Exposure Read online

  "What did you give him?" she asked as the doors swooshed shut.

  "Cullen's business card." Nigel shrugged. "Apparently it did the trick. He'd obviously had time to talk to someone in power here, or they'd never have let us pass."

  "We're not exactly looking our superspy best." She shot him a watery smile, and he reached over to squeeze her hand. "How come you didn't tell him the truth about what we suspect?"

  "Cullen and I agreed that it was need-to-know only. And the guard's knowing would only have made things worse. We don't know what we're going to find up there. So there's no sense in causing a panic until we understand what it is we're facing."

  "But surely we should evacuate." She was thinking of her sister. Of her unborn baby.

  "To where? You heard them talking about the R-VX. It'll kill everything within at least forty miles. And that's best-case. Evacuating isn't going to do a damn bit of good. All it will do is cause panic, and that's the last thing we need right now."

  Melissa nodded, swallowing the fear rising inside her. She had so much to lose. More than she'd ever thought possible. Her sister and Aaron. Her unborn nephew or niece—and most importantly, she could lose Nigel. "All right then, so how do we handle this?"

  "My guess is that Khamis planted the device somewhere on the periphery of the ballroom. Out of the main flow of party traffic but still close enough to be capable of taking out the entire floor."

  "So we start with any outlying rooms."

  "Right. But first let me check with Cullen. See where we are as far as reinforcements. If we find anything, we need Sam here ASAP. Or at the very least, someone from the NYPD bomb squad."

  "Are they trained to deal with chemical weapons?" she asked.

  "Yes. Although at the end of the day, I'd much rather have Sam."

  The doors opened, and they stepped into the vestibule. Nigel dialed the phone, and Melissa restrained the urge to go running into the ballroom, screaming for her sister to run. She could see the ballroom from here, but was too far away to make out individuals. Waiters were moving in between tables, trays full of plates balanced carefully in their hands. Dinner was just beginning.

  Nigel clicked the phone shut, his expression inscrutable. "Cullen patched me through to Sam. They found nothing on the ship. No sign at all of the R-VX."

  "What about the crew? Did anyone say anything?"

  "Nothing. Either they don't know or they're willing to die keeping the secret. To hear Sam tell it, I don't think Payton was particularly restrained in trying to obtain the information."

  "How soon can she get here?"

  "It's not looking good. The storm's gotten worse, so they can't land a helicopter. That means she'll have to come by boat. I'd say it'll be at least an hour."

  "And the NYPD?" Melissa stepped back into the shadow of a corner as a guest passed by, her perfectly arched eyebrows rising at the sight of Melissa's shiner.

  "Cullen says they've dispatched uniforms, but I'm afraid the bomb squad's hampered by the storm, as well. No one can fly, and traffic's jammed all over the city."

  "So for the moment at least, we're on our own."

  "Looks that way. But not to worry. We make a pretty good team." His smile was endearing and heartrending all at the same time.

  Emotion swamped through her with the force of a riptide, but she didn't allow herself the luxury of defining it. There simply wasn't time. Not now. Maybe later, when they'd safely reached the other side, she'd face it square on, call it for what it was. But not now.

  Not here.

  "Where first?" she asked, eyeing the room with trepidation. "Obviously we can't just march into the ballroom."

  "No. As I said, if it's here, I'm betting it's in an adjoining room. I think we're better off sticking together. Two sets of eyes and all that." He looked over for confirmation, and she nodded. "All right, then, why don't we start here—" he pointed to a room opening off to their left"—and work clockwise back to the elevators. There can't be more than four or five rooms besides the ballroom, I'd think."

  "Sounds like a plan. Any idea what we're looking for?" They walked into the first room, and Melissa let her gaze wander around the scattered tables and chairs. Each table was draped in a red cloth, an unlit candle sitting in the center.

  "I'm not really sure. Sam said something in plain sight. Something that seems normal but on second consideration is out of place somehow."

