The naked edge

13

The rumble of parked emergency vehicles was so loud that Cavanaugh barely heard Tony locking the door behind him. Sirens approached. Exhaust fumes choked the street as men in uniforms rushed through a panicked crowd. Lowering his weapon, Cavanaugh saw a van creeping through the commotion, other vehicles behind it. Emergency workers set up more barricades, preventing pedestrians from getting in the way.

Before the van came to a full stop, Rutherford was already jumping out, hurrying toward Cavanaugh. "Are you all right?"

"Confused as hell, but not hurt. I've got at least thirty trade officials behind this door. We need evac vehicles and an ambulance. A trade minister broke his leg."

"On the way." Rutherford indicated more headlights coming toward them.

"Someone told me this happened at three other hotels," Cavanaugh said.

"Smoke, but no explosives. Gas, but it wasn't lethal," Rutherford said. Like the security agents in the background, he scanned the rooftops.

"It smelled like tear gas," Cavanaugh said, his throat raw, his eyes still burning.

"We think the demonstrators couldn't wait until tomorrow and started early. To give us a taste of what to expect from them."

"Yeah, I can taste it all right."

"Someone had a heart attack in another hotel. The paramedics think he'll survive. But if this had been Duran's work…"

"We'd all be on the way to the morgue," Cavanaugh said.

Across the street, an insistent woman-tall, with a runner's build and long, brunette hair-emerged from the darkness. Lights flashing across her, she forced her way through the crowd. She wore rubber-soled, low-heeled street shoes and dark slacks, her long legs increasing her stride. Veering around an approaching van, she rushed toward Cavanaugh, who broke into a smile and hugged her.

"Are you okay?"

Jamie gripped him tightly. "Yes. What about you?"

Cavanaugh smelled smoke in her hair. He was so relieved to have her safely with him that the smoke might as well have been perfume. "I couldn't be better now that I know you're safe."

Rutherford, a widower, looked as if he wished somebody would be overjoyed to greet him. He knocked on the door and shouted, "This is John Rutherford! FBI! We have the area secured! Evacuation vehicles are waiting for you!"

Cavanaugh shouted, providing the code word, "It's okay, Tony! You can get off the Treadmill!"

Slowly, the door opened. Wary security personnel stepped out, their principals in the protective box they formed.