“What are they saying it is?” Those pigs always told you.
“They claim it’s a nuclear bomb. Backpack bomb. We’re trying to confirm that. They’re trying to get it to Times Square.” Travis shook his head. “It’s not going to happen. They’re never getting out of that truck stop.”
Never getting out alive. That’s what you mean.
“So they’ll set it off there.” Lana rose, kicking the chair aside. “Jesus Christ. I should be there.”
Travis jumped up, held her arms, stared right in her eyes. “No, you should be here. I’m going to tell you what Holmes told me. The only way we’re going to shut these fuckers down is by penetrating their codes, by hacking them to death. Do you hear me, Lana? Hack. Them. To. Death.”
“It won’t stop some suicide bomber with a nuke.”
“No, it won’t, but what you don’t know is that they have taken control of the country’s nuclear arsenal. All land-based missiles are now aimed at more than a hundred American cities.”
Lana backed up, almost fell.
“That’s what’s at stake. And we’re pretty damn sure we’re moving you right into the heart of it.”
“How do you know that?”
“We have Mancur waiting. He’s the bait. There’s strong Saudi intelligence.”
“The Saudis!” Lana felt like tearing out her own hair when she realized whom they were depending on.
“Yes. Don’t dismiss it. You’ll be working with Mancur. You think it’s a coincidence that he was picked up and ended up here? Don’t you know Holmes better than that? Once you’re in Sana, it’s you and Mancur. He gets in there, you’ll be twenty-four-seven on your link to him.”
“If they grab Ruhi, they’re going to drag him off and squeeze every last drop of intelligence out of him. How am I supposed to take care of him with a computer link?”
“Because every last drop of intelligence is in the computer code you designed for him. You’ll take control of his computer. Plus, you’ll have your eavesdropping program. You’ll listen. You’ll have an Arabic interpreter, if you need him. Look, Ruhi will be with them, if this plays out. Let them penetrate your firewalls. Let them think they’re smarter. Then spend every second you can looking to penetrate theirs.”
“And if I have to just shut them down, if I can’t finesse it, then Ruhi’s dead.”
“That’s right, he’s dead, and the country survives.”
She nodded somberly, knowing she’d do it to Ruhi. She’d do it to herself. “Look, even getting Ruhi in there is a long shot.”
Travis shook his head, his neck so thick it looked like it could handle the weight of five men. “Mabahith let it leak that Mancur’s firewalls can’t be broken. Whoever’s working this madness will want him. Hell, I’d want him. They’ll want any bit of protection so they can cover every contingency as their countdown finishes. They’re looking at the total annihilation of America. They’re not going to take any chances, and that, Lana, gives us our only chance.”
“But those kids are finished,” she said, gazing at the screen. “There’s nothing I can do to stop them. Why do they even want to blow up New York if they’ve got nukes fastened on every single city?”
“All they’ve done since the start is crank up the hysteria. They want to blow up New York so the rest of the country gets a real clear picture of what they’re in for. They want complete madness in America before they destroy it. Lana, take them down over here and there’s no telling how the crazies on that bus will react. Right now they’re set on having their own Armageddon. They think they have the most powerful force in the universe on their side — God. Show them something different, and maybe they’ll back down. But even if they don’t, there are tens of millions of Emmas whose lives are riding on everything we’re doing.”
Travis let go of her arms. She felt boneless, like she could melt into the floor. He led her back to the chair she’d kicked aside, sat her down.
“How sure are you that we’re moving in on them?” she asked. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to smash the invisible enemy into the farthest reaches of the universe.
“We’re close enough to smell them. In twenty minutes we’ll be cleared to fly to Yemen. We need you there. All of you, Lana. Your heart, soul, and that incredible intelligence of yours. You want to stop them?” He jabbed his finger at the screen. “Then you have to stop the bastards down in Yemen.”
She stared at the bus. The pictures showed only hints of color, but enough to make a small red spot glow. That’s when she noticed that it was blood on a body. “Who’s that?” She hoped like hell it was one of them.
“The choirmaster. Pastor William Sr. is what all the kids called him. One of the best in the country.”
“I’ve heard of him. You know those kids saved my life.”
“I do know that.”
“So they killed Pastor William?” She shook her head, thinking sorrow never stops.
“Horribly. To make a point.”
About violence, death, the unbending willingness to kill. She understood all that because she felt it too. Wanted it right now as much as she’d ever wanted life itself.
“What do they know about Emma?” she asked.
“They know,” Travis said. “So they’ll keep her alive. They say you’re a spy, so she’s the best chip they have.”
“Don’t ever call my kid a chit again.”
“Sorry. All I’m saying is Emma won’t be the first one to die. That’s just a cold fact.”
Deputy Director Holmes had a series of monitors in his office, all solar powered. One showed Times Square, its big electronic billboards dark for days. No flashy ads for music, software, Broadway shows, or blockbuster movies. Nothing but black screens at the heart of the nation’s entertainment center.
Holmes turned to McGivern and several lesser aides as the Sony screen blazed to life with a crescent moon and star that made New York’s inveterate wanderers look up and take heed. Holmes, too. On the screen and on the street. Those suddenly glimmering lights looked clean and bright and maybe even beautiful — until a voice, deep, resonant, and male, spilled out of unseen speakers used only for emergencies.
“Not again,” Holmes groaned, sitting forward.
“Worshippers of the fallen God, of infidel passions and satanic verses, listen to what we have to say.”
Times Square was not crowded but the booming words drew people running down Broadway to stand in swelling groups, staring upward at the symbol, as if it alone had become animate, the voice they heard so well.
“We are bringing a great gift to your city, to the seat of all sin, to the heart of your foul exports. A gift that will burn you alive. We will make 9/11 look like a child’s game. Nothing that lives will be spared. Not your babies, your children, or your sick.”
News crews raced into the street, working with reserve batteries to shoot the stunned reactions of the growing crowds. Where did all those people come from? Holmes wondered. And they were still coming. It was as if they had been cued for the next stage of the national tragedy, and yet he knew better. He knew that they were desperate for news — good news — and had been waiting days for the lives they had once known to come back to them. Most assuredly, they had not been waiting for this:
“You can try to run now, but your cars have no gas, your buses and trains no fuel. You will never run far enough to escape the flames that will chase you down. And after you burn to ash, you will know the eternal fires of hell. But you will show the rest of the country what awaits them — Judgment Day on earth.”
Those words suddenly lit up the giant billboard. Holmes saw people taking pictures. For what? he wondered. Why in God’s name are they doing that?