He smiled at her, the most tender smile she’d ever seen. “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, Georgiana. Do this for me.”
“I won’t. I can’t.” Georgie grabbed the camera from around her neck and turned and hurled it off the balcony. “There. I can’t take any pictures.” And just maybe someone would notice two objects dropped within minutes from the same building.
For a moment complete surprise animated Frank’s features. Then he smiled. “You have another camera.” He pointed to her shoulder bag. “You never travel with only one.”
Georgie reached for the shoulder strap of her camera case but he lunged for her, folding her in his arms. He was surprisingly strong, wrestling her pack from her back. “I’ll just hold onto this until you need it.”
Horrified, Georgiana broke away and lunged for the sliding doors. Once through them, she ran for the front doors but they wouldn’t open. She twisted the locks but they wouldn’t move.
“Superglued.” Frank had stepped just inside the room. “You can’t leave and neither can I. I know it’s shocking but you need to accept this and work with me. I want you to take down these numbers for your camera. Aperture settings will make all the difference.”
Ignoring him, she ran wildly from room to room, looking for a phone. There wasn’t one. She punched all the keys on the keypad she found near the kitchen for things like Concierge and Doorman. Dead. None of them responded. Frank had disabled them, no doubt. Careful planning had gone into isolating her in this million-dollar prison without resources. Perhaps that’s why he wasn’t trying to stop her from attempting to escape as she expected he would.
There must be something. Think, Georgie.
She ran back toward the living area, frantic and furious. “What have you done? What have you—?”
Frank had crumpled to the floor. His whole body was spasming in the throes of a full grand mal seizure.
“Oh, Frank.”
She knelt down beside him, loosening his shirt, uncertain what else to do as specks of foam formed in the corners of his mouth. “Frank?” She brushed a hand over his cheek. “Don’t die, Frank. I’ll get us help. But you have to stop this thing you’ve done. Please.”
She scrambled through his pockets, hoping he had a phone. He didn’t. “Think, Georgie!” She crawled on her knees over to her camera bag, searching through the pockets for something, anything that she might use to get help.
The FBI listening device, which she thought she’d left behind tumbled out of the smallest pocket. Laughing and weeping, she picked it up and flipped it on. “Help! Emergency. Send SWAT and medical. I know who the bomber is. He’s planted another bomb to go off today. Hurry.”
After she had given the address repeatedly, Georgie scrambled back over to where Frank lay, inert now, and pulled his head into her lap.
In the distance sirens wailed to life as Foggy Bottom reacted to the threat of a Red Alert emergency.
***
The FBI SWAT team came through the door like a human tornado, all percussive action, harsh voices, and crushing force.
Georgie threw up her hands at the sight of men with weapons at the ready. They overwhelmed her anyway, pushing her flat on the floor. A knee thrust into her back as someone roughly pulled her arms behind her and secured them tightly and painfully.
Georgie twisted her head to the side, trying to see if they were helping Frank. Instead she saw that they were holding and securing him in the same way. “Don’t hurt him. He’s ill. He’s had a seizure from a brain tumor. But before it happened, he told me there was a bomb.”
She was ignored by the hard-eyed men who didn’t even look at her.
“All secure.” The shout from another room slowed the whirlwind.
Georgie was dragged up into a sitting position. A man in tactical gear bent down to her, his gun still aimed for action. “Who are you?”
“Georgiana Flynn. I called the FBI. I’m under surveillance by your people. We are trying to stop a bombing.”
As she spoke, another team member riffled through her camera bag while a third snagged her photographer’s ID from around her neck. As he examined the photo credentials his gaze flicked back and forth between them and her. “Identified, sir.”
Georgie’s gaze sought out Frank, who, she saw between the legs of the men surrounding him, had been rolled onto his back. He wasn’t moving, just staring through half-closed lids, as if he was dead.
Dread snaked through her. “Is he breathing?” Anger flashed through her as one of them nudged him with a boot tip. “Stop that. He has a brain tumor. He had a grand mal seizure. He needs medical care. Now. He’s the only one who knows where the bomb is. Please help him so he can stop it before it’s too late.”
The leader squinted at her. “Did he tell you where the bomb is?”
“No, he seized before I could get him to tell me more. It’s not here. But close by, I think.”