He headed for the door, but Suzanne called out to him.
“Matt, I’d say you are a lot more politically aware than you make yourself out to be.”
Hanley turned. “Me? No, I’m just an old straight-legged army guy who’s learned how to roll with the punches.” He smiled a little. “That’s all. Hope you feel better.” He left the room, leaving Suzanne Brewer alone with a terror that began welling up inside her.
Within twenty seconds, she reached for the telephone.
74
Things inside the conference room had gotten testy. A few of the male CIA officials were preparing to make a move, and DeRenzi had tried to climb back to his feet. Court held up the detonator, and this quelled some of the enthusiasm from the agitators, but he knew he needed to thin this herd immediately.
He announced to the crowd that everyone would be leaving other than al-Kazaz and Carmichael. DeRenzi protested, Court threatened to shoot him, and then DeRenzi shut up.
Court then ordered everyone to stand and head to the door.
A square-jawed CIA NSA liaison officer sat straight in his chair. “I am not leaving Director Carmichael!”
Court just sighed. “Yeah, you are, asshole.”
“Fuck you! I’m staying.” The man showed no fear. He looked Court in the eye. “You’ll have to shoot me.”
Court turned to Carmichael. “Denny, you can either order this man to hit the bricks, which will make you look noble and benevolent, or I can shoot him in the head. He’ll be dead, and you’ll look just like the jackass you are. Your call.”
“Dale, it’s okay.”
“No, sir.”
“I order you to leave with the rest of the Working Group.”
“Sir, I—”
“Christ. Fucking go, Hamilton!”
Hamilton complied, but the entire time he walked around the table and towards the exit he gave Court a look of pure hatred. Court returned the evil eye, but said nothing.
When all seventeen men and women were lined up at the door, Court taped Carmichael and al-Kazaz’s hands behind their backs and ordered them to stay seated at the table.
He then opened the door into the hallway and everyone filed forward, directly across to the heavy steel doors that led into the main hall. The three security officers out here Court had dealt with earlier were still out of the fight; two men were tending to their wounds and the third, the man from behind the security desk, was just coming out of his stupor. Court removed the weapons from the men and put them in the group with the others.
Court stepped to the side of the door and lifted his weapon, training it on the crowd. “Everybody hold your hands high. When those doors open you will have five seconds to get out, then I’m closing them again. If you see anybody trying to come in, you need to just run over them and keep going, because I will open up with automatic fire if I’m engaged.”
He heard spoken prayers and loud sobbing. “Here we go.”
He pushed the icon on his wrist controller to open the pneumatic doors, and they swung inward quickly. Outside on the second-floor mezzanine the dozen or more security officers in sight stood or knelt or lay prone, their guns trained on the movement. Several FBI agents just yards from the doors were caught in the open. They drew pistols and crouched low, ready to respond to an ambush by the attacker inside. Men down on the ground floor rushed to swing their weapons to bear on the threat.
All the men with guns held fire when they saw the large group of men and women, everyone with their hands up, moving through the doorway.
Court pressed the icon on his wrist controller to shut the doors just as fast as they opened, and he locked them down with another command.
He stepped back into the conference room and locked these doors, as well, then he stood in front of al-Kazaz and Carmichael. “It’s just us now, gents.” Court hefted his big pack and left the room, heading up to the attic.
Five minutes later he returned to find the phone in the center of the conference table ringing. Court looked at his watch, then stepped over and pushed the button to put the call on the speaker box.
“Must be a jurisdictional fight out there. It took you guys forever.”
“Who am I speaking with, please?”
Court didn’t answer.
“Is this Jeff Duncan?”
Court shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
“Mr. Duncan, this is Allen Reynolds with the FBI. I need to make sure everyone in there is safe.”
“Buddy, there’s nobody in here that’s safe, and if you and your friends come in here you’ll be the least safe of all.”
“Is Director Carmichael with you?”
“Yes, he is. He is unhurt.”
“I’d really like to check in with him, if that’s okay.”
Denny sat silently at the table, his hands behind his back and sweat on his brow.
Court said, “Denny, meet Allen. Allen, this is Denny.”
“This is Carmichael. There is one gunman.” He looked at Court with malevolence. “Just one.”
The FBI negotiator said, “I also understand there is a Saudi diplomat present, is that correct?”
Now Court said, “Al-Kazaz, meet the guys.”
Murquin al-Kazaz spoke in a loud and authoritative voice. “Contact Jabar Almlhan at my embassy immediately. Inform him of the situation. Then, notify—”
Court pressed the MP7 to the Saudi man’s temple, and he stopped talking.
Court said, “See, he’s fine. A little bossy, but that’s not my fault.
“Let me tell you what’s what, Allen. Right now your HRT guys are looking at the blueprints of this building, and they are figuring that the attic above the south wing is the best avenue into my location. The roof isn’t steel like the windows and doors, and it’s not reinforced with iron like the walls and the floor. It’s a reasonable assumption to make, but it’s up to you to let your guys know they are wrong. I’ve rigged a rather large explosive to a motion detector, and it will detonate if anyone tries to enter the attic. I really don’t want to blow up a bunch of poor FBI working stiffs, but now that I’ve warned you guys what will happen if you try to come through the attic, my conscience is clear on that matter, so you guys decide what you want to do.”
“I understand, Jeff.”
“That’s all for now. I’m going to talk to Denny a bit, and then I’ll be back with you.”
He heard the negotiator say “Jeff?” right before he pushed the button to disconnect the call, but Court hung up anyway.
He sat down at the table in front of the two men and positioned the MP7 on the table in front of him, the barrel pointed at Carmichael’s chest, six feet away. He said, “So much trouble to get a meeting with you.”
Al-Kazaz said, “I have nothing to do with any of this. I have diplomatic immunity.”
Court smiled again. “I’m not so diplomatic, so you aren’t immune from me. In fact, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I can guarantee you I will be your proximate cause of death.”
Kaz clenched his neck muscles, but he did not speak.
“Now,” said Court, “I am going to sit here and pick your brains till I know what Saudi Arabian intelligence had to do with Operation BACK BLAST. You were clearly involved, because you were willing to risk your operation here in the States to silence me.”
Al-Kazaz shrugged his shoulders, an awkward gesture with his hands behind his back. He said, “I offered my agents in the hunt for you simply as a courtesy to Director Carmichael. We have a good relationship, and I wanted it to continue.”
“Bullshit,” Court said. “Denny was worried that if local PD got to me first they might accidentally take me alive. He wanted foreign hitters that would do his job for him. But for you to send a kill team into the streets here, he had some major leverage over you. What was it?”