by Steven James
I have no idea if it’ll float or not. Syringes are hollow, but if it’s full enough it might sink. And that would be very bad, because I’d inevitably kick up sand going in after it and finding it then might take too long to save Charlene.
Akinsanya sets down the iPad and the phone, then stands at the top of the platform waiting for me.
It looks like before I can get to the needle I’ll need to get through him.
Alright then.
Let’s do this.
As I rush past Xavier and the second police officer, I hear the man say, “My partner’s dead and I’m holding you responsible. Please, give me an excuse to shoot you.”
“Does this count?”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Xavier whip out Betty.
As I reach the spiral stairs that lead up to the platform, I hear a gunshot and the sizzle of the Taser go off almost simultaneously.
A glance back tells me Xavier is still on his feet.
There’s still someone in the back of the room. Someone with the rifle.
But at the moment I’m not as worried about that as I am about getting the antidote for Charlene.
I take the stairs two at a time, and when I reach the top, Akinsanya is waiting for me.
I go at him with a crescent kick, which he effortlessly blocks. He lands a crippling punch to my side and I almost stumble backward off the platform. It’s nearly a fifteen-foot drop to the floor.
I take a swing at him, an uppercut, which he also deflects. The needle dips and tilts downward. “It’s getting interesting now, isn’t it, Mr. Banks?”
“What happened to your lip?”
“I had a feisty woman slap me at dinner.”
I have an idea and punch him, going for the lip and connecting with his nose, but he brings an elbow down hard on the back of my neck, sending me sprawling to the platform.
“I don’t think you can beat me, Jevin. It looks like this time you lose.”
Beyond him the needle is beginning to sink into the water. Piranhas are circling it curiously.
No. You can’t let it go down!
Blood is pouring from his nose. I might have broken it. “I don’t have to beat you. Your face is bleeding.”
“A little blood never hurt anyone.”
“You haven’t been in a piranha tank recently, have you?”
Climbing to my feet and rushing forward, I grab him and both of us hurtle off the platform and into the water.
He fights fiercely to get free, but I hold him under long enough for the fish to find his face. With my other hand I go for the syringe, but it’s bobbing and floating awkwardly in the water and I can’t get ahold of it while I’m fighting with Akinsanya.
He clings to me and pulls me down. I grab a breath before going under and manage to wrestle free of him in the churning, bloody water.
The weights are still at the bottom of the tank. The ones you used to keep you under.
I swim down, retrieve them, wrap their strap around his waist, and snap the clasp shut to keep him under the water. Then I kick to the surface to get the syringe.
His face is no longer visible in the school of attacking piranhas, still he snags my leg and yanks to pull me under with him.
I go for the needle but miss it.
I’m barely able to snatch in a mouthful of air before he pulls me under.
He has a fearsome grip and I have to stick my hands into the pool of frenzied piranhas to squeeze more blood from his nose before he finally releases me.
I kick free, get to the surface, and search frantically for the syringe.
Come on! Where is it?
It must have sunk to the—
No.
Wait.
It’s near the edge of the tank. I swim over, grab it, and spin toward the platform.
Akinsanya reaches for me again, still intent on dragging me down, but I kick his hand away and climb out, then rush down the stairs.
There’s no sign of Xavier or the other police officer, and I’m not sure if I should take that as a good sign or a bad one.
I sprint to Charlene.
She has stopped convulsing. Her body is limp and her mouth lolls open, spittle dripping from it. Eyes closed. Unconscious.
I find a vein in her arm and place the tip of the needle against it, then depress the plunger, injecting Charlene with whatever the syringe contains.
It better be the antidote. It better help.
Come on, you have to be alright. Please be—
From backstage I hear the sound of a fight and I hope Xavier is doing alright.
The corpse of the police officer who was shot in the head lies beside the wheelchair, and I notice he has a radio.
I grab it and call for help, relay our location, tell dispatch to get an ambulance over here immediately. “My friend was poisoned with Dalpotol. I gave her something for it; I don’t know what it is. Hurry, she’s unconscious.”
Turning toward Charlene again, I clear the saliva away from the edge of her mouth and feel for a pulse.
Faint. Thready.
She’s breathing. Her heart is still beating.
I pray for her, begging God to let her live.
But.
Then.
What happens next seems to happen all at once but also in slow motion.
I hear the rapid sound of semiautomatic gunfire spraying across the stage, and then the sharp, thunderous crack! of glass as the sniper in the back of the auditorium peppers the piranha tank with bullets and it bursts, sending water, glass, and fish exploding across the stage.
Whoever was back there with the rifle has a clear shot at me. I don’t know why he doesn’t kill me, but I don’t have time to think about it because then Akinsanya is tossing the weights aside and coming at me.
Piranhas move fast, and nearly half of his face is missing. Bones are visible through the flayed, ragged flesh that still hangs in uneven patches. His nose is entirely gone, as is his left eyeball.
He sneers, ripping a new gap in the skin that’s somehow managed to cling to the edge of his jaw.
