9:57 A.M.
LOBBY
UNITED NATIONS SECRETARIAT BUILDING
FIRST AVENUE AND FORTY-SECOND STREET
NEW YORK CITY
Murphy felt his phone vibrate. He looked at the screen.
NO CALLER ID
Murphy tapped the phone.
“Yeah?” said Murphy.
“Mike?” came a deep voice.
“Yes.”
“To your right,” said Dewey.
“Who am I talking to?” said Murphy.
Murphy felt like he was going to have a heart attack.
Suddenly the door opened and a male figure stepped into the lobby from a remote doorway. He was rough-looking, his right leg was red with blood, and he held a submachine gun. He was wearing a canvas vest over a striped polo shirt that looked dirty, wet, and ripped in several places. He had messed-up brown hair. But he looked American. Murphy, who was still slouched on the floor behind the display case, suddenly stopped hyperventilating and sat up.
Dewey stepped into the lobby at Murphy’s right, eyed Murphy, knelt, removed a pistol from beneath his armpit, placed it on the marble floor, then slid it across the floor to Murphy, who picked it up.
“Did you see anyone go for the elevators?” said Dewey.
“Yes,” said Murphy.
“How long?”
“Two, three minutes,” said Murphy. “I heard an elevator bell.”
“So Mike, I need you to listen to me,” said Dewey.
“I’m listening,” said Murphy.
“I’m going to clear out the lobby,” Dewey said. “Dellenbaugh is on eighteen and as far as we know, he’s alive. We have a few minutes at most. Go find an elevator in the back of the building. Floor eighteen. That’s where he is.”
“What do you want me to do?” said Murphy incredulously.
“Wait for me to clear out the lobby, then go,” said Dewey. “Eighteen. Until I clear the lobby, stay out of my way.”
“I mean when I get to eighteen? What if I’m the only one who gets there?” said Murphy.
“Then try and save him,” said Dewey. “They’re terrorists. Shoot as many as you can. Don’t waste bullets. Also, don’t shoot me.”
“Then what happens?” said Murphy.
“What do you mean ‘then what happens’?” said Dewey, speaking into his earbud and casting a glance at Murphy.
“What happens after that?” said Murphy nervously.
“How the fuck should I know? I’ll take you to Disneyland, how’s that?” said Dewey, tapping off.