Mary was approaching. Mike turned to her. “You’ve got to clear the room. Fast! Make an announcement. It will sound better coming from you. Get everybody outside.”
She was looking at him, bewildered. “But—why? What’s happened?”
“We found our playmate’s toy,” Mike said grimly. He pointed. “Those balloons. They’re lethal.”
Mary was looking up at them, horror on her face. “Can’t we take them down?”
Mike snapped, “There must be a thousand of them. By the time you start pulling them down, one by one—”
Her throat was so dry she could hardly get the words out. “Mike…I know a way.”
The two men stared at her.
“The Ambassador’s Folly. The roof. It slides open.”
Mike tried to control his excitement. “How does it work?”
“There’s a switch that—”
“No,” Mike said. “Nothing electrical. A spark could set them all off. Can it be done manually?”
“Yes.” The words were tumbling out. “The roof is divided in half. There’s a crank on each side that—” She was talking to herself.
The two men were frantically racing upstairs. When they reached the top floor, they found the door opening onto a loft, and hurried inside. A wooden ladder led to a catwalk above that was used by workmen to clean the ceiling of the ballroom. A crank was fastened to the wall.
“There must be another one on the other side,” Mike said.
He started across the narrow catwalk, pushing his way through the sea of deadly balloons, struggling to keep his balance, trying not to look down at the mob of people far below. A current of air pushed a mass of balloons against him, and he slipped. One foot went off the catwalk. He began to fall. He grabbed the boards as he fell, hanging on. Slowly, he managed to pull himself up. He was soaked in perspiration. He inched his way along the rest of the walk. Fastened to the wall was the crank.
“I’m ready,” Mike called to the colonel. “Careful. No sudden moves.”
“Right.”
Mike began turning the crank very slowly.
Under the table, the timer was down to two minutes.
Mike could not see Colonel McKinney because of the balloons, but he could hear the sound of the other crank being turned. Slowly, very slowly, the roof started to slide open. A few balloons, lifted by the helium, drifted into the night air, and as the roof opened farther, more balloons began to escape. Hundreds of them poured through the opening, dancing into the star-filled night, drawing oohs and ahs from the unsuspecting guests below and the people out in the street.
On the ground floor there were forty-five seconds left on the remote-control timer. A cluster of balloons caught on the edge of the ceiling just out of Mike’s reach. He strained forward trying to free them. They swayed just beyond his fingertips. Carefully he moved out on the catwalk with nothing to hold on to and strained to push the balloons free. Now!
Mike stood there watching the last of the balloons escape. They soared higher and higher, painting the velvet night with their vivid colors, and suddenly the sky exploded.
There was a tremendous roar, and the tongues of red and white flames shot high into the air. It was a Fourth of July celebration such as had never been seen before. Below, everyone applauded.
Mike watched, drained, too tired to move. It was over.
The roundup was timed to take place simultaneously, in far-flung corners of the world.
Floyd Baker, the secretary of state, was in bed with his mistress when the door burst open. Four men came into the room.
“What the hell do you mean by—?”
One of the men pulled out an identification card. “FBI, Mr. Secretary. You’re under arrest.”
Floyd Baker stared at them unbelievingly. “You must be mad. What’s the charge?”
“Treason, Thor.”
General Oliver Brooks, Odin, was having breakfast at his club when two FBI agents walked up to his table and arrested him.
Sir Alex Hyde-White, KBE, MP, Freyr, was being toasted at a parliamentary dinner when the club steward approached him. “Excuse me, Sir Alex. There are some gentlemen outside who would like a word with you.…”