I go for the dead cop’s gun, but it’s snapped in his holster, and while I fumble for it Akinsanya comes at me, kicks me in the stomach and then in the face, knocking me onto my back.
I’m scrambling to my feet when he reaches for the gun, swiftly unsnaps it, and raises it in one smooth motion.
His eyes flick toward Charlene.
He aims the gun at her, then at me, then back at her.
And he shoots her in the right thigh.
“No!”
She’s still unconscious, doesn’t cry out.
“I think I’ll let her bleed out. Don’t worry, I won’t kill you until you’ve had the chance to watch her die.”
Help is coming. You radioed for the cops. You called for an ambulance. They should be here soon.
“Why did you have Emilio killed?” I can still hear Xavier fighting the officer backstage. I wish I had his Taser, if I did—
No. Not his Taser.
His crossbow.
It’s near the edge of the curtain and I’m maybe ten feet away from it.
Create a distraction. Get the crossbow.
“It wasn’t my decision to make,” Akinsanya answers me.
“Who, then?”
What kind of a distraction? You don’t have anything with you—
“Tomás?” I ask.
Except for your Morgan Dollar.
“Yes. Your friend found out something he wasn’t supposed to know.”
“About the drone delivery.”
“About the timeline.”
“Your timeline.”
“No. The person I report to.”
“Who?” I repeat. “Who’s behind all this?” I turn slightly to hide my right arm behind my body.
He doesn’t reply.
Charlene’s leg is bleeding heavily, blood pooling on the floor.
I brush my hand up along my leg, picking my own pocket, then deftly flick the c
oin to the side.
It clatters onto the stage, and Akinsanya turns instinctively toward the sound.
When he does, I dive forward, sliding across the stage on my stomach. I snatch up the crossbow and roll onto my back.
He spins around, faces me, levels the gun.
I aim.
And shoot.
Coordinates
The crossbow bolt embeds in Akinsanya’s chest and he wavers, then stumbles backward, staring blankly at it. Dropping the gun, he grabs the bolt to pull it out, but that’s not going to happen.
He drops to his knees and I hear him struggling to breathe, his hands still wrapped around the bolt, futilely trying to tug it from his chest.
When he falls forward, the bolt goes in the rest of the way, the tip protruding from his back.
I jump to my feet and fly to Charlene’s side.
She’s breathing weakly, yes, but she is alive.
I do my best to stop the bleeding from the gunshot wound in her leg. It’s not spurting, so I’m hopeful he didn’t hit any arteries.
I hear a heavy thunk backstage. “Xavier! Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
Then there’s a groan and the click of handcuffs closing.
Xavier appears from behind the curtain, dragging the cuffed officer he’d been fighting. The guy looks pretty worse for the wear, Xavier not so much. He puts one knee on the guy’s back to pin him down, then sees me trying to stop the bleeding.
He yanks out his phone. “I’ll get an ambulance.”
“I radioed for one, it should be on the way, but call in and tell them she has a gunshot wound too. In the thigh. It might help them get ready at—”
The doors to one of the main entrances to the theater burst open and Agent Ratchford appears, gun in hand, four Arête security personnel by his side.
“Mr. Banks?” He stares at the bodies on the stage, the shattered glass, the piranhas flipping around in search of water. “What happened in here?”
The security guards flare out. I hear Xavier talking with emergency services, telling them about the gunshot wound.
“Agent Ratchford.” I’m still doing my best to quell the bleeding in Charlene’s leg. “Get someone from the Air Force on the phone, fast. Have them contact Area 51 immediately. There was a drone that took off from there a few minutes ago. It’s flying toward Mexico to a drug cartel—are you listening to me?”
He’s staring at me dumbfounded. “Yes. A drone test. Area 51. Mexico. A cartel.”
“Make the call. Hurry.”
“Area 51 doesn’t exist.”
“Trust me. Get someone as high up as possible. There’s a launch code. I’ll tell it to them. One of their drones is on its way to Mexico. They need to shoot it down.”
I turn back to Charlene. “Hang in there. Help’s on the way.”
She opens her eyes.
Oh, yes.
Yes.
She nods slightly.
“I love you,” I tell her.
“You too.” Her voice is barely a whisper. But she’s conscious. She’s talking.
She winces in pain, and I ease back a little from the pressure I’m putting on her leg, but I still try to press hard enough to keep the bleeding under control.
I give Agent Ratchford the code, he writes it down and makes another call, then says, “You’re not gonna believe this.” He’s staring at his cell. “But the Undersecretary of Defense wants to talk to you.”
I reach out to take the phone from him, but he shakes his head. “No. I mean in person. She’s at the Arête. She wants to know how you found out those codes.”
That might take a little explaining.
The thought brings to mind what Akinsanya had said: that it wasn’t his timeline, that it was the timeline of the person he reported to.
The drug lords? The cartel who was supposed to take delivery of the drone?
Who knows. I’ll figure that out later. Right now we just need to get help to Charlene.
