could not hear Stuart’s approach. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing as she focused on nothing but her ears. Better.

Fishing line! The thought leapt unbidden into her head. She should have used fishing line. Now it was too late.

She felt the stairs vibrate before her damaged ears registered the accompanying noise. The muscles in her shoulder went tense. She only had one chance to pull off a split-second move. If she got it wrong, Stuart would shoot her at point-blank range. Twenty-four planeloads of people would die. Battered body or not, she felt primed like never before.

His foot hit the top step hard enough to make it clang. She sprang the millisecond she heard the second footfall—hitting three steps lower than the first. She thrust the shaft of the driver upward along the railing posts until the handrail supports blocked its ascent on both sides. The shaft of the driver now spanned the stairway, creating an unbreakable tripping force. She braced herself.

Chapter 70

The SS Queen Mary 2

S
OAKING
WET
AND
wild eyed, Odi attracted inquisitive glances as he ran through the corridors and down the stairs to the third deck. As he entered the grand atrium, his eyes flashed about in search of a phone. To his left a bartender polished glasses. She was trying to look perky although she was obviously bored. To his right a hostess sat bent over a map, assisting an elderly couple with their shore plans. Aside from them and a half-dozen sad souls mindlessly pouring money into melodious slots, nobody else was around.

The bartender gave him an odd look—half smile, half inquisitive stare—but did not comment. Odi turned his back to her and picked the phone receiver off a table.

“Ship’s operator. How may I help you?”

“The Balmoral Duplex, please.”

“One moment please.”

After three rings a woman voice greeted Odi. “Hello.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Marshall, Would you kindly hand the receiver to an agent of the Secret Service?”

Mrs. Marshall did not reply at once. She paused, then said, “Just a minute.”

Odi heard the scrunching sound of a hand covering the phone followed by muffled voices.
 

“Who’s calling please?” Said a different voice, a voice Odi recognized.

“Good evening, Senator. My name is Odi Carr. I’m a Special Agent with the FBI. Is there a Secret Service Agent with you?”