Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [76]
* * *
11:08:20 p.m. PDT
Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas
Balboa burst into the uniform storage room, stripped off his waiter's apron and jacket while he spoke in hushed tones with his brother. Stella sat at the table, buffing her polished fingernails. The little girl Pamela cowered on the floor, hugging the coloring book to her chest.
"What happened?" Pizarro demanded.
"I gave the woman the cart. She followed my command." Balboa bunched up the uniform and tossed it into a corner. "The alarms went off and I returned here."
"Why triggered the bells?"
"I don't know," Balboa replied. "Perhaps someone found one of the truck bombs. It doesn't matter. They could not have found them all. It's too late to stop us now."
Pizarro glanced nervously at his watch. "We must go, move on to the rendezvous."
Stella rose, straightened her dress. "What about the kid?"
"Take her," Pizarro commanded. "We'll use her as a hostage if we need to. Once we're clear of the hotel, we can release her..."
"Then I'm coming with you, back to the old country, or wherever the hell you're from," Stella insisted. "No way I'm staying in the USA. Not with a kidnapping rap hanging over my head."
Pizarro thin lips parted in a toothy grin. "Very well," he said.
His brother Balboa frowned, turned his back on the pair. "I will fetch the elevator," he said, stepping through the door.
"We're leaving, kid," Stella said, yanking Pamela's arm.
"I don't want to go," the girl sobbed.
Stella smacked Pamela across the face. The unexpected blow stunned the girl to silence.
"If you stay here, you'll get blown up just like your mother," Stella yelled. "Now come on, the elevator's right outside."
"Hurry," Pizarro cried. "We're running out of time."
* * *
11:12:03 p.m. PDT
Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas
Two uniformed officers of the Babylon's security staff took it upon themselves to break into the white Sprinter and defuse the bomb they'd discovered inside. Neither had knowledge or experience with explosives, let alone deactivating bombs, but they figured if they yanked out the detonation cords it might be enough to save hundreds of lives.
The doors were locked, the keys snapped off, so Gus Fellows used a fire extinguisher to smash the windshield. "Cub" Tanner, the smaller partner in the team, climbed through the shattered window to the front seat, then clambered into the back of the panel truck.
It was quieter inside, shielded from the shrill fire alarms booming through the garage. But peace of mind was short lived. Behind rows of potted flowers, Tanner spied the detonation cords, the barrels of C4, the timer clock ticking down. He wanted to run, right then and there. Instead, Cub grabbed detonation cords with both hands and yanked them loose.
"Am I still alive?" he asked, wires dangling from his hands.
His partner's head was thrust through the broken windshield. The man was all smiles.
"You did it," Fellows hooted. "You're a goddamn real life super hero."
* * *
11:15:00 p.m. PDT
Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas
At that moment, the other four trucks exploded — four bombs detonating at precisely the same moment, each with the force of tons of TNT.
Contained inside the parking garage, the explosive power of the multiple blasts was magnified many times. Cars were tossed like leaves in a windstorm. Mimicking water seeking its own level, the force of the blast flowed up elevator shafts, through air conditioning ducts and exhaust vents, along corridors and hallways. The main tower of the Babylon Hotel and Casino trembled as if subjected to an earthquake.
The parking garage collapsed instantly, the top floors crashing down onto the lower levels, the concrete slabs stacking up like pancakes, obliterating those unfortunates who were in their cars, or moving through the parking garage when the blast occurred.
In the ballroom, Senator David Palmer felt the floor tremble, then the entire building seemed to lurch. Screaming, people were thrown to the ground. Tall windows shattered, raining cutting death down