The Serpent's Kiss

96

Derek ripped the Tygon tubing out of the fogger outflow hose, then gripped the entire assembly of gas cylinders, braced himself and lifted it out of the tank. Turning, he set it down on the floor, studied the device, turned off the regulator valve, then examined the radio receiver. It looked straightforward. He took his gun and slammed the butt down on the radio. With a crack, the light went out.

He picked up his crutch and moved across the stage to the other barrel. Lippman said, “Is it… neutralized?”

“I hope so. Put a guard on it. Nobody gets near it, touches it, moves it until the Bureau’s HMRU people get here.”

He stood in front of the second barrel, lifted off the top and set aside the dry ice tray. He looked at Lippman. “So far so good. Keep your fingers crossed.” He hoped the reason these didn’t seem to be booby-trapped was the cylinders took up too much room in the tanks, and any additional explosives would have displaced too much water. Or maybe the water had provided too much of a technical problem. Or maybe Matsumoto didn’t booby-trap his gas bombs, just the houses of his victims.

Derek reached in and repeated the procedure. His phone rang while he was up to his elbows in the water.

“Answer it,” he said, still focusing on the task of immobilizing the sarin canisters in the fog machines.

Lippman took the Iridium phone off Derek’s belt and answered. “Hello?”

He listened for a moment. Then Lippman said, “It’s Agent Church. She’s lost contact with her son.”

“Tell her to get to the highest point in The Palace. That’s where this guy will be.”

Lippman looked surprised. “Up in the suites? Or the catwalk?”

“My money’s on the catwalk.”

Lippman put the phone to his ear. “He says he believes The Serpent will be at the highest point in the facility. That would be the catwalk. Where are you?”

He listened. “There’s an elevator near there. Take it to the top level and go right. There’s a door to the utility levels. It requires a card reader. I’ll get somebody up there.”

Derek set the canisters down and smashed the receiver. He took the phone from Lippman and said, “I’ll meet you there.”

He turned to Lippman. “Where?”

“Let’s go.” Lippman spun on his heel and led Derek toward an elevator. Lippman was on his own phone, calling his security people, telling them where they needed to go.

Lippman looked at Derek. “The FBI is on its way. Are we going to be in time?”

Derek shook his head, took out his gun again, checked that it was loaded and ready. “I’m afraid this is in the hands of a sixteen-year-old kid.”