  "That could be anything." Melissa frowned, trying to reassess the room from Sam's point of view. All the tables looked exactly the same.

  Nigel reached over and pinched the wick of a candle. "It's cold. And there are no stains on the cloths. My guess is that they'll be used later, or they're for another function altogether."

  "So if the room isn't being used, it seems like the perfect place to slip in something unnoticed."

  "Maybe." Nigel bent to lift a cloth and look under the table. "But it's too far from the ballroom to achieve maximum effect. And from the looks of things, I'm betting it was set up recently. Maybe even after the party started. And we know that Khamis couldn't possibly have had access after that. He was on the freighter with us."

  "So maybe someone else did his dirty work?"

  "No way. Khamis is a hands-on kind of guy. He'd never trust someone else to deliver the package. He'd have done it himself."

  "All right, so do we skip this room or check the tables just to be sure?"

  Nigel sighed. "We check."

  Fifteen minutes later, they'd checked three rooms and found nothing. Melissa could hear the keynote speaker, a prominent senator, making her case for breast cancer research. As always the talk sent shivers of loss racing through Melissa, memories of her mother in her final days still as clear in her mind now as they'd been when she was a kid.

  "She didn't leave on purpose." Nigel turned to face her, his tired eyes full of love and comfort.

  "I know." Melissa nodded. "It's just that it still hurts so damn bad. I needed her. And even if it wasn't her fault, she's still gone. That's why I never come to these things."

  "Sometimes the only way to deal with loss is to face it head-on, Melissa."

  There was wisdom in his words, but she wasn't willing to analyze her pain, not even with Nigel. And especially not now. "Shall we tackle the last room?"

  Nigel reached over to touch her face, the gentle gesture almost her undoing. Then he moved away, his mind clearly shifting back to the business at hand. "I'm right behind you."

  So far the rooms they'd explored had either been set up with candle-topped tables, or completely empty of all extraneous materials The last room, however, had clearly been used—quite recently.

  A bar at the far end was closed now, but there were still a couple of bottles, a stack of ashtrays and a spray can of air freshener gracing the counter. Evidently, if the attendees were rich enough, the mayor's smoking ban was only treated as a suggestion. Behind the bar, Melissa could see a couple of lower tables and a cart that must have held the alcohol.

  A scatter of abandoned glasses and plates littered a couple dozen tables, the waist-high kind meant to be used with barstools or standing. Melissa walked over to one, picking up a pink swizzle stick shaped like a ribbon. Similar sticks littered neighboring tables. "This must have been where they had pre-dinner drinks." She held up the stir stick. "Definitely breast cancer awareness."

  Nigel nodded, already inspecting the underside of the tables. Chairs were lined up against two walls, and Melissa started to check them, but stopped short as her brain caught up with the images she'd seen. The tables behind the bar were covered with gold-spangled cloths, making the bar itself seem regal, but the cart to the left had been covered with a plain white cloth.

  The kind used for room service.

  Frowning, she turned from the chairs and crossed over to the bar, her eyes confirming what her mind had brought to her attention. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with the picture. Someone could simply have rolled a cart with ice or additional beverages off t
he elevator and over to the bar, but somehow it didn't feel right.

  The cloth seemed too long, and the cart just felt out of place. She walked behind the bar, trying to figure out what it was that bugged her, and finally she realized the problem. The rest of the room was totally trashed, the remains of the party scattered everywhere.

  But the cart wasn't dirty at all Except for a single wineglass and a napkin, there was nothing on it. And despite the fact that it had initially appeared to be behind the bar, Melissa realized now that it was in actuality about three feet to the left in a corner. As if it had simply been abandoned there.

  Something that appeared to fit but didn't. Sam's words echoed through her brain, and she called to Nigel as she knelt to lift the cloth. Her heart pounded against her temples as she bent her head to peer under the cart, instinctively certain of what she would find.

  It was surprisingly small. No more than a foot and a half total. A silvery box that at first glance appeared to be made completely of plastic. It was deceptively simple looking, and easy to overlook, the color blending into the muted metal of the cart's underside. Harder to miss were the red numerals of the LED readout.

