‘You’ve heard about this threat on the Internet,’ said Conor, and gave him the briefest of accounts of what had happened in Norway.
‘And you think he’s here in New York, this Dennis Branch character?’
‘Let’s say it’s an educated guess.’
‘Do you need some help tracking him down? You could use a good hypnotist, couldn’t you?’
‘Well, we have Magda with us.’
‘And you trust her?’
‘I have to.’
‘I could come over and help you. Be glad to, as a matter of fact. I was beginning to think that I was snatched from the jaws of death just so that I could go home and die of boredom.’
‘Sidney, I’m sorry. You’re still convalescing.’
‘I’d take it easy. Wouldn’t overtax myself, anything like that.’
‘Sidney, I really appreciate your offer, but no.’
‘I tried, though, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, Sidney. You tried.’
That night, in the very small hours of the morning, Conor thought he heard a door click. He opened his eyes and frowned into the darkness. He felt too tired to get out of bed and see what it was. The wind, probably. There was a gale blowing outside and a whole chorus of drafts were softly whistling under the floorboards.
He raised his head and listened for a while, but there were no more clicks, and in the end he dropped back onto the pillow.
He dreamed of polar bears again, running after him across the pack-ice.
Eleanor brought him a cup of coffee at a quarter of eight. She pulled back the drapes and said, ‘Magda’s gone.’
‘What?’
‘Her bed’s empty. Hasn’t even been slept in.’
Conor raked his fingers through his tousled hair. ‘That’s all we need. God – let’s hope she’s not planning to get in touch with Dennis Branch and tell him that we’re here in New York. This could screw up everything.’
Eleanor handed him a note. It was written in sloping, spidery writing, with circles over the i’s instead of dots. Dearest Conor … I think now is the time for me to go in search of a new destiny …
I will also think of you with love and respect … a man of honor … take very good care of yourself … Magda.
‘It doesn’t sound as if she’s going to rat on us,’ said Eleanor.
‘No, you’re right. But even if she doesn’t, I really could have used her talent.’
‘You’re good at hypnosis, too.’
‘Forget it. I’m nowhere near as good as Magda.’
He climbed out of bed, and while Eleanor went into the kitchen to make herself some lemon tea, he showered and dressed. He wore a pale gray shirt and a charcoal sweater. He wanted to look as inconspicuous as possible. It always amazed him that muggers and robbers dress in such highly identifiable clothing, like designer sportswear and distinctive hats. They might just as well have worn name tags. Eleanor wore the same gray dress she had bought in Oslo.
‘It’s only eight-thirty,’ she said. ‘Do you want another cup of coffee?’
‘I’m jittery enough already, thanks.’
‘We could always call Sidney, you know.’
‘Come on, Eleanor. Sidney’s still recuperating. What if something happens to him? I can’t take the responsibility for that.’
‘What if millions of people catch the Spanish flu? Can you take the responsibility for that?’
Conor sat with his hand over his mouth, thinking. Then he picked up the phone and punched out Sidney’s number.
‘Sidney? Does your offer still stand?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Magda just quit on us. We really need you, Sidney.’
‘OK, then. Be glad to. How soon do you need me?’
‘As soon as you can. But Sidney, make me one promise. Don’t you go dying on me, do you understand? If you die on me I’ll never speak to you again.’
They reached United Nations headquarters a few minutes after 10 a.m. and went straight to the information desk in the main lobby. Tickets for the General Assembly were free, but they were only available on a first-come first-served basis. They collected three and made their way to the General Assembly chamber.
Sidney was stooped, and his face was gray, and he was even thinner than he had been before. But he still had the same brightness in his eyes, and he was able to walk quite well with the aid of a stick. He wouldn’t shake Conor’s hand – ‘Don’t want to hypnotize you today, do I?’ – but he smiled and held him close for a moment and said, ‘Good to see you, son. Very, very good to see you. I see you’ve been taking care of my Bipsy for me.’
Eleanor took hold of Sidney’s hand and squeezed it, but didn’t say anything.
