Through the night-vision goggles, Al-Khalifa could see someone sitting in bed, rubbing his eyes. Sprinting across the suite, he grabbed a chair and jammed it under the doorknob, then raced back to the emir’s bed.
Bending over, he taped the man’s mouth and eyes shut, then pulled him from the bed and over to the hole. Once they were both on the plywood, he used the remote to lower the shaft and then pulled the man onto the floor and dragged him toward the door. Opening the door, he pulled the man down the hallway to the fire escape stairs and down.
Less than two minutes had passed since Al-Khalifa had started his plan.
A few minutes more and he’d be on the road.
“GOT IT,” JONES said.
The Corporation teams were outfitted with small, powerful flashlights that clipped onto their belts. Eight thin beams of light flickered in the hall outside the emir’s suite.
“The light went green,” Meadows shouted after slipping an extra card key through the slot outside the emir’s suite, “but the door won’t open.”
“Hali,” Jones shouted, “you and Lincoln go down to the garage and block the exit.”
The pair of men raced off.
“Crabtree, Hornsby,” he added, “guard the lobby exit.”
“Bob, back away,” Jones said. “I’m going to blow the door.”
Pulling a round metallic disk from his pocket, Jones removed a piece of paper protecting the high-strength tape, slapped it on the door, and flicked a small switch on the side.
“Sir,” he shouted at the door, “back away from the door, we’re coming in.”
Jones and Meadows moved a short distance down the hall and waited for the charge to explode. As soon as it had gone off, Jones raced over and pushed through the shattered remains of the door. Racing toward the bedroom, he panned the flashlight across the bed. It was empty. Scanning the room with the thin beam of light, he came across the hole cut in the floor. Then he reached for his portable radio and called the Oregon.
“Code Red,” he said, “the principal has been taken.”
As he waited for a reply, Jones surveyed the bedroom. “Bob, see what’s down there.”
Meadows climbed through the hole.
“What’s happening there?” Hanley asked when he came on the line.
“They grabbed our player,” Jones said quickly.
“Now that,” Hanley said slowly, “was not part of the plan.”
“THIS IS THE bottom of the stairs,” Al-Khalifa said to his blindfolded abductee.
Al-Khalifa was still wearing the night-vision goggles, but from what he could see, His Excellency did not seem overly frightened. He was just following along with Al-Khalifa, as if his security forces had taught him not to resist.
“Come this way,” Al-Khalifa said, opening the door to the garage and dragging the emir by the arm.
Esky appeared in the goggles at the same moment that Al-Khalifa heard footsteps from above.
“Open the door of the van and remove the motorcycle,” he shouted.
Esky raced over to the van, opened the rear door, and slid a ramp down to the pavement. Then he climbed inside the van and pushed the bike down the ramp. The metal ice studs embedded in the motorcycle’s tires clicked like locusts on the metal ramp. Al-Khalifa had managed to pull the emir over to the van. He reached inside and removed an AK-47 assault rifle from the van’s floor. Holding the emir’s shirt with one hand, he swiveled around and pointed the rifle toward the door. He opened fire as soon as Kasim, followed by Lincoln, exited the stairway and came through the door. At the same instant Esky pushed the starter button. The BMW 650 with sidecar roared to life.
KASIM WAS HIT in the arm by a round but he managed to flop on his stomach and roll under a car. Lincoln escaped injury, and he crouched alongside his partner and withdrew his sidearm. He sighted down the barrel but the emir was in his field of fire.
“Cover my escape,” Al-Khalifa said, handing Esky the rifle.
Esky took the AK-47 and started spraying the area near the stairwell with controlled bursts. Al-Khalifa pushed the emir into the sidecar and climbed aboard the motorcycle. Reaching for the clutch lever, he clicked the BMW into gear then goosed the throttle and pulled away from the van. Esky increased his fire.
Al-Khalifa steered to the ramp leading out of the underground facility and started to drive up to ground level.
Lincoln reached for the microphone on his lapel and called the Oregon.
“The principal is aboard a BMW motorcycle,” he shouted.
Kasim balanced his handgun in his good arm. Carefully taking aim, he squeezed off a trio of rounds that struck Esky in the groin, heart and throat. He dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes and the AK-47 fell to the concrete floor. Lincoln raced across the distance to the van, slid the rifle farther away, and stood guard over the dying man. The sound from the BMW grew faint in the distance.
HITTING THE TOP of the ramp at ground level, the BMW’s front wheel pawed at the air. Al-Khalifa threw his weight forward to bring the wheel down and exited the parking structure onto the road in front of the hotel. He turned right, down Steintun Road, and traveled a few blocks to where it intersected with Saebraut before turning east and racing along the harbor. The road led out of town and there was no traffic.
Al-Khalifa stared at the emir in the sidecar—the man seemed strangely unafraid.
AFTER RACING ACROSS the lobby and bursting through the hotel’s front door, Crabtree and Hornsby caught sight of the retreating motorcycle. They raced for their black SUV parked in front of the hotel.
“Okay, everyone,” Hanley said over the radio from the Oregon’s control room, “our principal is aboard a BMW motorcycle.”
Hornsby hit the key to unlock the doors of the SUV and climbed into the driver’s seat. Crabtree reached for her radio as she sat down.
“They turned east and are driving along the harbor,” she said. “We’re giving chase.”
AL-KHALIFA TWISTED THE throttle and took the BMW to seventy miles an hour on the snow-covered road. Passing three turnoffs, they crossed over a hill and were out of sight of Reykjavik. Watching the side of the road carefully, he located a trail where he had packed down the snow yesterday with a rented snowmobile. He turned onto the narrow strip of packed snow and drove over another small hill. A fjord with a thin crust of ice extended almost to the base of the hill. Suddenly, civilization seemed far away.
There, on a pad of packed snow, a Kawasaki helicopter was waiting.
HORNSBY SLOWED THE SUV as they passed the first turnoff and glanced at the snow for tracks. Finding none, he stepped on the gas and checked the next. Slowing to check the side roads was killing time, but Hornsby and Crabtree had no other choice.
The BMW motorcycle was nowhere to be seen.
AL-KHALIFA PLACED THE blindfolded emir in the passenger seat of the Kawasaki then locked the door from the outside with a key. He had removed the inside latch from the passenger side and now the emir had no way out. Walking around to the front of the helicopter, he climbed into the pilot’s seat and slid the key into the ignition. As he waited while the igniters warmed, he stared over at his prisoner.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
The emir, still blindfolded with mouth taped shut, simply nodded.
“Good,” Al-Khalifa said, “then it’s time to take a little trip.”
Twisting the key, he waited until the turbines had reached proper thrust. Then he pulled up on the collective and lifted the Kawasaki from the snow. Once the helicopter was ten feet off the ground he eased the cyclic forward. The Kawasaki moved forward, passed through ground effect as it rose in the air, then headed out to sea. Keeping the helicopter low over the terrain to blend in with the mountains, Al-Khalifa looked backward toward Reykjavik.