Code White Part 14

"It's customary in these situations for each side to offer something as a token of good faith. That's reasonable, is it not?"

Rahman turned back toward Lee and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Lee shifted forward, fixing Rahman's gaze. "What I offer you is a signed order from the FBI District Office in New York City, directing the immediate release of Meteb and Mossalam from Rikers Island Prison and their deportation to Yemen. In addition, in the presence of these witnesses, I will sign a second order myself, giving you safe conduct out of the country following the successful disarming of the bomb."

"Do it."

"Yes, immediately," said Lee. "I will have the papers faxed from New York. But I must know what you are willing to put forward on your side. Specifically, I need to have some evidence that the bomb does, in fact, exist."

"I have told you so."

"Physical evidence is what I'm talking about. I need to see the bomb."

"You know we have the C4."

"So you say. Even if that's true, how do I know that you have the expertise to construct a bomb?"

"Believe it, infidel."

"I'm sorry. I need to see it with my own eyes."

Rahman arched his right eyebrow. His voice rose to an oracular pitch. "You will see it with your eyes. And you will hear it with your ears. Do you think I am a simpleton, to be led about like a goat on a chain? I have a master's degree in chemical engineering from Cornell. These papers you speak of are nothing. I will wipe my s.h.i.t with them. You have no authority to write such papers. I will tell you nothing until I hear Meteb or Abo Mossalam speak to me personally from the airport at Sana'a, confirming that they are safe and out of the hands of the idolaters. As for myself, I do not care. All-merciful G.o.d will be with me no matter what happens."

"We have already paid your ransom money, and are preparing to free your comrades. Everything is proceeding reasonably. Why can't you help us out here?"

"When they are free in Sana'a. Not before."

"I implore you in the name of G.o.d. Help us."

"I will answer no further questions. I demand an attorney."

The word sent a collective shudder through the room. An irritated Lee looked to the uniformed officers. "Has anyone Mirandized him?"

"No," said one of them.

Lee turned back to Rahman. "Mr. Al-Sharawi, you do not necessarily have the right to an attorney. You are a noncitizen illegally present in the United States, and we have the option to detain you as an enemy combatant. Military rules are different from civilian rules."

Silence.

"Understand, Mr. Al-Sharawi, that I will hold you here in this hospital until this matter is resolved. If the bomb you have planted is as effective as you claim, you yourself will die if it goes off."

"Do you think I fear death? The death of a martyr is the most beautiful thing imaginable."

Scopes was standing behind Rahman. "Is that what you think? You love death?" he said, bending forward, almost to Rahman's ear. "We'll see how much you like it when you're looking down the door of the gas chamber."

"I am ready for it now. You have a gun. Shoot me. I will not raise a finger."

Scopes stepped into Rahman's view and pulled open his jacket to display his shoulder holster. Although Scopes was way out of line, Lee did not intervene. Harry couldn't tell if it was because Lee wanted to study Rahman's reaction, or if he was simply too preoccupied with figuring out his next line of attack.

In any case, Rahman was unimpressed. "I will say nothing more until I have an attorney."

"I'll make you talk!" said Scopes. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed Rahman by the back of the neck and slammed his face against the table.

Lee was out of his chair instantly. "Stop it! Let it go, Terry!" He put his hand out and pushed Scopes away from the table.

Rahman began shouting excitedly in Arabic.

"Mr. Al-Sharawi, let me ask you one more time-"

Rahman ignored him and went on shouting over him. His voice was high-pitched and guttural, with a p.r.o.nounced singsong lilt. It reminded Harry of a swarm of angry hornets circling their nest.

"Mr. Al-Sharawi! Please!"

More Arabic. Now Scopes began shouting, too, quoting from the Federal Criminal Code, "A person who, without lawful authority, uses, threatens, or attempts or conspires to use, a weapon of ma.s.s destruction-"

Through the din, Lee's thin voice was almost inaudible. However, after Scopes kicked a chair for emphasis, Lee became a veritable Demosthenes of body language, ordering him out of the room.

Still, Rahman went on with his Arabic.

"He's gone," shouted Lee, pointing to the door. "Okay, Mr. Al-Sharawi. He's gone. Now turn it off."

More Arabic.

Lee threw up his hands in exasperation. "Okay, I think we all need to cool down a little." Turning to the uniforms, he pointed toward the door of the isolation room. "Gentlemen, would you please secure him in the holding cell? My colleagues and I need to go upstairs for a conference."

Harry showed one of the officers the combination to the door lock, and watched carefully as Rahman, still reciting at the top of his lungs, was hustled into the ten-by-twelve-foot room and handcuffed to the bed.

"Make sure one of you stays in there with him at all times," said Lee. "Leave your gun outside. If he does decide to talk, call me immediately."