UN headquarters was crowded this morning, with secretaries hurrying this way and that, while crocodiles of Japanese tourists were led across the lobby, chattering and taking photographs of everything, even the ashtrays. The congestion wasn’t helped by a group of workmen erecting a large display of blown-up photographs depicting Peace In Our Time, and a florist in white overalls with BLOSSOM TIME INC. stenciled on the back was working on a huge display of red and white chrysanthemums, arranging them to look like the UN dove, and spraying them with water to liven them up. Occasionally, there were brief flickers of photo-flash outside the main lobby as the delegates arrived. Conor took a long look around the lobby but there was no sign of Dennis Branch anywhere; or of anyone who looked like one of his followers.
‘If he is here,’ said Conor, ‘how is he going to introduce the virus?’
‘I saw a movie once where some terrorist infected the air-conditioning system,’ said Stanley.
‘I don’t know … I suppose it would work if you did it on a plane, with a limited air supply. But in a building this size it seems pretty hit-and-miss. Like Eleanor says, Dennis Branch is out to make a grand theatrical gesture. Waiting for the virus to infiltrate the air supply could take days; and that’s if it works at all.’
At 10:25 a.m. they took their seats in the public gallery in the chamber. Conor had only seen the General Assembly on television before, but it looked unusually full, with a high proportion of delegates from the Middle East – Saudi Arabia and Iran and Egypt.
The Special Session opened with a bulletin on the latest threat from the Global Message Movement, read out by the bald-headed Moroccan chairman, Ibn Battuta.
‘Dennis Branch warns that he will not extend the deadline of eleven-thirty a.m. today. He says that the Word of God is non-negotiable. He has given no indication of where he might release the Spanish influenza virus, or how, but we have received preliminary reports from psychological profile experts at the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and from Norwegian investigators on Spitsbergen, and they are in no doubt that he is both capable and likely to carry out his threat.’
Eleanor said, ‘Don’t you think we ought to warn the security guards?’
‘How can we? Supposing we’ve made a mistake, and he isn’t here? We’ll all be detained, I’ll be arrested as a fugitive, and who’s going to stop him then?’
The Special Session continued. The Saudi delegate was furious that the United States never failed to punish Islamic terror groups, but ignored the ‘writhing snakepit of murderous extremists within its own boundaries’. The Swedish delegate wanted to know if there was any vaccine that could protect the world population from Spanish influenza, to which Professor Sheldon Farber from the epidemiology department of New York University Medical Center replied, ‘No, sir. And even if we had one, we could never produce enough.’
The German delegate asked if this was a ‘doomsday scenario’. Professor Farber said, ‘If you consider the rapid and painful deaths of a number of people equivalent to the entire populations of New York, Washington and Los Angeles to be a “doomsday scenario” – then, yes, you could call it a “doomsday scenario”.’
‘It’s supposed to happen in less than eleven minutes,’ declared the Argentinian delegate. ‘And what are we doing about
it?’
‘Have any religious leaders anywhere in the world said that they will comply with the demands of the Global Message Movement?’ asked the Greek delegate.
Ibn Battuta said, ‘I am informed that thirteen different sects have shown some willingness to discuss Mr Branch’s demands. I am not at liberty to say who they are, but I can tell you that most of them hold fundamentalist Christian views not very distinct from Mr Branch’s own. There has been a statement from one Islamic group that if a single member of its organization dies of Spanish influenza, the streets of the Western world will run red with infidel blood.’
It was 11:28 a.m. Conor kept swiveling his head around, looking for some indication that somebody was attempting to do something unusual. Maybe Branch had infected the air-conditioning system, but if he had, and it worked, then it was probably already too late.
One of the Arab delegates abruptly broke into a spasm of coughs. His aide opened the bottle of sparkling mineral water on his desk and poured him a glass. Conor kept an eye on him: it might have been possible for Dennis Branch to infect just one of the delegates, in the expectation that he would spread the virus all the way through the chamber.
