The phone continued ringing. Saleem opened his eyes and looked at the phone, wondering, why is it not working? There’s no explosion. This makes no sense.
He closed the flip-top phone to end the call. Inhaling deeply, he opened the phone again, with a slight nervous shake. Again he selected the contact list, highlighted the number and pressed send.
He waited. Again he heard the number ringing. Ringing. Ringing.
No explosion.
Nothing!
He stared at the phone in disbelief. He shook it and listened again. How could this be? He closed the phone, opened it again and redialed one more time. Still nothing.
Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned and saw those same two men from the railing walking rapidly toward him. “No!” he shouted. He threw the phone down on the floor, smashing it to pieces.
“Mr. Rogers, can we help you?”
How did they know my name? Something is wrong. He stared at them with a blank expression, not sure what to do. This has to happen. We planned it.
They had almost reached him. “No!” he shouted again. With his left hand, he pulled his jacket back, revealing the gun and shoulder holster. He grabbed for the pistol with his right hand.
The FBI agent on the left, Roy Bradshaw, was closest. He leaped through the air and tackled Saleem, knocking him to the ground. The other agent took two rapid steps and kicked the gun out of Saleem’s hand. It clattered as it hit the concrete floor and bounced.
Saleem twisted, broke one leg free. He rose up from the waist and slugged Bradshaw, the agent who tackled him, causing his grip to loosen. He swung his free leg as hard as he could, kicking Bradshaw in the side of the head with the heel of his shoe. The agent let out a sound and twisted as his eyes rolled up into his head. He lay there unconscious.
The second FBI agent, Barry Taylor, drew his gun, stepped up beside Saleem and pointed the gun at him. Before Taylor could say anything, Saleem twisted his body very quickly and brought his other foot up to connect with the agent’s pistol. Taylor’s head turned to follow the gun as it went flying from his hand.
Saleem spun around, rising to his feet, swinging his fist at the same time. Taylor, not expecting Saleem to react so quickly, was not fast enough to block the punch. It threw him off balance and he took a second punch. A fist slammed into his stomach and bent him over slightly. A rabbit punch to the back of the neck knocked the agent to the floor, dazed.
Saleem scooped up his pistol and ran for the stairs. He threw the door open and leaped down the first few steps, bouncing down the rest to the landing. Holding onto the hand rail, he flung himself around the corner and down the first three steps, then every other step until he reached the bottom of the landing. Without looking back, he dashed out the door, onto the floor near the registration area by the vendor displays.
He saw the restroom sign to his left and rushed into the bathroom. He went into the second stall, stood on the toilet so his legs wouldn’t show underneath, and held his breath.
Agent Taylor checked on Bradshaw, the first agent, while calling into his sleeve for help. Malone and Jimmie left the office doorway running. Taylor spoke instructions into his sleeve for the men on the first level. When they responded, no one had noticed Saleem come down the stairs.
He dropped his wrist and checked Bradshaw again. He couldn’t feel a pulse. He checked a different location. This can’t be, he thought. He tried another spot on the body, then another, but found no pulse at all.
He raised his wrist and spoke into the mike. “Boss, everyone,” he paused, “Roy Bradshaw is dead. He was killed in a scuffle with the suspected terrorist who broke away from us and ran downstairs. He was kicked hard in the head. It must have hit him just right.” Another pause as Taylor lowered his head. Tears formed and turned to anger. “I’m sorry, guys, he’s gone.”
He stood up and pointed, leaving Malone to stay with Bradshaw. “I’m going to get this bastard.” He sprinted down the stairs, with Jimmie trailing him. Running onto the first level floor, they stopped and looked around. There was no sign of Saleem.
Taylor spoke into his wrist mike again, calling his boss. Osborn replied he had been listening to everything.
“We’ve lost the guy, boss. I know he’s on this first floor someplace, but I have no idea where. The other guys said no one saw him come down the steps.” Thinking quickly, he added, “I guess that means he must be close here. Let’s see, where could he hide?” He paused, looking around. “Jimmie, you see any place here where he could hide?” The other agent shook his head.
They both stood there, searching, watching for any movement.
“What about the restroom over there?” Jimmie inquired, pointing to his left.
“Yes.” Taylor said and broke into a run.
Reaching the door, they took up a position on each side of the doorway and Taylor shouted, “FBI. Come on out. You can’t get away.” Quiet. No response.
Taylor stepped back and kicked open the door, then he and Jimmie both rushed in. No one was visible. Two more agents from the first floor arrived at the door and stood there, guns drawn.
Jimmie bent down and checked under the stall walls to see if any legs were showing. None. He stood up, glanced at Taylor and shrugged.
There were six stalls in the restroom. Taylor stepped over by the last one in the row and kicked the door open. No one there. “Give it up now and you can live,” he called out. “You don’t have to end it here. Come on out.” Still no response.
Taylor kicked open the fifth stall. No one. “We’re getting closer. Better come out.”
He moved to the fourth stall and kicked it open. No one there. Taylor turned to Jimmie who just raised his eyebrows, shook his head slightly and kept his gun raised, ready to fire.
Taylor moved to the third stall and hesitated. “Are you coming out?” He kicked the door.
The door to the second stall jerked open. Saleem jumped out, hit the floor, rolled, and came up on his feet. He had held his pistol close to his body so as not to lose it when he rolled. He came up facing Taylor. Saleem pushed his arms out to point the gun at the agent.
Thunder erupted, permeating the enclosed area as two quick gunshots echoed loudly off the walls in the small room. Saleem’s eyes opened wide in surprise as his body, hit from behind, jerked forward, his gun hand flying out to the side. He tried to focus on Taylor and pull his arm around to point the gun again, his eyes red with anger.
Taylor’s gun fired, echoing simultaneously with Jimmie’s gun as it shot once more.
Saleem’s head snapped up, and his body twisted halfway around before collapsing to the floor. Taylor kicked Saleem’s gun away from him, and Jimmie bent down to check for a pulse. He looked up at Taylor. “He’s gone.”
One of the two agents standing at the door raised his arm and spoke into his sleeve. “We got him, boss. He’s dead.”
It was quiet for a moment, then Osborn asked, “Was he shot?”
“Yes. We had to fire several times, but no one else was hurt.” Then with a scowl, he added, “Except for Roy.”
“Okay. Good job, people, I guess you couldn’t take him down alive. Too bad,” Osborn replied. He added, "I’m very sorry about Roy. He was a great part of our team. We all know this kind of thing can happen.” It was quiet for a moment, then Osborn spoke again. "Sorry, guys. Shake it off. We have a job to do, and we’re not done yet.”
Osborn continued, “Frank, stay with Roy until the medics show up, will you?”
“Sure, boss. I’ll stay with him.”
“We didn’t hear any shooting up here, so it didn’t interrupt the conference. That’s a really good thing right now. We sure don’t need that.”
The second agent at the door spoke into his wrist mike. Sighing loudly, he nodded his head and said, “That’s two down, boss.”
“Right, guys. That only leaves one more. Now, where in the hell is he?”