While the main attention was elsewhere, I grimaced, stumbled, and caught myself on the edge of the buffet table. There was a servant by my side almost instantly.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“My arm hurts. Oh, my chest.” I gasped and wheezed, doing my best to contort my face. The servant was on a radio, and I had a guard on each arm helping me toward the exit within seconds. In the background, the prince was giving his opening comments. Most of the power brokers did not notice my exit. Big Eddie winked.
We had memorized the layout of the palace. Every room and corridor was known to me. I knew exactly where I was as the guards pushed my wheelchair down the marble hall. The infirmary was the tenth room on this wing. The guards chattered into their radios, asking for one the prince’s physicians to meet them.
“Oh, the pain.” I was really milking it. “It is my heart again. Summon my men; they have my special medication.”
“Do as he says!” one of the guards ordered as he rolled me into the white-walled room filled with state-of-the-art medical equipment. They gently lifted my padded bulk onto a padded table. There were two guards in the room now.
This was right where I needed to be. The building plans indicated that the infirmary backed up to the secondary security-control station. They shared the same wiring conduit behind the walls. The plans said that the access panel was ten feet from the northwest corner. Reaper figured that it would look like a half-size metal door with electrical warning stickers on it. There.
“Dr. Karzi, it is Al Falah, one of the guests. He has fallen ill. He says it is his heart,” one of the guards exclaimed as an older man entered the room, pulling a white smock over his starched shirt and tie. He rudely pushed the guard aside and pressed his fingers against my neck. He scowled.
“That is odd,” he muttered. “Describe your pain.”
“It hurts.” I held up my arm and risked a glance at my watch. I had been playing sick now for three minutes, which meant Carl had probably tripped Starfish’s timer by now. “I need my men . . . my medicine . . .” On cue, Reaper appeared, being led by a third guard. He gave me an imperceptible nod.
The doctor began to open the front of my traditional dress. “Your heart rate is only forty beats per minute. Something is abnormal.” There were some downsides to having ice water running through your veins.
“I have his medication,” Reaper said, holding up the briefcase he had been allowed to obtain from our car. Sadly, there were no guns in it, because we had been certain that even in this scenario, they would probably still give it a cursory check. He opened the case.
The doctor was going to figure out something was wrong any second now. The guards looked more concerned for my health than for any trickery. Well, they should be concerned; Al Falah was buddies with every badass terrorist in the business. I was the equivalent of a rock star to these guys.
Several stories below, Starfish was counting down to firing. I was technically illiterate, but Reaper had done his best to educate me. Starfish was a NNEMPD, a Non-Nuclear Electromagnetic Pulse Device. When Starfish’s timer hit zero, it was going to use a small amount of explosives to cause a compressed magnetic flux. It would nail every electronic device within a couple hundred yards with the equivalent of getting struck by lightning ten times in a quarter of a second.
Reaper came out with a syringe full of amber liquid. He tapped it and squirted a bit out to remove the air bubbles. The doctor glanced at him. “This isn’t a coronary. What is his condition?”
The lights went out, plunging the room into pure black.
“Just plain mean,” Reaper answered.
I nailed the doctor with an elbow to the face and then sprung off the table, moving in the direction of the three guards. I couldn’t see, but I had been expecting this. They were caught by surprise. A shape moved in front of me. I kicked straight out, low and fast, and caught someone in the knee. There was a scream. A hand grabbed my thobe and pulled. I grabbed the wrist, twisted it, and levered it down, snapping bones. I palm-struck that guard in the throat and put him down.
The emergency power kicked on a second later. The place was certainly efficient. The third guard was down, Reaper’s syringe in his neck. The man with the broken knee fumbled with the strap over his pistol. I snap-kicked him in the face, and he was done.
Reaper retrieved the briefcase and sprinted to the access panel. He opened it, revealing a twisted pillar of wires and fiber-optic cables. He immediately went to work. Starfish wasn’t powerful enough to destroy everything, just the unshielded electronics that were close to it. It was at ground level and wouldn’t travel very far. Inside the palace, it would have fried a lot of stuff, but the main security system would be shielded. But that was okay. We didn’t want to take it out; we only needed to give them a surge hard enough to force them to restart.
I pulled the syringe out of the guard, moved to the next one, and poked him in the side, careful to only give him a few CCs of the powerful horse tranquilizer. The doctor moaned and crawled toward one of the guard’s squawking radios. “Nighty night, Doc.” I stuck him in the arm and gave him the last of the drug. He sluggishly rolled over, smiled stupidly at me, giggled, and was out.
“System report. What caused the power surge?” It was Hassan’s voice on the radio. I picked it off of the guard’s belt. Apparently it hadn’t been hot enough to fry these.
“Unknown, sir,” someone else responded. “The system has gone down. We’ll have it back up shortly.”
“Find out, or I’ll have you fed to the tigers,” Hassan snapped. “Taha, report.”
The line was quiet.
“Taha. What’s the status of our guest?” Hassan sounded angry. He did not seem like the kind of person I wanted to deal with when he was angry. I had to assume that one of these men was Taha.
I made my voice as neutral as possible. “Dr. Karzi says that it was just gas. Al Falah is resting.” I began to remove weapons from the guard’s duty belts. FN FNP 9mms, good guns.
“Fine. Get him back here as soon as you can. Hassan out.”
I checked my watch. “Forty seconds,” I said to Reaper.
“Working on it.” He was flipping through wires like a man on a mission. “Get my computer.” I pulled the laptop out of the briefcase, opened it, and waited for his next command. It was already running and on the correct screens. We had practiced this a few times. This was his gig now.
From Big Eddie’s intel we knew that the palace compound was a closed system. There was no way to hack into the security from the outside world. If you wanted to take over, you needed to be in the belly of the beast. The design parameters told us that we had one minute from a power outage for the system to reset, and then we’d be locked out. It was a narrow window, but it was all we had.
Reaper picked a fat yellow cable and did his magic to it, clamping some sort of ring around it. He plugged a USB cable into his machine and then pushed me rather rudely out of the way.
“Thirty seconds.”
“I know. I know,” he muttered. Screens flashed by as he paged through them. “Come on, baby, come on.”
I stuffed two of the FNs inside the thobe and left the third on the countertop by Reaper. I stuck four extra magazines into my pockets. Might as well be ready, because if he couldn’t get us into their system, we were going to have a whole lot of explaining to do. And when I said explaining, I meant shooting. I also took one of the radios.