Harry followed Lee out into the corridor. The isolation room was supposed to be soundproof, but he could still hear Rahman's singsong reverberating in his ears.

There wasn't time for games like this, thought Harry. The hospital didn't have time. His mother on the eighteenth floor didn't have time. Harry had to fight hard to suppress an expression of disgust.

Christ, what a privilege to see the pros at work!

Kevin was pacing back and forth in his lab, waving his fists so furiously that Loki hunkered trembling in the shadows behind his cage.

"Odin, what the f.u.c.k is going on?" he ranted. "How did Rahman get here? Why didn't I know anything about it?"

"INSUFFICIENT INFORMATION WAS AVAILABLE TO ANTIc.i.p.aTE THIS DEVELOPMENT."

"You're supposed to be the master of information. How did this s.h.i.t get by you?"

"THE ARREST ORDER DID NOT Pa.s.s THROUGH THE HOSPITAL LANDLINES OR WIRELESS NETWORK. IT MUST NECESSARILY HAVE BEEN CONVEYED THROUGH A SECURE COMMUNICATIONS LINK. SPECIAL AGENT LEE HAS SUCH A DEVICE IN HIS POSSESSION. IT UTILIZES A SECTeRA WIRELINE TERMINAL CONNECTED TO AN ENCRYPTED LAPTOP WITH A SATELLITE UPLINK TO SIPRNET AT THE DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE."

"Why can't you decrypt it? Sectera's just an ordinary NSA Type 1 coding device. That should be child's play for you."

"DECRYPTION IS NOT THE PROBLEM. THE WIRELESS SIGNAL IS NOT STRONG ENOUGH FOR INTERCEPTION."

"Not strong enough? That's why I hung a relay transmitter behind the wall of Harry Lewton's office. Is the f.u.c.king relay not working?"

"THE RELAY INSTALLATION a.s.sUMED THAT THE SECURE TERMINAL WOULD BE OPERATED FROM HARRY LEWTON'S DESK. HOWEVER, THE TERMINAL IS NOW POSITIONED IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM. THERE IS A STEEL BEAM BETWEEN TERMINAL AND RELAY WHICH INTERFERES WITH RECEPTION OF THE SIGNAL."

"Steel beam! Don't just lay there like a b.i.t.c.h in heat and tell me there's no signal. There has to be a signal! I absolutely have to know what is going on. They've got Rahman, and Rahman can lead them to me. I can't afford to be blindsided like this! Find the signal! Clean it up!"

"IT IS TOO DEGRADED."

"I don't accept that. There must be something we can do."

"I CALCULATE THAT IF THE POSITION OF THE RELAY WERE RAISED BY AT LEAST 2.25 METERS, THE INTERFERENCE WOULD BE CLEARED."

"Raised how? It's bolted to the f.u.c.king wall."

"IT MUST BE RAISED MANUALLY."

"Oh, Jeee-zus! You're talking about climbing back down into that G.o.dd.a.m.ned airshaft. It's like the inside of a tin drum-with a grating opening up three feet behind Lewton's desk. They'll hear every move I make."

"IF I WERE TO DETONATE UNIT COTOPAXI, ALL PERSONNEL NOW IN HARRY LEWTON'S OFFICE WOULD RESPOND IMMEDIATELY TO THE SITE OF THE EXPLOSION. THIS WOULD PROVIDE YOU WITH AT LEAST A TWENTY-MINUTE WINDOW TO REPOSITION THE RELAY WITHOUT DETECTION."

"Cotopaxi? No-no explosions. Once we start setting off bombs, the Feds will go ape-s.h.i.t and start cutting off cable lines, including the main fiber-optic connection to the hospital. If they do that, we can kiss the rest of our revenue stream good-bye. Let's play it cool for now, Odin. The correct project sequence has to be maintained."

"CAN YOU OBTAIN A SECONDARY RELAY UNIT?"

"Sure, I can have 'em FedEx the d.a.m.n thing here by ten tomorrow morning."

"THAT FALLS OUTSIDE THE PROJECT VESUVIUS TIMETABLE."

"No s.h.i.t! No, I mean the answer is no, Odin. That was sarcasm. I'm so f.u.c.king p.i.s.sed that ... No, I can't get a secondary unit."

"THEN MANUALLY REPOSITIONING THE RELAY IS THE ONLY VIABLE OPTION."

"f.u.c.k!" Grumbling, Kevin repaired to the back of the lab, where he yanked open the bottom drawer of a file cabinet and pulled out a small athletic bag stuffed with a pair of dark blue electrician's overalls and a jangling melange of stainless steel belays and carabiner clips. Project Vesuvius was in full swing and it was dangerous to set foot outside the lab, but it was equally dangerous to operate in the dark. He had to know what the FBI was doing. He had to make a sortie. His margin of safety lay in acting decisively, and then getting back as soon as possible to his sanctuary, his fortress, which he and Odin had made all but impregnable.

