"Johan, he'll do it," Isaac Mannheim was saying into the handset that Ramirez had thrust into his face. 'They have two devices. One is on VX-1, ready for launch, and the other one is here. They say they've rigged a radio-controlled detonator on it. He's going to use it if you don't do whatever it is he wants."
"Let me talk to the son of a bitch again," Hansen said.
"All right, Johan. Please talk to him." Mannheim handed back the receiver. His hand was shaking.
"Have you made a decision, Mr. President?" Ramirez inquired.
"Yes, goddammit. I've got an open line to Gournes. You can listen while I issue the order to hold off the assault for six hours. Does that satisfy you?"
"It will do for a start," Ramirez said. "Then we can talk about the money."
And he listened as Hansen spoke tersely through the secure communications link to Mission Control on the Kennedy.
What he did not hear in Hansen's conversation was the incredulity on the other end of the line. But the assault is already under way, General Max Austin was declaring, stunned. They were in communication with Nichols, and the SEALs were about to open fire on the hostiles.
"Just scrub the operation," Hansen barked. "That's an order."
"That was a wise decision," Ramirez said, listening. "Now about the money."
"Check with the bank in fifteen minutes," Hansen said, a note of resignation in his voice. "It will be deposited. Now, I want you out of there, all hostages safe, and those weapons disarmed and left."
"You have nothing to worry about," Ramirez declared, scarcely able to contain his sense of triumph. "You have made a decision for humanity."
"Just get the hell gone. And don't try my patience." This time it was Hansen's turn to abruptly break the connection.
Ramirez was cradling the receiver, savoring his triumph, when a blinding flash erupted from the direction of the fallen gantry. And there, in the momentary glare, stood Michael Vance.