The Sacred Vault_ A Novel - Andy McDermott [180]
On the news feed, the technicians cleared the stage. The camera panned across to a doorway, from which officials emerged. Camera flashes lit up the area like strobes.
‘They’re coming out,’ said Vanita excitedly, grabbing her husband’s arm.
He lifted her hand away. ‘Vanita, my beloved, I need you to clear the platform so I can fly the vimana. It would be unfortunate if you nudged me and made it crash short of the target.’ She was annoyed by his undercurrent of sarcasm, but descended the steps to the circular walkway, where she stood beside Tandon.
Khoil raised both hands, paused for a moment like a conductor preparing to cue an orchestra . . . then clenched them as if gripping invisible controls. The view from the cameras tilted sharply as the stealth plane banked. The artificial horizon matched the move, a green line indicating the course to the presidential residence swinging into sight.
Text also appeared at the bottom of the screens. TIME TO TARGET: 04:02. The number counted down. 04:01, 04:00, 03:59 . . .
34
Nina stared at the screens in horror as the Indian president and prime minister made their way to the stage. ‘If you do this, millions of people will die - and a lot of them will be in your own country!’
‘They will be reborn in the next cycle,’ Khoil said, eyes fixed on the view from the aircraft. ‘And they will be born into a better world.’
She had no counter to that. Khoil was a man set in his beliefs, and there were no words she could use to change his mind. Only action would make a difference now. ‘We’ve got to stop him,’ she whispered to Eddie.
‘Yeah, I got that.’ If he could reach the upper platform, he could disrupt the plane’s flight by punching out Khoil and taking over the virtual controls, crashing it somewhere safe - or at least forcing it to return to its failsafe orbit until the world leaders were back indoors.
Getting on to the platform, though, was the problem. There were three men with guns there to stop him.
Unless he could make it two men . . .
‘You’re Bosnian, right?’ he asked Zec in an almost conversational tone, to the mercenary’s surprise. ‘The country’s pretty much half and half Christians and Muslims, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Zec, suspicious. ‘Why?’
‘Well, that part of the world’s had some . . . well, problems between different ethnic groups. It might have calmed down now, but this’ll start it right back up again.’ He indicated the Khoils, both fixated on the big screens. ‘Your bosses just said that’s what they were after.’
‘That is not my concern,’ Zec said, but the idea, having taken root, was clearly troubling him.
‘It’ll be your wife and son’s concern, though. You said they live in Sarajevo. That’s not exactly high on the list of cities people associate with peace and harmony and good times.’ Eddie’s expression hardened. ‘They’re going to die. And you’ll have helped it happen.’
Vanita glared angrily at them. ‘Enough! Zec, go back to security.’ She addressed the guard, jabbing a red-nailed finger at Nina and Eddie. ‘You. Shoot these two.’
The guard pushed past Zec, raising his gun - but Tandon intervened. ‘Please, let me.’ He smiled coldly. ‘I have been looking forward to this.’
‘All right,’ said Vanita. ‘But quickly.’
Eddie gave Zec a look. ‘Last chance for your son to be proud of you.’
Tandon advanced, pocketing his gun . . . and raised his hands to deliver a lethal martial arts strike. ‘It will be quick,’ he assured Vanita, ‘but not painless.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Do it.’ The countdown on the screen reached three minutes.
Tandon stepped closer. Nina gripped Eddie’s hand—
A spray of blood and brain matter splattered across the dome as Zec shot the guard in the back of the head.
Eddie pushed Nina down, crouching to give Zec a clear shot at Tandon as the dead guard fell. His MP5K clattered to the floor ten feet below, skidding away to end up near the spiral staircase.
Zec fired again - and