“What can I do?”
He looked up at her, and for once, his eyes were easy to read. He wanted her to evacuate with the civilians, but he knew she wouldn’t. “We have to get this thing to a contained area, preferably underground, but the elevators are down.” He glanced around. “Go find a maintenance guy, a firefighter, whatever. Someone who can override the elevator switch.”
“I’m on it.”
* * *
Derek’s phone vibrated again. He put it on speaker and tossed it onto the floor to keep his hands free.
“What’s the status?” Cole asked.
“Tango’s down.”
“That’s good.”
“What’s not good is I’ve got my hands around an IED. I’m looking at about eight pounds of C-4 and possibly a Willie Pete payload.”
“Fuckin’ A. Why aren’t they jamming cell signals?”
“Beats me. Wouldn’t help anyway—this thing’s on a timer. She’s a beaut, too. I don’t think I can disarm it without setting off the backup charge.”
“Want me to get down there?”
“No time,” he said. “And I need your bird’s-eye view up there. See if you can spot anything useful, like maybe a SWAT van or a hazmat truck near the stadium.”
“Roger that.”
“Also look for a maroon Nissan Sentra or a white SUV that seems suspicious.” He glanced around, searching for Elizabeth. “We’ve got at least two tangos still at large.”
“No armored vehicles,” Cole reported, “but I see about a million white SUVs. That their getaway vehicle?”
“Maybe that or a car bomb.”
“How much time you got on that thing?”
He checked the clock. “Two-fifty-two.”
“Derek!”
He turned to see Elizabeth jogging up to him.
“I got us a freight elevator. In the back of this kitchen. Come on.”
* * *
The doors slid open, and Elizabeth rushed out, with Derek close behind her pushing the cart. She was relieved to see fewer civilians down here, but there were still way too many people, including stadium staffers and emergency workers. A golf cart zoomed past with an ear-piercing beep.
“This isn’t going to work,” Derek said, looking around. He turned to the maintenance man who’d snagged them the elevator. “That door at the end of the ramp over there. Where’s that go?”
Sweat streamed down the guy’s flushed face. He looked stressed and rattled, especially now that he’d no doubt figured out what their cargo was.
“Uh . . . that goes to our underground garage. Storage for, you know, forklifts and heavy equipment and whatnot.”
“Can you get me in there?”
“Uh, it depends.”
“Yes or no, buddy. Come on.”
“If my access code works, I can—”
“Try it,” Derek ordered, then turned to Elizabeth. “I need a vehicle. Preferably an Abrams tank, but I’ll settle for anything bulky. Even an ambulance or a squad car with bulletproof doors would be good.”
She glanced at the hot-dog cart. Was he trying to get rid of her? She didn’t have time to second-guess him.
“Tick-tock, Liz.”
“I’ll find something.”
* * *
Derek glanced around, looking for a crowbar, a hammer, anything he could use to pry the metal garage door up if the maintenance guy couldn’t get it open.
His phone vibrated with another call from Cole.
“Tell me something good, brother.”
“No SWAT vehicles,” Cole said, “but I spotted the maroon Sentra. It’s parked in the driveway of the hotel right across the—”
A loud squelch, and Derek jerked the phone from his ear. The jamming equipment was up and running, evidently.
“Got it!” bellowed the maintenance guy.
Derek turned around to see the garage door sliding up. He started to push the cart through. An engine roared up behind him, and he turned to see Elizabeth behind the wheel of a black Suburban. She jumped out.
“It’s part of the motorcade that got left behind!” she yelled. “Bulletproof glass, armored doors.”
“Damn, that’s brilliant. Where’d you get the key?”
“My Secret Service pal.”
“Help me get this loaded.”
* * *
“How much time?” she asked, racing to the back as he threw open the cargo doors.
“T-minus forty.” Derek glanced around, probably looking for someone who could bench-press more than she could. “Your friend’s bugging out. Damn, was it something I said?”
She turned to see the maintenance guy slinking away.
“Wait!” She sprinted over. “I need your access code to close it.”
He darted his gaze at the Suburban as she scrounged for a pen. She didn’t have one, but he did, and she plucked it from his shirt pocket.
“Spit it out! Then you can go!”
He rattled off a five-digit number, and she wrote it on her hand. Then she ran back to Derek, who was folding down the Suburban’s backseats.
“Gimme a hand with that end, okay? I’ll take the weight.”
“Be careful!”
Could they detonate the bomb by bumping it? She had no idea how fragile it was. Derek lifted it practically by himself, then maneuvered it into the back with a grunt, and she could tell it was heavy. He slammed the doors, making her nerves jump.
He rushed around to the front and hitched himself behind the wheel. “Listen up, Liz. In fifteen seconds, I want you to lower this door.”
She looked at her watch. “But—”
“Fifteen seconds, whether I’m in or out.”
Her heart squeezed. “I’ll come with you.”
“You stay here to close the door.”
“But—”
“I need you to trust me.” He cupped his hand around her face. “Okay?”
He’d trusted her. Over and over today, he’d allowed her to do her job, even though she knew he hated seeing her exposed to danger. She glanced at the tunnel, and her eyes filled.
“Fifteen seconds,” she managed to say.
He yanked the door shut. With a squeal of tires, he took off into the tunnel. Another squeal as he rounded a bend. Elizabeth clutched her hand to her throat.
She checked her watch. Twelve seconds.
Her chest tightened. She looked at the chaos around her—people coming and going, firefighters, stadium workers, mothers and fathers and couples and kids.
Nine seconds.
She glanced at the keypad. She peered down the darkened tunnel and stepped inside. The air was cool and damp and smelled like diesel fuel. She strained to hear over all the noise, but she couldn’t make out anything—not the distant grumble of an engine or the pounding of footsteps.
Six seconds.
Her stomach twisted. She walked back to the keypad and held her finger over the buttons. She read the numbers on the back of her hand.
Three seconds.
Come on, Derek.
Two seconds.
Tears stung her eyes.
One second.
She sucked in a breath. With a trembling finger, she keyed in the code. Her chest caved in as the door started to lower.
“Derek!” She peered into the dark void. The door slid lower. “Derek!” She rushed back to the keypad, clenched her hands into fists as the door slid closer and closer to the concrete.
Behind it, the slap of boots on concrete. Her heart lurched.
“Derek, hurry!” She reached for the keypad just as he rolled under the door, Indiana Jones–style.
“Oh, my God!” She grabbed his arm as he sprang to his feet.
“Come on!” He took her elbow and rushed her at full speed to the nearest exit.
“How much time—”
Her words were cut off by a deafening boom.
They dropped to the ground. Shock waves reverberated around them, and she was on her hands and knees on the concrete, stunned speechless.
Derek pulled her to her feet. “Come on, haul ass. They’re at the hotel across the street.”
“Who is?”
“The tangos. Cole spotted the Sentra.”
He pushed her through the exit, and the summer heat hit her like a wall. Sirens and bullhorns filled the air as emergency workers corralled people into human rivers flowing away from the stadium. Parents carried crying children. Couples clutched each other as they trudged along. Elizabeth saw firetrucks everywhere but no fires or smoke. Yet.
“Did you get it contained?” she yelled at Derek.