The group was almost at the entrance. Nina saw the big screen tracking their approach. The shouts of Suarez’s name had become almost a ritual chant. The last clump of people in front of the building pushed back to make way for them—
Someone stumbled, almost knocking her over. The case was wrenched from her grip as the man fell. She tried to go back for it, but the crowd swept her along like driftwood. ‘Eddie! The case!’ she cried, but she had lost sight of it . . .
Kit held it up. He shoved past the fallen man to her. ‘I think you dropped this,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to lose the statues after everything we’ve been through.’
‘Or the disc,’ she added as he handed the case back to her.
He seemed almost to have forgotten about it. ‘Or the disc, yes!’
They reached the doors. They opened, station employees hurriedly pulling away their makeshift barricades of desks and vending machines. Eddie looked back as they entered. The soldiers were advancing. No shots had been fired . . . yet. But the two opposing forces would meet in seconds.
Clutching the case, Nina pushed through the doors behind Suarez. There were about twenty people in the lobby. ‘Can anyone speak English?’ she called.
‘I can,’ said a middle-aged man in a yellow tie. He did a double-take. ‘Are you Nina Wilde?’
‘Yeah, I am – but never mind that!’ She held up the case. ‘I’ve got a DVD in here – there’s a recording on it that’ll destroy General Callas. You’ve got to get it on the air as soon as you can!’
Shots cracked outside, people screaming. ‘Shut the doors!’ Eddie yelled.
Suarez joined Nina, adding his own instructions as she took out the DVD. ‘How long will it take you to start broadcasting?’ she asked.
‘Two minutes, less,’ said the man. ‘What is on it?’
Nina shrugged helplessly. ‘I dunno – just something really bad for Callas.’
He looked uncertain, then took the disc and ran for a set of double doors. Suarez followed as the staff restored the blockade.
There were several large plasma screens in the lobby, all showing the station’s current output: a view of the street outside. Eddie joined Nina and watched, seeing a phalanx of soldiers driving through the crowd, clubbing them with their rifle butts. The protesters pushed back, throwing stones and garbage.
More shots. Muzzle flashes flickered across the screens, people falling dead to the ground. Nina gasped and clutched Eddie’s hand. Macy put a hand to her mouth in horror, looking away. Some of those nearest the soldiers tried to retreat, but the weight of people behind them left them with nowhere to go. Others, trapped, threw themselves at the troops, armed with nothing more than their fists and feet. They were brutally battered to the ground as other soldiers fired into the mob.
One screen briefly showed a test pattern before switching to a studio. The image jerked about before the camera operator finally fixed on a chair. Someone ran up to it, waving – then Suarez appeared. He took the seat, holding his wounded arm with the blood clearly visible. The camera tipped up as if to frame it out, but Suarez shook his head. The picture tilted back, making sure the injury the President had sustained – and seemingly shaken off – was in plain view. Even in a crisis, Suarez still knew the value of creating an iconic image.
Nina looked at another screen showing the fighting outside. The soldiers were much closer. ‘This barricade won’t keep them out, will it?’
Eddie shook his head. ‘Just hope whatever’s on that DVD does the trick.’
Suarez started to speak. All but one of the screens changed to show him, the broadcast going out live to the country. His voice echoed from the loudspeakers outside. Macy gave a running translation, despite her nervous glances at the doors. ‘People of Venezuela, today has been a dark day for our country. Traitors have attacked Miraflores, and tried to kill me.’ He held up his injured arm. ‘A man I thought was a friend, Salbatore Callas, led this revolt . . . funded by criminals and drug lords. I have the proof – and now I will show it to you.’
Suarez then spoke in English. ‘Dr Nina Wilde . . . I hope you are right.’
‘Oh, great,’ said Nina. ‘Now if it turns out to be Callas’s boudoir tapes, I get the blame!’
The president gestured to someone off-camera. The image changed.