  According to the steadily decreasing numbers, Khamis's device was set to detonate in less then fifteen minutes. Time, it seemed, was about to run out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  "I CAN'T TELL anything without flipping this thing over." Nigel was lying on his back looking up at the steadily decreasing numbers, but it was impossible to see anything in the half-light. He swallowed a curse and pulled out from under the cart. "What's Sam saying?"

  Melissa shook her head, holding up her hand, so that she could hear Sam on the other end of the line. "No way she can make it in time. She's still at least twenty minutes out, and that's not counting the traffic."

  "So what the hell are we supposed to do?" He hadn't meant to voice his fear, but now that he'd verbalized it, it lost some of its power, allowing him to focus. "Let me talk to her."

  Melissa nodded, handing him the phone, then looked toward the ballroom, the sound of applause filtering into the room.

  "I know it's hard, Melissa. But it's better if we don't cause a panic. You know that." He waited for her nod, then concentrated on the phone. "Tell me what to do, Sam." They'd already described the device to her. Wasting precious seconds. They were currently at t-minus ten and counting.

  "The device should be stable," Sam said, her voice sounding tinny over the cell phone. "The nerve gas won't be viable until detonation. So if you're careful and don't drop it, you should be able to flip the cart and remove the device."

  "There's not enough time to get it the hell out of here." Frustration was building. Nigel wasn't a take-instructions kind of guy. He much preferred action.

  "I know that," Sam said, her voice reassuring. "I'm going to walk you through disarming it. It's not the best of situations, but it beats the alternative."

  "Right," Nigel said, bending down to look at the bomb again. "So I'll pass you off to Melissa again, and she can relay instructions." He held the phone out for Melissa, and then carefully began to flip the cart onto its back.

  Every inch seemed to take a year or more, but in less than thirty seconds, he had the thing upended on a table, the device now clearly visible. Ten seconds after that he'd removed all the duct tape.

  "Okay," Melissa said. "First thing to do is remove the casing. Sam says it's probably glued into place, or maybe held together with a latch. First check to be sure there's not a trigger wire attached, then you can break the seals to open it."

  Nigel gingerly ran his hands around the edges of the plastic box containing the explosives and nerve gas. Two latches resembling a briefcase were aligned in the center of each end of the box. The only wire protruding from the box was attached to the timer. "I'm going to open it."

  Melissa nodded her acceptance and relayed the information to Sam. The box, which was about ten inches deep, opened without incident. The inner workings of the device consisted of a jumble of wire attached in turn to a nine-volt battery and a series of circuit boards, which were welded to what looked like an old motherboard. The board covered the length and width of the box, concealing the nerve agent below.

  Melissa moved closer, staring down at the array, using her photographer's eye to paint a verbal picture for Sam. Once she'd described it, seconds ticked away as Sam considered the device. Finally Melissa relayed her thoughts. "She says it's really simple."

  "Well, that's a point in our favor at least." Nigel had worked with ordnance before, but he'd never actually been solely responsible for disarming a bomb. Still, he had to agree with Sam, the thing looked pretty straightforward. The LED display signaled seven minutes, and Nigel blew out a slow breath, forcing a calm he didn't feel.

  "She says to find the wire connecting to the power source. If you can sever it, then that should kill the timer, and without the timer there'll be no detonation."

  Nigel studied the wires, and picked up one, carefully tracing it to its source. Not the battery. It took almost thirty seconds and way too many missteps, but finally he isolated the wire, carefully keeping it between his thumb and forefinger.

  With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his knife. "Can you open this for me?"

  Melissa balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder, and took the knife case, opening it to reveal a tiny pair of scissors. "Should have known you'd be the MacGyver type," she commented, handing him the scissors.

  "British Boy Scout," Nigel said. "Always prepared and all that. Tell her I'm about to cut the wire."