Agent Ratchford informs me that the military is tracking the drone, but it doesn’t look like it’s heading to Mexico.
Maybe the codes weren’t correct.
Or maybe you didn’t remember them exactly.
Possibly, but I’m pretty sure I got them right.
They were erased, then rewritten.
He changed them. Turnisen did.
I evaluate that as I call for one of the security personnel to get a key for the handcuffs shackling Charlene to the wheelchair. He scours the dead police officer’s pockets, comes up with one. They’re standardized locks, the key works, and I free her.
Clive Fridell arrives and speaks with his security team, then sends them out to find tubs. They fill them with water and rescue as many piranhas as they can. One of the men retrieves my Morgan Dollar for me.
At last the paramedics show up and help Charlene onto a gurney. I fill them in on what I know. Someone has turned the house lights on, and I can see a couple of the Arête security staff in the back of the auditorium. One of them has the semiautomatic rifle that was firing at the stage. It’s attached to a pivoting turret. The other guy is holding what looks like a robotic arm.
A robotic arm?
Undersecretary of Defense Oriana Williamson strides up to me as I’m walking beside Charlene’s gurney on our way to the ambulance.
“Mr. Banks, I want you to tell me how you found out the launch codes to an experimental aircraft test at a top-secret military installation.”
“I’m on my way to the hospital. I’ll tell you when we get there.” That would at least give me a little time to try to figure out what to say.
I climb in beside Charlene, the paramedics close the door, and we take off for Fuller Medical Center.
The Only Honest Profession
Calista knew she was dying.
She could tell by the look on the EMTs’ faces as they tried to figure out how to help her.
She could tell by the sharp pains in her chest, the way it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
Yes.
She could tell.
She was not going to remain young.
And she was not going to grow old.
Memories of all the crimes she’d been a part of passed through her head.
The murders she’d committed.
The pain she’d caused.
She’d told Derek that all he thought of was himself, but it had been the same for her.
You’re no different.
Yes you are!
No.
No, you’re not.
If love meant making sacrifices for another person, she’d never genuinely loved anyone.
Regret swept over her.
Calista had never been a big believer in God, but now she realized that he had every right to be mad at her, every right to punish her.
Though weak and getting weaker, she told the EMTs about what happened in sublevel 4 at Plyotech Cybernetics’ R&D facility.
As Calista Hendrix died, she did what she could to help others live.
Charlene is quiet. The paramedics are bent over her.
I have no idea how I’ll explain to the undersecretary how I knew the codes without lying through my teeth or getting Xavier and myself into a heap of trouble—Charlene, Fionna, and Fred as well, since we were all involved in getting the access to Groom Lake.
That’s what I think through as I ride in the ambulance next to the woman I love.
Word comes through the radio up front that Dr. Turnisen has been admitted and is in stable condition. I don’t know what happened to him, and when I ask the paramedics about it, they tell me quietly that they heard he’d been tortured.
Doctors are waiting for us at Fuller Medical Center and take over for the paramedics, wheeling Charlene immediately toward an operating room. The medics tell me her vitals are stable, but I can sense a hesitation to assure me that she’ll be alright.
While we were en route, Xavier had called Fionna to tell her what was going on
, and now he waits in the lobby for her and her kids while the undersecretary leads me to an exam room where we can talk in private.
She closes the door.
“The codes that you gave to Agent Ratchford were verified coordinates for a UAV the military is testing. You told us it was headed toward Mexico, but the coordinates just sent the vehicle to the desert south of here. I want to know how you found out about that code, why you thought it would send our drone to a Mexican drug cartel, and how you came to know it by heart.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m a patient woman.” So far I haven’t exactly gotten that sense, but this isn’t the time to argue.
Here goes nothing. “Akinsanya told me.”
“What?”
“He showed it to me to verify it. He assumed I had the real one from a USB drive that my friend Emilio had with him when he was murdered in the Philippines.”
“You’re going to have to talk me through that.”
I do.
“And you’re saying that Akinsanya showed it to you. Where? Was it written down?”
“He had his people send me a text, but then one of his men destroyed my cell phone. As far as I know, whatever remains of it is still at the Arête.”
“And you memorized the code just by looking at it?”
“I’m pretty good at memorizing things.”
“Prove it.”
Too bad I don’t have a deck of cards with me. “Write down a list of random numbers. I’ll show you.”
“How many?”
“Thirty.”
“Thirty?”
“Yes.”
It goes well.
I remember my conversation with Charlene yesterday when I’d referred to Karl Germain’s saying: “Magic is the only honest profession. A magician promises to deceive you and he does.”
There are times to keep secrets and times to tell the truth.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” the undersecretary asks me.
Magic is the only honest profession.
“Would you believe it if I told you I snuck onto Area 51 and found those codes in a top-secret underground research facility?”
“I might. But I would likely be more interested in how you pulled it off so that other people, who might not have the best intentions in mind, would not be able to.” She leans forward. “So, theoretically, how would you have done that, if you had?”
