Jeffery Deaver - Watchlist

Archer clicked the phone’s screen dark again without replying; there was no need to. He watched as the president’s helicopter settled onto the secure, makeshift landing pad that had been constructed to accommodate it for the opening ceremonies. The gun ships hovered protectively overhead, their rotor wash whipping dirt and debris into a swirling cloud.

If the day had been too windy for the chopper to land, he mused, all his plans might have been for naught. Even the fates smiled upon him. He could feel his father’s presence nearby, approving as well, understanding the need for his own death so that a great destiny could be achieved.

Middleton listened to the Indian cabinet minister say after his introductory remarks, “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure, on this joyous and momentous day, to introduce the President of the United States!”

Middleton wasn’t watching when the president mounted the stage to tumultuous, ground-shaking cheers and applause from the assembled throngs. Instead he stood alongside Chernayev, sifting through the crowd with his eyes searching for Umer or any of Archer’s men, for that matter. The vast sea of humanity gave up nothing. As the president began reading from his prepared remarks on the dam opening, Middleton continued his gradual progress through the crowd, angling toward the jam-packed and roped-off area reserved for the press corps. Cameras flashed and whirred, some no smaller than a palm, recording the president’s every word and gesture.

How would I do it?

Middleton tried to place himself in Archer’s shoes. The thermobaric explosives he’d managed to obtain had never been intended to blow up the dam itself-that much was obvious. What wasn’t obvious was what did that leave? The stage and amphitheater platform itself had been dutifully checked for all varieties of explosive to no avail. Which meant… Which meant…

The explosives had never been here in the first place. And that could only mean Archer had concocted a plan to bring them in through other means, after the speeches had begun.

“On this day, I stand before you representing India’s staunchest and foremost ally, prepared to welcome in a new age of energy independence that has come to your doorstep… ”

Middleton gazed up at the helicopter gun ships that had taken positions too high in the sky to render them dangerous to the president if they exploded. So what did that leave?

Fifty men, he thought, if I had fifty men how would I utilize them? Layering the thermobaric explosives into suicide bomber vests would have been a possibility, had everyone who entered not been required to pass through portable detectors. So what did that leave?

Fifty men…

“Nothing,” Chernayev reported, receiving another report over his nearly undetectable earpiece.

“Tens of thousands of India’s people will now have light and power without damage to the environment or further waste of resources. The opening of this dam serves as an example for what the latest in wind, water and solar technology can accomplish… ”

“We never should have let this go on,” Middleton snapped to Chernayev as they were jostled suddenly when the crowd reacted to another powerful line spoken by the president.

“What choice did we have?” Chernayev challenged him. “Who would have listened to us? We will find this Umer. We will stop this.”

“We’d better,” said Middleton.

Umer made his way to the front of the crowd, sliding along slowly, not about to do anything that would bring notice to him. He need not get this close to trigger the blast but he had promised his men he would join them in their glorious mission and be the first to greet them when they reached heaven. It hadn’t been a difficult sacrifice to make; after today, nothing he ever did could equal the service he was performing. He needed to share in that glory, be celebrated as a hero, even if that be limited to the tiny circles that knew his role.

His men shared his ambition and courage, each and every one of them knowing they had been born for this day. Each had gone into this with eyes wide open prepared to give themselves to the service of the Almighty. Umer felt strangely calm, aware in a God-like moment that he was the master of a fate controlled by the tiny detonator in his pocket. Flip the switch, press the button and the world would change forever in a nanosecond.

Umer prayed he’d be able to view the aftermath from his spot in heaven.

“ Let us not let ourselves be held prisoner to the vestiges of the past. Let us embrace the future without fear of the complications that come with boldness and the bright expanse a new direction imparts. The time for fear and tentativeness is gone… ”

“You’ll never get away with this,” Tesla told Archer weakly.

From the private booth in the VIP area, Archer seemed to feel quite confident that he could get away with whatever he wanted to.

“My father would have wanted Middleton to die here,” he said. “But I prefer having him watch me kill his daughter. Better to have him live in misery.”

“He’ll hunt you to the end of the earth.”

Archer’s lips flirted with a smile, clearly unfamiliar with the gesture. “If he survives, which is unlikely. And if he does, let him come after me. Let his personal hatred consume his failed mission. And not long after today that earth will be a considerably different place.”

Tesla thought briefly. “Is it true you killed your father?”

Archer stiffened, didn’t respond.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Some would call that the ultimate betrayal.”

“Age betrayed him,” Archer shot at her. “Weakness betrayed him. He had played the game too long.”

“Is that what this is to you?”

“As it was to my father. But he no longer cared enough about winning.”

“You just answered my question,” Tesla said. “This was your plan all along. It was your plan and he refused to go along with it. He changed his mind, so you killed him.”

Archer didn’t bother denying it. “We had come to see the world a different way.”

Security badge dangling from his throat, Middleton was nearing the front of the vast mass of humanity when he glimpsed a man standing off to the side. On first glance, he wouldn’t have paid him any heed at all, except for the fact that his eyes were held closed, as if he were asleep. Or praying. Second glance brought a flash of recognition from the picture Chernayev had shown him:

Umer!

Middleton had barely formed that thought when one of the reporters squeezed into the press rows plowed his way into the aisle, his face a sheen of dripping sweat. Middleton watched him tear the camera strap from his neck and toss it aside, as security personnel moved toward him.

Middleton swung back toward Umer. His eyes had snapped open and his hand was digging into his pocket.

In that moment it all became clear. The fifty soldiers, thermobaric explosives, the discarded camera…

Archer’s men were disguised as journalists , the explosives laden into their Nikons, Canons and video cameras.

The equipment would have been remodeled to include a lead shielding rendering the explosives mostly invisible to detection devices. Add to that the fact that thermobarics were so new that their signature may not have been identified and coded yet.

Middleton made his way toward Umer, wishing now he and Chernayev hadn’t separated.

“I’ve got him,” he said softly into a tiny handheld microphone the Russian had provided him. “Front crowd, southeast facing.”

Middleton saw Umer cupping his hands around a tiny oblong detonator and raising them into a position of prayer. He closed his eyes again. He started to go for the Beretta Chernayev had supplied but didn’t dare risk firing. Even a kill shot to the brain could result in a spasm more than sufficient to activate the detonator. Middleton would have to win this battle in close.