"That's absurd, Mr. Secretary." She then looked at Seavers. "You want to frisk me, Max?"
Seavers motioned to a couple of the stone-faced Secret Service agents but was cut off by Packard.
"This is the Presidential Prayer Breakfast, goddammit," Packard said. "Sister Serghetti is in the program for the opening prayer. We can't hold her, Seavers. We'll just watch her."
A Secret Service agent walked up and said, "Mr. Secretary, the presidential motorcade is two minutes away."
"I'll be back in a minute to walk with the President to the ballroom." Then Packard offered her his arm. "Ladies first."
"Thank you, Mr. Secretary."
Packard looked back at Max Seavers and the security detail. "After the breakfast we'll meet here with the president and break the news of his daughter's slaying to Senator Scarborough," Packard barked. "By then you better pray that you've got Yeats in custody. Now go find that goddamn bastard."
38
IF CONRAD had his way, right now he'd be digging for the second globe beneath the Sarah Rittenhouse armillary in Montrose Park. He had already figured out that the secret access tunnel had to be the cave that his father had shown him as a child, and that the globe was probably at the bottom of that old Algonquin well in the back. It all made sense now, every wacky thing his crazy ass father had put him through.
But by 5 a.m. all entrances and exits to the Hilton had been sealed off in anticipation of the president's arrival. He was trapped in a hotel room with Harold and Meredith from Highland Park, Texas.
The most he could hope for now was to warn Serena and the president about the second globe and Seavers's plan to release a bird flu contagion. His best shot at reaching them was the prayer breakfast. And thanks to some bad blowfish the night before, Harold was going to be saying his prayers in the toilet while Conrad-or rather "Pastor Jim"-escorted Meredith to the breakfast.
Together they stood in the long line of thousands of prayer breakfast attendees who had emerged from packed elevators and stairwells to follow the directions of young ushers in blue blazers down two escalators to the ballroom level for the 57th Annual Presidential Prayer Breakfast. And dead ahead, just before the ballroom's open doors, the Secret Service had set up an elaborate and impenetrable security checkpoint.
"This is just like the end of time when God's angels will separate the sheep from the goats," Meredith joked.
Conrad chuckled nervously. He had pulled a switch with the tickets back in Harold and Meredith's room, taking Harold's ticket and leaving him his own. But he also had the silver cornerstone plate. Whatever hope he had of slipping through the checkpoint would vanish as soon as he tripped the metal detectors and drew unwanted attention.
Meredith slipped her arm under Conrad's and looked up at him starry-eyed. "Ooh, I feel so dangerous, Pastor Jim!"
As the metal detection gates at the checkpoint began to loom larger, Conrad felt his chest tighten. There was no way the trained agents were going to miss the fact he looked nothing like Harold's picture unless Meredith distracted them first.
"Hey, Meredith," he said, and removed the silver cornerstone plate from his inside breast pocket. "This souvenir I bought from Mount Vernon. I want you to have it."
"Why, thank you, Pastor Jim!" she said and took it from his hand and ran a perfectly manicured fingernail across the surface. "How pretty! I'll treasure it," she cooed and slipped it into her little pink purse.
When they reached the security gates a few moments later, Conrad could see there were checkpoints about ten feet apart. Armed agents in windbreakers stood at one table next to the first gate.
"Please empty your pockets and place any metal objects on the table," said a young female officer. "Thank you."
Beyond the gate an impossibly large black agent stood with a wand in his hand for full body scans.
"Oooh, this is so exciting," she said to the officer as she emptied her purse. "Oh, wait, hon, you go through first, I better turn this over," she said and pulled out the cornerstone plate from her purse. "Don't want to set off any alarms with my souvenir."
Conrad presented his ticket, walked through the metal detector, and looked back to see the officer return the cornerstone plate to Meredith.
"Please move on, ma'am."
Conrad let out a low breath as Meredith bounced over to him with a smile. He calmly led them away from the security checkpoint and toward the open doors of the giant ballroom. Soon as they crossed the threshold, he tried to ditch her.
"I'm at table 232," he told her. "Where are you?"
She had trouble letting go of his arm. "I'm over in the 700s."
"I just realized something," he said. "That souvenir I gave you-I had promised it to someone else. I feel horrible."
"Oh, now don't you worry about a thing, Pastor Jim." She looked disappointed, but gave it back without a second thought. "You gotta be a man of your word."
Conrad smiled at her as they parted ways. "You're a saint."
Seavers left the gold room with a couple of Secret Service agents and marched toward the security checkpoint outside the ballroom. He showed the agents on duty Yeats's picture. None of them had seen him.
"Are you sure?" Seavers pressed one young man, who had hesitated.
"I'm almost positive," he swore, though Seavers could see the doubt in his eyes.
"Almost?" Seavers seethed.
Just before he killed her, Brooke had told him that Yeats had discovered the existence of a second globe. Seavers knew he had to find out what Yeats knew and stop him before he told the good sister or the feds.
Seavers then heard some kind of row and turned to a man being frisked at the metal detection gate by two agents.
Seavers hurried over. "What's going on?"
"We flagged his ticket-Carl Anderson."
Seavers looked at the man. He obviously wasn't Conrad Yeats, but the man must have had contact with him. "I take it your name's not Carl?"
"My name's Harold," the red-faced man said. "I don't know how I got that ticket. Look, my wife is already inside with Pastor Jim Lee. You know, the bestselling author?"
"Does Pastor Jim look like this?" Seavers held up the photo of Yeats, which looked familiar enough to startle Harold.
"That's him!"
"Not quite," Seavers said. "You just handed off your wife to a terrorist wanted for the slaying of law enforcement agents and attacks on America's most sacred landmarks."
"Dear God!" Harold cried. "I didn't know! You have to believe me!"
"Can you recognize your wife, at least?"
Harold shot him an angry look. "I'm pretty sure I can."
"Then take me to her in the ballroom," Seavers said.
The gigantic ballroom was as big as a football field. The domed ceiling a couple of stories high only added to the aura of an indoor sports stadium.
Conrad, now free of Meredith, slipped between hundreds of round tables with white cloths and gold chairs toward a table to the right of the stage. It was near the staff door to the hotel's main kitchen, where hundreds of waiters shuffled in and out.
He picked an empty seat at the table, the least desirable chair because its back was to the stage, but perfect for him. He sat down and faced the wall by the kitchen entrance and six smiling table companions: a young couple from California, an older self-proclaimed "Lake Wobegon" couple from Minnesota, a middle-aged rabbi from New York, and a tall black woman from D.C. It was a United Nations of faith.
"You're never going to see anything good looking this way," joked the rabbi. "Would you mind passing the cantaloupe? They pray later."
Conrad looked down at the table full of fruit, pastries, juices, and coffee. Because of security issues and the crowd, everything had been prepped beforehand, and he had to remove a clear plastic wrap from the chilled plate of cantaloupe.