It was getting hot already, although it wasn’t yet afternoon. Sweat broke out and he slapped at an insect on his neck. One nailed him on the inside of his wrist, and he smacked at that one too. He didn’t like bugs. He sprayed for them all the time, but he’d never found a bug spray that really deterred mosquitoes. He walked briskly, but after a few minutes he found his arm felt numb and he was having difficulty catching his breath. He didn’t want Callendine to see him like that, because he’d make him run for days until he got back in shape. Too much time sitting around watching football and basketball.
By the time he reached his vehicle, his lungs were burning. He put his head back on the seat and closed his eyes, giving himself permission to rest, hoping Callendine didn’t have eyes on him. He was just going to stay there for a few minutes . . .
He’s down, Bellisia confirmed.
That was four. Malichai glanced at his watch. They’d identified and taken down more than half of them in under five minutes, but Ezekiel was still working on the first bomb. Not one had said they were clear.
“Back entrance, all the way to the left. John Sawyer,” Avery said.
Malichai nodded to let Avery know he heard. Shylah, John Sawyer back entrance, all the way to the left. He’s lighting a cigarette on the sidewalk and he just flipped off the building. You see him? You there?
Yes, he’s grinning. Thinks he’s getting off scot-free. That’s not happening. I’m moving up on him now.
Don’t take him close to the center. Callendine probably has eyes on him. If he knows we’re onto him, and killing his men, he’ll blow this place. We have to find where every bomb is and then get them out.
It was a huge chance they were taking, but they were certain Callendine was prepared to kill everyone if he was discovered.
“You’re not supposed to smoke here, sir.”
John Sawyer whirled around to see a young girl with freckles spread across her nose looking at him through wide, brown eyes. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, but even that style failed to tame the mass of waves and wild curls. She was smiling at him with her generous mouth as if she’d given him a compliment instead of telling him, a soldier, a man who had secured her fucking freedom, her right to breathe, what he could and couldn’t do.
“Fuck you,” he said and flicked the cigarette right at her face.
She was close to him and it should have hit her right in her eye, that glowing end. He’d even stopped to see the results so he could think about them for a long time. He’d had lots of practice hurting the weak, showing them what fools they were and how they should treat men like him with far more respect. Callendine would probably shoot him if he knew some of the shit he’d done, but he’d been careful. He’d like to see this little sweet-faced bitch reach the understanding of just who was in charge.
Somehow, her hand moved with blurring speed. She was so fast he hadn’t even blinked yet he didn’t see her move and the cigarette hadn’t hit her. She caught it and smiled at him. That smile wasn’t sweet. Those dark brown eyes were suddenly cool and not at all friendly. She went from looking like a young teen to something altogether different.
Found the bomb, Mordichai confirmed. Go for it, Shylah.
“Who are you?” He turned away from her.
Something bit his neck as he turned, and he slapped at it. He walked briskly away, slapping at the insect and then just covering the bite because it throbbed. He felt a trickle of sweat sliding down his neck to soak into his tee and he walked faster. He was almost to the parking garage, but his legs felt rubbery. He made his way to the grass and sank down, thinking he’d just rest for a minute. He found himself lying down, staring up at the sky.
A woman’s face swam into view above him. He recognized those freckles. She didn’t say anything, she just reached over his body to his neck where the bug had stung him and then she was gone, leaving him in peace to stare up at the sky until everything just faded away.
He’s gone. Can they defuse the bomb?
Mordichai’s still on it. That’s five. We’re looking for one more.
Malichai turned to Avery. “Come on, brother, we need the last one. We’ve got to find that last man.” Even as he put it on the tech, he was scanning the screens. There were just so many people. Hundreds. Thousands. Where had they all come from? They’d worked fast, but Callendine would be listening to the scanners, listening for the alerts that would go out for the police to go to the bed-and-breakfast. That had been arranged, although Rubin wasn’t at the B and B, he was already in the building searching for the last bomb.
Callendine would be satisfied with the call to the police, but when the fire department and then ambulances weren’t called, he would instantly know something wasn’t right. He went by the book, by the numbers, and when a mission didn’t go right, he hit his fail-safe. They were ensuring the bombs couldn’t be detonated by remote, so what was his fail-safe? He might consider that the remotes would be jammed.
“There,” Avery said, his voice that same calm. “The last one, Nathan Treadway. He’s just now walking out the middle exit back way, he’s stopped to talk with a family walking in.”
Malichai spotted the man, crouched down beside a double stroller. The parents looked young and they had four children. The older ones were obviously twins, and they looked to be about four or five and the ones in the stroller couldn’t have been yet two. Treadway knew he left a bomb inside that building and yet he stopped so casually to talk with children he planned to kill.
Amaryllis, do you see Nathan Treadway? He’s right at the middle exit in the back. Crouched down with a family of four children, double stroller. Young parents. He’s laughing and talking with the parents, rubbing the curls on the babies in the stroller. He tried to keep his voice impersonal, but even with that, his emotions were there for his entire team to feel.
I’ve got him. There was complete confidence in Amaryllis’s voice.
Malichai saw her now. She moved into position just outside the door, a few feet up the sidewalk, stopping to fiddle with her shoestrings. Treadway got to his feet and with a small, friendly wave at the parents, strode out the door, apparently whistling.
Found the bomb. I’m on it, Rubin said.
I’ll be there in two, Ezekiel said. This one is disarmed.
It was a beautiful day. Treadway wished he could be there when the building came down. It was huge and the bombs were set to take out the main supports. It would collapse on itself and those inside would be trapped as the ceiling came down. It would be a thing of beauty to watch. He hoped there were outside cameras that would capture the actual fall of the convention center and the slow deaths of those inside. Debris falling. Dirt. Heavy fixtures. Beams. Cement. Brick. The ceiling. It was going to be glorious.
He made his way around a woman tying her shoe without looking at her, although he wanted to swat her ass just because women protested every little thing now, as if men shouldn’t even look. He wasn’t going to go on a rant about that or be distracted from having the best day. The sun was shining, and the building was coming down on all those idiot people who couldn’t think for themselves. They were followers. Every single one of them. They were teaching their children to be followers. They didn’t take responsibility for themselves. They lived off the government. They didn’t appreciate those who took care of them; in fact, they constantly tore them down. He’d had enough and was fighting back. He knew how to fight. Did they?