Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [73]
He cursed loudly, causing the winos on the corner to give him a wide berth. Curtis realized something bad had happened. Someone back at CTU headquarters — Ryan Chappelle, George Mason, Alberta Green, or maybe Richard Walsh or Henderson himself — had shut them down with extreme prejudice. The Vegas operation was in the throes of deactivation, a bureaucratic mess that left Curtis without any access to CTU. It was a Draconian move usually reserved for missions that had been compromised: when an agent broke the law, or leaked intelligence, or there was a catastrophic threat and the field agents had to be recalled.
What could have happened? Curtis wondered. Did headquarters learn about Max Farrow's death, and the fact that Jack was hiding the murder from his superiors?
Curtis realized that might be enough to warrant deactivation, but who would talk? He didn't, and he was damn sure Morris could keep a secret, too.
But there was no use speculating. Whatever happened to trigger deactivation, Curtis was now effectively on his own. CTU wouldn't recognize his operational codes, even if he called the number listed in the phone book and tried to explain who he was and what was happening. As far as his superiors were concerned, he, Jack, Morris, and probably Tony Almeida at Groom Lake, were all compromised. They would have to be thoroughly debriefed by their superiors before they were reinstated and their security clearances restored.
Clutching the receiver in a death grip, Curtis dialed O'Brian's number at the Cha-Cha. He was shocked to get the man's voice mail. What could Morris be doing that was more important than monitoring the activities of the field agents?
Probably establishing deactivation protocols with whoever showed up to shut us down, Curtis mused bitterly. He left a message outlining what was going on, then hung up.
Curtis considered calling 911 and reporting an anonymous bomb threat. But in the end he vetoed the idea. It would only cause more chaos. Better if he was on the scene, Curtis decided. He could do more at the hotel.
After that he drove directly to the Babylon and began setting off the fire alarms, hoping to bring the authorities. But as he sprinted toward the elevator, Curtis stopped in his tracks. Three armed men in security uniforms blocked his path. Someone shouted. Even over the shrill, constant clang of the alarm bells, Curtis heard the words clearly.
"Drop the shotgun or we'll shoot."
* * *
10:55:21 p.m. PDT
Hanging Gardens Ballroom
Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas
All eyes were on the podium. In the glare of a spotlight, Congressman Larry Bell commenced his introduction of the keynote speaker with a rambling account of a moment the two men shared back when they were both pro basketball players.
Lilly tried to call Jaycee Jager again, but she could not get a signal. She tried a pay phone next, but it seemed to be out of order. There was no tone, and all she heard was white noise.
Approaching the kitchen, Lilly spotted a man in a waiter's uniform standing beside a wheeled cart strewn with flowers. She approached the stranger warily, intimidated by his intense gaze. When Lilly was within arm's length, he seized her wrist.
"Do you wish to see your daughter again?" he hissed, his hot breath on her face.
Lilly nodded and the man released her.
"Wheel this cart to a spot behind the speaker's podium, there..." he gestured with a jerk of his head. "In front of that row of flags."
"Why do you want me to do this?" Lilly demanded.
"Do as you are told," the man snapped. "Leave the cart and come back here. Then I will take you to your daughter."
Balboa Rojas slid the cart in front of her. Numb, Lilly gripped the handles.
"Hurry," he commanded. "You are running out of time."
She stumbled forward. As she pushed the wheeled cart in front of her, Lilly's mind was racing.
There must be a bomb on this cart, she reasoned.
Lilly looked down at the mass of flowers. There was nowhere to hide an explosive that she could see.