The discussions went on, but after only a few minutes Ibn Battuta placed his hand to his forehead and took off his glasses. The Arab started coughing again, almost uncontrollably this time; and then another delegate got to his feet and said, ‘Mr Secretary, if you’ll excuse me …’ He swayed for a moment, then his legs buckled and he fell to the floor.
Another delegate started to cough, and then another. The Arab suddenly gave one explosive cough and splattered his agenda papers with bright red blood. A woman delegate screamed.
In less than fifteen minutes, the whole General Assembly chamber was echoing with coughing and groaning and people calling for help in a cacophony of different languages. Even the security men were leaning against the walls, gasping for air.
‘We need medics, fast!’ called the Canadian delegate. And Professor Farber ordered, ‘You must seal off the doors! You mustn’t let anybody leave! If this is the Spanish flu virus, then it mustn’t get out of here!’
Conor said to Eleanor, ‘Time to hit the bricks – now! Sidney – come on, let’s go!’
They pushed their way through the growing confusion in the public gallery. Nobody understood what was happening. At least a third of the delegates had collapsed and the remainder were milling around in panic. A blaring alarm started to sound, which made the scene even more apocalyptic.
They reached the doors but a uniformed guard stepped in front of them, blocking their exit.
‘Hold up, there! I’m sorry, folks! I’m closing these doors! I just had the order through that nobody leaves!’
Sidney approached him with complete calm and laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘You didn’t hear that second order, did you, son? Maybe you weren’t listening.’
‘Second order? What second order?’
‘You know us, don’t you, son? Our faces are so familiar to you. You’ve seen us before.’
‘I’m not sure that I—’
‘Remember those warm sunny days when you were a kid? That’s when you met us. We always made you feel so safe, so reassured. We still make you feel good. We’re like your grandparents, in a way. Now you remember that second order, don’t you? That second order was to let us pass, so that we can make everything right.’
The young officer’s eyes darted nervously from side to side, but he was beginning to smile. ‘OK, sure,’ he said, and stepped back so that they could leave. There was a noisy protest from the crowd of people behind them, and a lot of violent jostling, but the officer held them back.
‘Are you sure this is a wise thing to do?’ Sidney panted, as they hurried through to the main lobby. ‘Supposing we’re carrying the virus, too?’
‘Well, I feel OK, do you? I think those delegates were specifically infected, one by one, although I don’t know how.’
They crossed the main lobby, pushing their way through the crowds. But here, too, the doors had already been barred. A klaxon was blaring and people were milling around in complete confusion. Even the girls at the information desk were shrugging and shaking their heads. ‘Is there a fire?’ asked a large woman with a bagful of souvenirs. Outside the building, a grade-school teacher was knocking on the doors to get in, a whole crocodile of children waiting impatiently behind her.
Like a cat seen out of the comer of his eye, Conor glimpsed a thin man in white coveralls turning a comer by the telephones. He saw him for less than a second but he knew who he was. The florist, who had been arranging the dove motif in red and white chrysanthemums, right by the delegates’ entrance to the General Assembly chamber. He was dark-haired, and he had been wearing a face mask then, but Conor hadn’t really paid him much attention. Maybe his plastic water spray had contained insecticide or biological plant food, something you wouldn’t want to breathe in.
Like a virus.
He grabbed Eleanor’s arm. ‘There – I swear to God that was Dennis Branch.’
‘Where? Here? In person? You’re sure?’
‘I know it. I had a gut feeling he was going to be here.’
He hurried to the comer. Beyond the telephones were the elevators, but as they approached them, Conor realized that three of them were on their way down, and that the other two had risen too far for Dennis Branch to have caught them in time. On the right-hand side of the elevators was a door to the stairs. It had a hydraulic hinge, and it hadn’t quite finished closing yet; and when Conor wrenched it open and listened, he could hear sneakers scuffing on concrete treads.
‘He’s climbing the stairs. I’ll go after him. You take the next elevator. I’ll keep in touch with my mobile phone.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Sidney, lifting his stick. ‘You can count on us.’
