"Why do you want me to do this?" Lilly demanded.

"Do as you are told," the man snapped. "Leave the cart and come back here. Then I will take you to your daughter."

Balboa Rojas slid the cart in front of her. Numb, Lilly gripped the handles.

"Hurry," he commanded. "You are running out of time."

She stumbled forward. As she pushed the wheeled cart in front of her, Lilly's mind was racing.

There must be a bomb on this cart, she reasoned. she reasoned.

Lilly looked down at the ma.s.s of flowers. There was nowhere to hide an explosive that she could see. But then, Lilly realized she didn't know what to look for, really. She reckoned that three sticks of dynamite attached to an alarm clock was probably not how bombs looked these days.

She realized the bomb was hidden under the table cloth. Weaving around a knot of women heading for the powder room, Lilly crouched low as if tying her shoe. She attempted to lift the pristine white tablecloth, but it was fastened to the cart. Lilly glanced in the direction of the kitchen, saw the man called Carlos gesturing her forward. She stood and wheeled the cart closer to the podium.

As she circled the main table, Lilly spied the man she and Pamela saw in the elevator earlier in the day. He was obviously a politician because he sat at the VIP table.

Is he the target of an a.s.sa.s.sination? Am I an accessory to murder? she wondered. she wondered.

Circling the VIP table, Lilly approached a man standing near the row of flags, a headset in his ear. He was obviously a security man - a bodyguard, or maybe Secret Service.

What will I do if he stops me? Lilly wondered, half-hoping he would. But as she came closer, the man stepped aside to let her pa.s.s, and Lilly kept on walking. Lilly wondered, half-hoping he would. But as she came closer, the man stepped aside to let her pa.s.s, and Lilly kept on walking.

She'd almost reached the designated spot when the fire alarm went off, filling the room with noise. Lhe house lights went up, blinding her for a moment. Guests rose, milled about as the alarm bell continued. Lhen Evelyn Ankers raced to the podium and stepped in front of the surprised speaker.

"Yes, that is the fire alarm, ladies and gentlemen. But don't panic," the woman shouted over the rising tide of hysterical voices. "This is probably a false alarm, or a smoke condition. I'm waiting for more information now..."

Lilly looked around, uncertain what to do next.

Finally she left the cart and hurried back to Carlos. She had obeyed the man's command, now she wanted him to take her to Pamela.

But when Lilly reached the kitchen, the man with the flowers, the one person who could lead her to her daughter, was gone...

12

THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 11 P.M. AND 12 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME.

11:03:51 p.m. PDT Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas Two big men hauled a battered Curtis into the Babylon's security center, slammed him into a chair. Adjusting their ties, the men watched every move, waiting for another chance to manhandle the CTU agent.

Curtis took in his surroundings. The elaborate hotel security center was the equal of CTU's war room, only much smaller. Men in suits were running around, or cl.u.s.tered in knots, their talk animated. Dozens of monitors that should have been displaying feed from security cameras were filled with hissing snow. Something was happening, and it wasn't good. No wonder the security staff was so touchy.

"You have to listen to me," Curtis said through bruised lips. "There are five truck bombs in the garage right now. They're going to go off in a couple of minutes..."

"Shut up," snarled one of the men looming over him. "We don't have time to listen to your bull..."

"Just call the police. Call the bomb squad. If I'm lying they can arrest me."

"You're already busted, a.s.shole," said one of the uniformed guards.

"Listen. Lives are at stake. That's why I set off the fire alarms. The fire department should respond, right? When they get here, let me talk to them..."

Another man approached them, tall and thin in a charcoal suit. He had receding gray hair on a high forehead, a small mouth and dead gray eyes.

"What has this man done?" the gray man asked.

"We found him in the garage. He was armed, setting the fire alarms off," one of the suited men said deferentially.

The gray man nodded. "Then it wasn't the system that triggered the alarms?"

"No, sir. Apparently not."

"Listen," Curtis said. "My name is Manning and I'm an agent for CTU. There are five truck bombs in your garage right now, set to go off. The truck I came in, it also has a bomb in it. I deactivated it, but you can check yourself."

The gray man glanced at one of the guards. "He told us that story on the way up here," the man said. "I sent a couple of guys to check it out."

"Look, the fire department is on the way," Curtis said. "Let me speak to the chief when he gets here."

Lhe gray man sighed heavily. "There will be no firemen, Mr. Manning of CTU. You made a lot of noise, but that's all. Some glitch has shut down our entire system. Phones. Intercoms. Cell phones. Radio and television signals. The computers that control most of the hotel's functions are down, too. Needless to say, the fire alarm never made it to the station house."

