Crusher pivoted and side-kicked the other man, hitting him in the kidney and knocking him back several feet. He crashed into the people seated on the aisle.
Cries rose from the delegates as they scrambled out of the way.
The man Crusher had punched in the throat rushed toward him.
Before he reached Crusher, Marta swung the briefcase, slamming it into the man’s face. He went down, blood gushing from his broken nose. He stayed down.
The other bodyguard came at Crusher again.
Crusher ducked a punch, grabbed the man’s arm, and spun him into a chokehold, tightening his grip.
Vasquez rushed toward Marta. She reeled back and cocked her arm, ready to hit him with the briefcase. “What’s the hurry, Vasquez?” she asked, loud enough for her voice to carry across the room. “Why leave when the Summit’s just getting started?”
“Let me pass. There is nothing left for me to hear,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I have another appointment I cannot miss.”
Marta shook her head. “Are you afraid to stay?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I told you, I have another appointment.”
“You should stay to hear what the Pacific Corridor and the Central American Interdiction Framework people have to say. What they have in mind impacts you and your...operations. Don’t you want to hear what they have to say?”
“I told you I have another appointment. Let me pass.”
“Oh, come on,” Marta said. “Surely, you can spare a few more minutes.”
He shot a look at his watch. “I’m late.” He took a step forward.
Crusher shoved his captive in between Vasquez and Marta. “You can go when you tell the rest of the people in this room why you really want to leave.”
Vasquez glanced around at the stunned faces of the delegates gathered for the Summit. “I do not know what you are talking about. Step aside.”
“Not talking, huh? Fine.” Marta raised an eyebrow and stepped aside. To Crusher, she said, “Let him pass.”
Vasquez ran past her toward the door. When he pushed against it, it didn’t budge. He pounded on the door and yelled in Spanish.
Marta turned to Crusher. “You got him?”
Crusher held on to the bodyguard and nodded briefly, praying Marta’s plan would work.
“I’d like to have your attention, please.” Marta’s voice sounded over the whispers and sounds of alarm.
Marta’s gaze pinned Teuling’s as she walked past Crusher toward the front of the room.
Teuling stepped backward, waving his bodyguards forward to come up beside him.
“Please, keep your seats,” Marta said. “You need to understand what’s happening here. I’m not here to hurt anyone, nor is my partner.” She lifted her chin toward Crusher. “Unfortunately, others in this room want to harm you and the people you might represent.”
She turned to face the audience. “I’m Dr. Marta Hale, a virologist. The man trying to leave is Mario Vasquez, leader of the Colombian Cartel Supremo. He came here today specifically because the Pacific Corridor and the Central American Interdiction Framework are on the agenda.”
Vasquez continued to pound on the door, his expression wild and frantic.
“Vasquez is a desperate man, extremely anxious to leave the room. Do you wonder why?” Marta came to stand at the podium and leaned into the microphone. “Señor Vasquez, just tell them why you want out, and I’ll have my people open the door.”
“I must leave immediately,” Vasquez flung over his shoulder. “Let me out.” He banged his fist on the door over and over.
“Tell the delegates why you want out, or is it already too late?” Marta said into the microphone. “Herr Krauss has already done what you told him to do, has he not? Everyone in this room, including you, will know soon enough.” She held up the briefcase. “I have what you need to counteract your plan. All you have to do is tell the people in this room what that plan was.”
Vasquez stopped pounding the door and turned toward Marta. “Give it to me, and I will tell you what you want to know.”
