Chase said nothing. The silence in the trailer was broken only by the rhythmic churning sound of the pump and its sighing
It happened just as Prothero got out of the car, on the steps leading up to the entrance, inside the bulletproof screens. There must have been fifty of them, milling around in their black robes and chanting one of their meaningless repetitive dirges.
For a few moments Prothero was completely surrounded, almost submerged. He struggled through them, jostled from side to side, not making much headway until three UN security guards pushed forward, casting bodies aside, clearing a path.
Prothero had been an atheist since the age of fourteen. He never had and never could understand how rational and supposedly intelligent people could fall for such claptrap. It was a spiritual crutch, that was his opinion. But what depressed him more was the fact that most of these were kids, in their teens and early twenties. As for what they believed in--or what crank sect they belonged to--he hadn't the faintest notion. There were so many quasi-religious groups about these days that he couldn't be bothered to differentiate between them.
That's supposing there was any difference.
The green overalls hid his robes. The face mask and respirator (nonfunctioning) gave him the appearance of any other member of the maintenance staff. He carried the cylinder in plain sight across his shoulder so that the guard in his glass cubicle at the subbasement entrance hardly spared him a glance before returning to his glossy porn magazine.
In a deserted locker room Mara threw off the mask and respirator and stripped off the overalls. He fitted the cylinder into its harness and arranged his robes to cover it. He attached the hose and nozzle to his right arm with tape and made sure the butane lighter was in the small leather pouch at his waist.
There was no need to rehearse. Mara had practiced the sacred ritual many times in dummy runs. In his mind the sequence was sharp and exact, the operational manual's instructions etched into his memory as if he had the page in front of him.
1. Left hand/grasp/flick--ignition
2. Right hand/extend/twist--jet
3. Left hand/apply/withdraw--flame
4. Right hand/advance/aiin--target
5. Right hand/aim/sweep--burn
6. Right hand/sweep/approach--conflagration
7. Right hand/retract/end--death
Mara came out of the locker room and moved hunchbacked to the elevators. There he paused, his finger hovering over the panel of buttons. Direct route to the assembly hall unwise. Guards. Official passes. Access points under surveillance. Corridors patrolled.
His crouching shadow slid along the wall. He turned a corner and eventually came to an illuminated sign: emergency exit.
Underneath it a printed notice, red capitals on white.
CAUTION!
sealed enclosure ends here.
oxygen level in stairwell.
below tolerable limit.
respirators required.
Mara closed his eyes. His awareness shrank to a single glowing point. His breathing slowed. His heartbeat became like the slow ponderous beat of a drum. Gradually the world became distant and faded away. Everything was quiescent.
He had to use both hands to release the door from its thick rubber seal and to overcome the pressurized air inside the building. The stairwell was lit by caged red globes. The door hissed and thumped solidly shut behind him, and Mara began to climb the steps in the red gloom.
20
"You don't feel sick or dizzy or anything? Sure?" "I'm all right now. Honestly."
Cheryl ruffled Dan's hair and he squirmed away, embarrassed. "Don't! I'm all
"I certainly hope so." Cheryl frowned at Chase accusingly.
Nick said, "He was perfectly okay in Princeton. Jen said he ate like a horse." He winked at Dan. "Must have been all that female cosseting."
The four of them were in Chase's hotel room on Broadway, which overlooked what had once been the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts. Since the city's bankruptcy the center had drifted downward, from recording studio to supermarket to discount furniture store. Now it was a squatters' refuge, charity clothing shop and soup kitchen combined. In a sense it had come full circle--the land it occupied from West Sixty-second to Sixty-sixth streets fifty years ago had been the notorious West Side slum area, celebrated in a stage and screen musical.
Chase stood looking out at the murk; even if there'd been something to see he wouldn't have seen it. He felt restless and nervy, and guilty too. What in hell did he have to feel guilty about? Don't answer that question. He knew damn well--and it had nothing to do with Dan being sick.
"Is Madam Van Dorn expecting you?" Cheryl asked him, the "Madam" sounding distinctly chilly.
"Yes, but she's got a heavy schedule today. It's her annual address to the General Assembly."