Curtis remembered how his cell phone had been jammed at the tool and die factory. What they used then could be bought at any high end electronics shop. This time, Curtis guessed they were using powerful microwave transmitter to jam everything within a mile's radius. It was advanced technology, something Bix might have gotten from his connection at Area 51.

"That's part of the plot," Curtis explained. "The terrorists who did this have used jamming technology in the past. They want to isolate the hotel before they destroy it."

Curtis could see the lingering doubt on the gray man's face. "You have to believe me. Check the truck I drove here..."

Just then, a uniformed officer burst through the gla.s.s doors. "He wasn't lying," the man cried. "The truck he was driving was loaded with explosives. The detonation cords have been ripped out, so it's not going off, but we found a truck just like it next to elevator shaft seven. The keys have been broken off inside the locks. We shined a light inside, saw the explosives..."

"That's only one one of the trucks!" Curtis cried. "You have to start evacuating the building immediately." of the trucks!" Curtis cried. "You have to start evacuating the building immediately."

The gray man faced his security contingent. "Do what you can. Clear the casino, the restaurants, right away..."

"Sir, there's a VIP event in the ballroom."

The gray man's hand fluttered. "Send a uniformed officer up to warn them. He'll have to climb the stairs. In the meantime I want one of you to take the radio car, get out on the highway until you're out of range of this, this jamming device. Then call for help."

"You don't have time," Curtis warned. "You have to evacuate the tower."

The gray man shook his head, sighed again. "That will be very difficult, Mr. Manning of CTU. Even if we get word to the people upstairs, the elevators are not working, and it would take an hour to get everyone out on the stairs..."

11:04:07 p.m. PDT Bix Automotive Center Browne End Road, Las Vegas Bix looked up from the new issue of Barely Legal Barely Legal when Roman Vine burst into his office. Eli Blumenthal, the syndicate's plump, middle-aged accountant at his side. Vine tossed an attache case onto the desk, scattering thousand dollar bills. when Roman Vine burst into his office. Eli Blumenthal, the syndicate's plump, middle-aged accountant at his side. Vine tossed an attache case onto the desk, scattering thousand dollar bills.

Bix sat up. "What the h.e.l.l has gotten into you, partner?"

"The cash the Colombians paid us - the five million dollars. Eli says it's funny money. Counterfeit!"

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," Bix roared. "All of it?"

"Most of it is phony, Mr. Bix," Blumenthal explained, sweat beading his lip. "The Colombians put real bills on top of each stack. You've got maybe a hundred grand, kosher. The rest is bupkis. bupkis. Toilet paper." Toilet paper."

Bix reached for the phone. "Amigo, huh? Loyal forever? That greasy south-of-the-border piece of s.h.i.t. I'm gonna call that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Rojas right now..."

Down in the garage, the first of two bombs Balboa had planted detonated. This one was close to Hugo Bix's Jaguar. When he was holed up in the garage before the attack, Balboa pretended to admire the vehicle while he placed the explosive charge - not a large one, just big enough to blow the pipe on the garage's ma.s.sive oil tank. Stored under pressure, the oil gushed into the garage in a black tide.

Bix heard the blast, stood up. "What the f..."

At that moment the second bomb went off. This explosive - planted under the Jaguar itself - was an incendiary device. When the hot jet of burning plasma met the flowing oil, a roiling ball of fire instantly engulfed the interior of the garage, incinerating everything in its path. The fireball was quickly followed by an explosion so large it not only leveled Bix Automotive, it also destroyed the abandoned tool and die factory across the street.

11:08:20 p.m. PDT Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas Balboa burst into the uniform storage room, stripped off his waiter's ap.r.o.n and jacket while he spoke in hushed tones with his brother. Stella sat at the table, buffing her polished fingernails. The little girl Pamela cowered on the floor, hugging the coloring book to her chest.

"What happened?" Pizarro demanded.

"I gave the woman the cart. She followed my command." Balboa bunched up the uniform and tossed it into a corner. "The alarms went off and I returned here."

"Why triggered the bells?"

"I don't know," Balboa replied. "Perhaps someone found one of the truck bombs. It doesn't matter. They could not have found them all. It's too late to stop us now."

Pizarro glanced nervously at his watch. "We must go, move on to the rendezvous."

Stella rose, straightened her dress. "What about the kid?"

"Take her," Pizarro commanded. "We'll use her as a hostage if we need to. Once we're clear of the hotel, we can release her..."

"Then I'm coming with you, back to the old country, or wherever the h.e.l.l you're from," Stella insisted. "No way I'm staying in the USA. Not with a kidnapping rap hanging over my head."

Pizarro thin lips parted in a toothy grin. "Very well," he said.

His brother Balboa frowned, turned his back on the pair. "I will fetch the elevator," he said, stepping through the door.