Conor started to climb the stairs. He was still fit but Dennis Branch must have had legs like an antelope, because Conor could hear him race higher and higher, his footsteps echoing all the way down the stairwell. Conor gripped the handrail and heaved himself up, two and three stairs at a time. You bastard, he thought, over and over. You bastard, I’m going to get you for this. It was sheer hatred that kept him going.
When he reached the twelfth floor, his telephone rang. Gasping for breath, he stopped to answer it.
‘Conor, it’s Sidney. We’re on the twenty-fifth floor.’
‘I’m on twelve. Stay there until I reach you. But don’t try anything confrontational.’
‘Conor, Eleanor’s had a heart attack.’
‘Oh, Jesus. She isn’t—’
‘She says she’s OK, Conor, but I’ve had to call for the paramedics. Listen, I’m sorry. I have to stay with her.’
‘Sidney, this is one moment when I really need you.’
‘I know that, Conor. But this is one moment when my Bipsy needs me more.’
Conor stood with his head bowed, sweating and breathing hard. O Lord, he thought, these things are certainly sent to try us.
Sidney said, ‘Conor? Conor? Can you hear me?’
‘Sure, Sidney. I can hear you.’
‘Don’t lose your concentration, Conor. Don’t lose your faith. Confuse him, but flatter him. Distract him, but let him hear what he really wants to hear. You can do it. You have the presence. You have the voice. You have the confidence, too.’
‘Sidney—’
‘There’s no alternative, Conor. I’m not leaving Eleanor for you or Dennis Branch or anybody else. I left her once before and ruined my life. I don’t have many years left. I want a chance to live them with the woman I love.’
Conor didn’t reply, but switched off his phone and started climbing again. This time, he was powered not only by hatred but by real rage, and he bounded up the stairs without holding the handrail, his face grim, sweat stinging his eyes. His leg muscles felt as if they were blazing, but he kept on climbing, and at last he reached the roof exit on top of the Secretariat Building. He kicked open the door a
nd found himself out in the open, under a scurrying gray sky, with rain spitefully lashing in the wind.
In front of the Secretariat Building, the flags of the United Nations’ member states were flying, all 175 of them, and in this wind they made a noise like hundreds of horses galloping. Beyond the flags, Conor could see the PanAm Building and silvery spire of the Chrysler Building; and if he turned north he could see the Lipstick Building where Lacey worked. To the east was the dun-colored waters of the East River, with barges slowly beating their way upstream; and beyond, the housing projects of Queens.
Dennis Branch was standing close to the edge of the roof, his arms spread wide. He had taken off his face mask but he was still wearing a dark-haired wig. In one hand he was holding the plastic spray bottle which he had been using in the lobby. He didn’t turn around as Conor approached.
‘I love the Lord because He hears my voice and my supplications. Because He has inclined His ear to me. Therefore I shall call upon Him as long as I live. The cords of death encompass me. I found distress and sorrow. Then I called upon the name of the Lord, “O Lord I beseech Thee, save my life!”’
Conor took two steps toward him and then he suddenly saw how far down it was to the street below. A huge rush of vertigo overwhelmed him, and he stood where he was, breathless, unable to move, unable to speak.
‘Well, well, Mr O’Neil. My self-appointed nemesis. A little too late this time, Mr O’Neil.’
Conor couldn’t do anything but close his eyes. He could feel the wind against his face and he could hear the traffic far below, and even with his eyes closed he was dizzy.
‘What’s the matter, Mr O’Neil?’ Dennis Branch taunted him. ‘Lost your nerve, all of a sudden?’
Conor wished to God that Sidney were here. But then he thought of Eleanor, stricken with a heart attack; and when he thought of Eleanor, he remembered what she had said to him. ‘Beat them. Beat the bastards. You’re Conor O’Neil. Nobody can tell you what to do, and you can do whatever it takes.’
He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. It was still a long way down to the ground but he did his best to ignore it. He looked steadily at Dennis Branch and said, ‘It’s over, Dennis.’
Holy Terror Page 40
