The Sacred Vault_ A Novel - Andy McDermott [186]
Silence for a second. Then an urgent shout of: ‘Peter!’
‘What is it?’ called Alderley.
‘We have a situation. Over here, now! Kit, you too.’
‘Where are you?’ Eddie asked.
‘At the Rashtrapati Bhavan - we’ve been dealing with the head of the Indian security service.’
‘Useful.’
‘Not really - he doesn’t believe the Khoils could be a threat.’ A new voice: Kit. ‘What’s happening?’
Mac quickly summarised the situation for his companions. ‘Chase,’ said Alderley, ‘is this intel good?’
‘Straight from the arsehole’s mouth,’ Eddie told him, with a quick look down at Khoil. ‘I don’t know how long until it hits ground zero, but it’s less than ninety seconds. You’ve got to evacuate everyone - or at least get them under cover.’
‘Eddie!’ said Nina urgently, indicating the news feed. On the screen, President Cole was emerging from the palace, striding along the red carpet to meet the Indian leaders. Now that all the G20 leaders had arrived, they would gather for their group photo . . . and become the highest-value target on the planet.
‘Shit!’ said Eddie. ‘Mac, get them out of there! Now!’
‘We’re on it,’ said Mac. A muted thump came from the speakers as he disconnected.
‘It’s too late,’ Khoil said from the floor. ‘You can’t stop it.’
All Nina and Eddie could do was watch the news feed as the world leaders began to congregate.
Mac and Alderley hurried across the crowded room, Kit following as quickly as he could on his crutch. The majority of the guests were high-ranking Indian politicians and civil servants, the remainder diplomats and officials from the other countries attending the summit.
There was only one person the trio were interested in, however. They spotted the portly, grey-bearded man near the doors leading to the expansive courtyard where the leaders had assembled. ‘Mr Verma!’ Alderley called, barging past a cluster of Russian delegates to reach him.
Arivali Verma, the head of India’s Intelligence Bureau, looked round in annoyance from his discussion with his Chinese opposite number. ‘Mr . . . Alderley, yes?’ He recognised the taller, older man with him. ‘Colonel McCrimmon? What is it?’
‘There’s about to be a terrorist attack,’ Alderley said urgently. ‘We have to get the delegates into cover.’
‘What?’ Verma looked to one of his subordinates standing nearby. The man’s bemused expression told him that he had heard nothing of the sort through his earpiece. ‘Where did you hear this?’
‘Does it matter?’ Mac snapped. ‘Just evacuate the courtyard!’
‘What kind of attack? I need more information! The entire world is watching - if I call an alert and nothing happens, we will look like fools!’
‘Better that than doing nothing until a plane crashes into them!’ said Kit, catching up.
Verma huffed. ‘If an unauthorised plane came within fifty kilometres, I would be told immediately.’
‘Not if it were a stealth plane,’ said Mac.
‘A stealth plane?’ Verma echoed in disbelief. ‘This is absurd!’
‘We don’t have time for this!’ Kit growled. He tried to push past Verma to the door, but his assistant moved to block him—
Mac suddenly planted both palms squarely on Verma’s chest and shoved him backwards. Arms flailing, he crashed against his subordinate. Both men fell to the floor in an ungainly heap.
Everyone nearby was shocked - then several of the Indian contingent rushed at Mac . . . including the men guarding the courtyard doors. The Scot winked at Kit, the slight flick of his eyes towards the exit giving the younger man a clear instruction. Alderley, hemmed in by the charge, realised what he was doing and swung a punch at one of the men trying to grab Mac before he too was swarmed.
Leaving the doorway clear.
Kit hopped over the outraged, flapping Verma and into the courtyard. Ignoring the resurgent pain in his injured leg, he hurried forward, pulling out his ID and holding it above his head. ‘Interpol!’ he cried. ‘Everyone inside - there’s a terrorist—’
A pair of black-suited US Secret Service agents dived at him, slamming