"We're leaving, kid," Stella said, yanking Pamela's arm.

"I don't want to go," the girl sobbed.

Stella smacked Pamela across the face. The unexpected blow stunned the girl to silence.

"If you stay here, you'll get blown up just like your mother," Stella yelled. "Now come on, the elevator's right outside."

"Hurry," Pizarro cried. "We're running out of time."

11:12:03 p.m. PDT Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas Two uniformed officers of the Babylon's security staff took it upon themselves to break into the white Sprinter and defuse the bomb they'd discovered inside. Neither had knowledge or experience with explosives, let alone deactivating bombs, but they figured if they yanked out the detonation cords it might be enough to save hundreds of lives.

The doors were locked, the keys snapped off, so Gus Fellows used a fire extinguisher to smash the windshield. "Cub" Tanner, the smaller partner in the team, climbed through the shattered window to the front seat, then clambered into the back of the panel truck.

It was quieter inside, shielded from the shrill fire alarms booming through the garage. But peace of mind was short lived. Behind rows of potted flowers, Tanner spied the detonation cords, the barrels of C4, the timer clock ticking down. He wanted to run, right then and there. Instead, Cub grabbed detonation cords with both hands and yanked them loose.

"Am I still alive?" he asked, wires dangling from his hands.

His partner's head was thrust through the broken windshield. The man was all smiles.

"You did it," Fellows hooted. "You're a G.o.dd.a.m.n real life super hero."

11:15:00 p.m. PDT Babylon Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas At that moment, the other four trucks exploded - four bombs detonating at precisely the same moment, each with the force of tons of TNT.

Contained inside the parking garage, the explosive power of the multiple blasts was magnified many times. Cars were tossed like leaves in a windstorm. Mimicking water seeking its own level, the force of the blast flowed up elevator shafts, through air conditioning ducts and exhaust vents, along corridors and hallways. The main tower of the Babylon Hotel and Casino trembled as if subjected to an earthquake.

The parking garage collapsed instantly, the top floors crashing down onto the lower levels, the concrete slabs stacking up like pancakes, obliterating those unfortunates who were in their cars, or moving through the parking garage when the blast occurred.

In the ballroom, Senator David Palmer felt the floor tremble, then the entire building seemed to lurch. Screaming, people were thrown to the ground. Tall windows shattered, raining cutting death down onto partygoers buried by the torrent of crystal shards.

Amid the chaos, Senator Palmer searched for his wife. She'd excused herself to go to the powder room, promising to return before he began his speech. But Sherry had been gone a long time. Now he had to find her.

Before he took a step, David felt a tug on his arm. He looked down to see a young waitress, face pale, eyes wide with fright. She pointed to a cart covered with flowers.

"It's a bomb," she cried. "A man brought it in here."

David pushed her aside, reached the cart in two steps. He scattered the flowers, saw only a smooth, white tablecloth.

"Underneath," Lilly Sheridan said with a frightened sob.

Palmer ripped the cloth away, saw the blocks of C4 tapped to the underside of the cart. He lifted the wheeled carrier with both hands, held it over his head.

"Out of the way!" he shouted. Stumbling to the broken window, then outside to the gla.s.s-strewn balcony, Palmer ran to the edge of the building and tossed the cart over the side.

The bomb went off, knocking him backwards. Blinking away the flash motes in his eye, he crawled to his feet and went back inside the ballroom. The woman who'd warned him about the bomb was gone, and Palmer didn't really care. What happened was a mystery to sort out later. Right now, he had to find his wife.

Sherry Palmer was six floors below the ballroom when the bombs detonated. She'd gone searching for Lev Cohen, who was missing with her five million dollars. As soon as she got out of the elevator, Sherry heard the first alarms going off. She didn't panic, figuring if there was a real emergency, fire marshals would show up and order everyone out of the building. For all she knew, the alarm resulted from nothing more than an elevator that was stuck.

She went to Lev's room first, pounded on the door, then finally used her own pa.s.s key to enter. Lev wasn't there, and there was no sign he'd even returned from the meeting with Jong Lee.

Sherry decided to visit Jong Lee next. She waited five minutes for the elevator, then gave up and used the stairs to go down two floors, to Lee's room. She'd just knocked on the man's door when she felt the explosions under her feet. Then the entire building seemed to teeter on its foundations, tossing Sherry against the wall, then down to the carpeted floor. Behind closed doors, she heard screams, shattering gla.s.s, the sound of furniture breaking. The trembling subsided quickly, but the hall began to fill with a white haze.

Sherry pounded the door again. "Mr. Lee? Are you all right?"

A figure emerged from the smoke, a member of the housekeeping staff who was racing for the stairs. Sherry snagged her arm.