  Melissa relayed the information, waited a moment as she listened to Sam, then nodded. "Stay close to the battery end. And don't let it touch any of the other wires."

  Without giving himself time to think, Nigel slid the scissors into place and squeezed. The wire held for a moment, then severed. The LED went black, and after a heart-stopping three seconds, nothing else happened.

  "Did we do it?" Melissa asked, hope blossoming in her voice.

  Nigel opened his mouth to respond, but before he could do so, a series of high-pitched beeps sounded, a panel on the floor of the bomb sliding back to reveal another LED counter, its numbers at four minutes and counting.

  "Shit," Nigel said. "We've triggered a secondary bomb. Give me the phone."

  Mutely Melissa handed it to him, her eyes locked on the flashing green LED. Nigel explained the situation to Sam, trying to speak as quickly as he could.

  "I should have guessed," Sam said, her frustration echoing his own. "Looks like the first panel was just a decoy. An inside joke."

  "At the moment I'm not finding it all that funny."

  "You need to figure out a way to remove the false bottom. The real device is below," Sam said. "Are there screws or latches or anything you can see that might separate the two?"

  He leaned over the bomb, his eyes searching for some way to access the area below.

  "I see screws," Melissa said, pointing to the corners of the box. Nigel nodded, and after handing the phone back to Melissa, opened the knife again to reveal a screwdriver. Working as quickly as possible without risking motion that would jar the box, he worked the screws free and then carefully removed the false top.

  "Sam's right. There's another bomb here." There was nothing homemade about this one. Two titanium cylinders were connected by welded brackets, the space between them housing the actual mechanism for detonation Two cones faced each other across the open area between the canisters, a metal rod on the left one telescoped down so that there was about an inch of space between the two.

  While Melissa described the bomb to Sam, Nigel continued to study it. The mechanism was clearly complex and high-tech, but despite all of that the method of firing was remarkably simple. The metal rod would expand in the breath of a nanosecond, slamming into the metal plate adorning the end of the opposite cone.

  Contact would trigger detonation, the force of the blast mixing the contents of the canisters, and p
ropelling the nerve gas out into the skies of New York, an instant death sentence for the world's most populated city—along with the woman he loved. Hell of a price to pay for a life lived on the edge.

  "Sam wants to talk to you." She handed him the phone again, bending so that she too could study the device, the LED readout reminding them they now had under three minutes to find a way out.

  "You've got to find a way to block detonation," Sam said. "Something to keep the rod from completing the circuit."

  "Sounds easy in theory, but not so much when you're standing in front of the damn thing."

  Melissa reached out a hand, finger extended to check out the metal rod.

  "Stop," Nigel ordered. "It's probably booby-trapped."

  With a sharp intake of breath, Melissa straightened, her hands visibly shaking now.

  "I'm betting lasers," Sam said, "or some kind of motion sensors. They won't be activated unless you break the plane. But once you do, there won't be a second chance."

  "So we're screwed." Nigel hated to admit defeat, but the bloody LED was determined to remind him in one-second intervals.

  "Not necessarily. If you can find something to illuminate the lasers you can see the pathway. And then maybe you can find something to keep the rod from moving upon detonation. All you need to do is keep the—"

  Static replaced the sound of her voice, sending alarm coursing through him. "Sam? Can you hear me?" Nigel said, repeating the phrase like the stupid guy on the telephone commercial. The static continued, then abruptly went dead. "I've lost her."

  The LED blinked two minutes.

  "Then we'll have to handle it on our own." Melissa met his gaze, determination etched clearly on her face. "What did she say?"

  He quickly explained about the possibility of lasers, and Sam's suggestion of finding something to reveal the pathway.

  "Aerosol," Melissa said, already crossing to the bar. "The tiny drops of liquid will act like prisms, picking up the light and providing us with a picture of what's going on between the two canisters."

  "What if it triggers the device?"

  "It won't." She shook her head. "There's not enough weight. It's just a mist, essentially. Shouldn't do anything but give us our road map."