His hands were shaking, but not from fear. It was the burst of adrenaline he had felt many times, dangling a thousand feet in the air by a single rope and piton. With his life on the line, he was single-handedly taking on the whole Gestapo-the FBI, the city cops, Harry Lewton. He was in the high, thin air now, above the tree line-a world of man-killing rocks and heartless glaciers, a place where courage and cowardice became tangible things, like an arm or a leg. There was no other thrill like it. It was better than s.e.x.

Although the big monitor was out of view, Odin's voice could be heard around the corner. "THE MOST PRACTICABLE POINT OF ACCESS IS THROUGH THE VENTILATION GRATING IN ROOM PL-171, THE JANITORIAL CLOSET THAT LIES IMMEDIATELY ABOVE HARRY LEWTON'S OFFICE."

Kevin nodded. "Make sure you keep an eye on me, Odin. Project Vesuvius is in your hands until I get back." After pulling on the overalls, he grabbed a few coils of climbing rope from a hanger on the wall and stuffed them in the bag.

"WHEN SIGNAL HAS BEEN SUCCESSFULLY ACQUIRED, I WILL BLINK THE LIGHTS TWICE IN ROOM PL-171."

"Okay, do that." Heading toward the door, Kevin paused and looked into the dark recesses of the lab, behind Odin's mainframe. Seeing two specks of orange light reflected from Loki's retinas, he made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Come on, Loki, time to get back in your cage." But Loki didn't budge. Again Kevin clicked, and held out his hand. A nervous chitter answered, but Loki's retinas withdrew deeper into the darkness.

"f.u.c.k you, then," said Kevin, as he opened the steel door of the lab. "I haven't got time to mess with you now, but when I get back, you'll be one sorry monkey."

In overalls, Kevin was disguised from the casual eye, but he needed one small element to make his getup complete. Pa.s.sing through the main lobby toward the Pike, he detoured to a small florist's boutique in the back of the hospital gift shop. Behind the counter, he found a pretty young blonde in a pink dress and white ap.r.o.n. She was squatting with her back to him while she repositioned some vases in a floor-to-ceiling refrigerator.

"Is Todd taking you anywhere special?" came a voice from the rear of the shop. Kevin looked and saw a plump brunette at a work table, inserting greenery into an arrangement of white daisies and carnations.

"No. When it's your birthday, you have to hang with your parents, don't you?" said the blond in a voice redolent of bubble-gum-and-peppermint ice cream. "I mean, they, like, gave you life and everything. My mom would freak out if we didn't go to the Olive Garden."

"Well, bring Todd."

"My dad hates him."

"Your dad hates everybody." The brunette turned the flower vase around, sizing up her finished arrangement. "So, you're not gonna go see him after you get off work? You're only here till three, aren't you?"

"Not! I have to work late every day this week. I can't drive unless I get some new tires. They're, like, almost bald." The blonde stirred her hands in the air, perhaps trying to give an impression of a baldness so extreme you could skate on it.

Kevin tapped on the gla.s.s counter. "Excuse me," he said.

The blonde stood up and blushed with embarra.s.sment. "I'm sorry. Hi! How can I help you?"

"White ribbon. Ten-inch piece."

"Just ribbon?"

Kevin nodded.

The girl turned her head pertly to one side. "We have half-inch and inch wide."

"Half inch."

She went to the end of the counter, where a couple dozen ribbon spools were arrayed along a bar, and snipped a piece of the white. "That do ya?" she asked, holding it up.

"Splendid," said Kevin. As the girl pa.s.sed to the register, he made note of the name on her ID badge. "Is this your birthday, Agnes?" he asked.

"Yeah." She gave him a fleeting glance.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she said. She took a moment to study the tax chart taped to the counter. "Comes to thirty-two cents. Three cents an inch, plus tax."

Kevin dug underneath his overalls and brought a four-inch thick wad of bills out of his jeans pocket-everything he had withdrawn from his bank account the day before. He rarely carried more than twenty dollars on him, and the sight of so much money in his hand seemed incongruous, almost to the point of laughter.

"I can't change that," said Agnes, as Kevin handed a hundred dollar bill from the outside of the wad. "Don't you have anything smaller?"

"Sorry."

"I can't change it."

Kevin looked at Agnes, at her blue eyes and pale, peach-fuzz covered skin. She had a c.o.c.keyed smile, her lip curling higher on one side. She put so much zest into her smiling that she gave the impression it was a virtuoso skill to her, something she had made great strides at, but still hadn't quite mastered. "That's all right," said Kevin, waving off a small plastic bag and picking up the ribbon. "Why don't you keep the change?"

"What?" She couldn't have been more shocked it he had offered her a sip of Kahlua out of a hip flask. "I don't think I can do that."