The Sacred Vault_ A Novel - Andy McDermott [185]
A loud bang cut her off. Smoke swirled up from the stairs. The crackling sizzle from the transformers below grew louder, more agitated. More of the screens flickered. ‘Not keen on that,’ Eddie muttered. He looked back up at the dome. With the projectors gone, the two largest screens were now blank - no way of knowing how close the drone was to its target. ‘Come on!’
He ran for the platform, Nina following. They reached the upper level to find that Khoil was still alive, groaning weakly under the projector rig. ‘How do we stop the plane?’ Nina demanded.
Despite his pain, Khoil somehow managed a twisted smirk. ‘You can’t,’ he gasped, blood on his teeth. ‘The autopilot is set. In less than two minutes, the Kali Yuga will end . . .’
35
A large patch of dark blood was swelling across the chest of Khoil’s Nehru jacket. Eddie jammed his heel down on it, making the Indian scream. ‘Tell us how to unlock the controls!’
‘No,’ Khoil rasped as Eddie eased the pressure.
‘You’re not going to live much longer no matter what, but I can make every second of it really hurt.’
‘It . . . doesn’t matter. I will be reborn in a new golden age . . .’
‘As a dung beetle, if there’s any bloody justice.’ Realising that Khoil was utterly committed to his plan, he gave him one more jab before turning to Nina. ‘What the fuck do we do now?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, scanning the active screens in desperation. Maybe Khoil had made a mistake, leaving some way they could divert the drone. But she saw nothing helpful . . .
Her gaze flashed back to one screen in particular. The display showing the live news feed from the presidential palace was still active. The British Prime Minister was shaking hands with his hosts. Only a few more world leaders still to appear, the last being the President of the United States, and everyone would be in place for the drone’s suicide strike—
‘Peter!’ she exclaimed, the sight of the British politician reminding her of one of the members of his entourage. ‘We can call Peter Alderley; he can warn them!’
‘Well, yeah, we could,’ Eddie said, ‘if we had his number. And a phone.’
‘We’ve got a phone. If I can remember how to work it . . .’ She thought back to the smaller infotarium in India, then raised one hand as if holding an invisible handset and brought it to her ear.
Nothing happened. The screens remained unchanged. ‘Damn it!’
Eddie gave her a look of disbelief. ‘This isn’t a good time to play charades!’
‘I saw him do it in Bangalore - like a virtual phone.’ She moved closer to the slender lectern housing the motion sensors and tried again, slowing and exaggerating the move . . .
The screens changed, a keypad overlaid on the images. ‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘What’s the number?’
‘How the hell would I know Alderley’s number?’
‘Not his number - Mac’s number!’ She raised her other hand, forefinger extended; a glowing circle appeared over the keypad as the sensors tracked her fingertip. ‘He’s with Peter, and you know his number, don’t you?’
Eddie quickly recited the digits, Nina tapping at thin air to enter them into the virtual keypad. ‘Just hope he remembered to charge his phone.’
The animated ‘Connecting . . .’ icon appeared, but nothing seemed to be happening. Nina and Eddie exchanged worried looks - then a hollow hiss came from speakers overhead. Another tense moment, and the ringing tone echoed round the dome. Twice, three times . . .
‘If the world ends because we got sent to voicemail, I’m gonna be very unhappy,’ Nina muttered. ‘Come on, Mac, pick up—’
A click, then a familiar Scottish voice, slight puzzlement evident at being called from an unfamiliar number. ‘Hello?’
‘Mac!’ Nina cried. ‘Thank God! It’s us, Nina and Eddie!’
The background noise suggested that he was in a large room, a hum of conversation audible. ‘What’s going on? I thought you were in Greenland?’
‘We are,’ said Eddie, ‘but the shit’s about to hit the fan in Delhi. Khoil’s got a stealth drone full of explosives