Sadie tasted tears and didn’t know if they were hers or Ford’s. “Bucky—” Ford said, part plea, part gasp.
Bucky’s eyes opened and he smiled at Ford. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. Bet they have better treasure hunts where I’m going.” He looked peaceful, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes.
It ripped Ford in half. “The best,” Ford told him, struggling to breathe around the lump in his throat. “The very best.” Sadie heard him praying: Please don’t let him die, please.
Boots sounded on the stairs behind them. Bucky gave Ford’s hand a feeble squeeze. “Hide.”
Grief welled up in Ford as he flattened himself against the armoire. His heart was racing with fear, but over it Sadie heard him repeating that it wasn’t fair, Bucky couldn’t die too, it wasn’t fair.
I’m so sorry, Ford, she cried, guilt making her feel like she’d been stabbed. This was her fault. Not consciously or intentionally, but she was still responsible. Without her, he wouldn’t have been in this situation.
The heavy footsteps—two sets? More?—had almost reached the bottom of the stairs. Ford’s heartbeat jumped with fear, and he thought, I’m really sorry, Mom.
Oh, Ford, Sadie gasped.
There were three gunmen, large guys wearing ski masks and body armor with weapons cocked at waist level. Two of them advanced toward Bucky to pick him up while one of them stayed by the stairs.
“Let’s make it fast,” the one nearest to Ford said. “All this dust is hell on my allergies.”
“We should take a second to look around for Sub Nine. If we find him, we—”
“Stop talking and do this,” the gunman at the stairs barked.
From above Sadie and Ford heard a baritone that hadn’t spoken yet announce, “I got one!” and the sound of booted footsteps marching across the stage.
So there are four gunmen, Ford thought.
Sadie added, At least.
“He’s not on our list,” another voice they hadn’t heard before said.
Five.
“He’s not a chippy, but he was nosing around,” the baritone explained.
“Not nosing.” It was Mason’s voice. The strain in it made Ford feel like someone was pulling on his guts and increased the crushing burden of Sadie’s guilt. “I’m a developer. I’m just looking at the property.”
“Put him in the transport,” the newest voice said.
No! Sadie heard Ford think, and she caught quick flashed images of white, of rope, of the black glove, the icehouse.
What does that memory mean? she wanted to ask him. Why are you thinking of it now?
The two gunmen lifted Bucky’s body from the floor. Ford’s mind was raging. You can’t have him, Sadie heard him think. Not without a fight. Sadie saw him putting together a plan, grab one of the umbrellas, use it to hook—
“Got a chirp on your chippy!” the baritone from upstairs called. “He’s down there with you, I’m locked on—”
Get back! Sadie screamed, and Ford skidded away from the umbrellas, knocking the gunman carrying Bucky’s legs to the ground as his colleague began shooting through the floor at the place where Ford had been standing.
“You hit me, you bastard!” the one with the allergies shouted.
Sadie felt Ford’s grim pleasure, but it was short-lived. The other gunman kept moving and had dragged Bucky nearly halfway up the stairs, which meant he was getting away and Ford’s chirp would be visible in five… four… three.
Duck, Sadie called to him as the gunman by the stairs opened fire, sending a barrage of bullets into the debris where Ford had been the moment before.
Shell casings clinked on the ground. The air stank, thick and smoky. Bucky was out of view.
They must be reloading, Sadie thought. We’re completely exposed now. Trapped. She was shaking all over.
“Did we get him?”
Above them the guy with the baritone said, “I can’t find Subject Nine. He’s off screen.”
What? Sadie asked. How?
“I’ve lost Subject Nine.”
“Me too.”
A knot began twisting in Sadie’s stomach. She could see everything Ford saw, which meant his chip was active. And Bucky was gone. So how was Ford staying shielded? Unless there was someone—
Linc’s big head filled Ford’s field of vision. “I really didn’t want it to come to this,” he said, pressing the point of a knife against Ford’s neck.
CHAPTER 26
You say a word, I’ll slit your throat,” Linc growled. “But I’m going to get you out of here if I can. Do you understand?”
“Why should I believe you?” Ford demanded.
For a second it almost looked like Linc was going to laugh. “Because if I wanted to kill you, you idiot, I would have done it already. I can’t believe James always said you were the smart one.”
“Relatively speaking,” Ford told him. The knife was still against his throat. “You keep that nice and sharp.”
Linc got the same this-is-what-I’d-look-like-if-I-ever-laughed expression again. “Don’t make me regret this.” He sheathed the knife, said, “Come on,” and started navigating across the debris-covered floor toward the back of the theater.
“Where are we going?” Ford asked, trying to fill in the empty parts of his mental map of the building as they walked. Having a knife to his throat had stilled Ford’s internal landscape, making his mind lucid and supple. Sadie made a mental note to look up the effects of adrenaline before meeting with the Committee.
“They’ve staked out the back and main stairs,” Linc said. “If we climb over the stage, we can get to the old coal chute. It’s unguarded.”
“Up and over the stage?” Ford whispered. “In plain view? That’s nuts.”
“I just did it. They’re not looking for you, they’re looking for your chirp. They keep their eyes down on the readers. But if anyone looks up, fight like you’re fighting for your life. I will be.”
You can do this, Sadie told Ford. This could work.
“Where’s Bucky?” Ford asked.
“In the back of the Range Rover. With your friend.”
“We have to get him.”
“Impossible,” Linc growled, and there was no question it was final. “If you make it out of here, call the highway patrol and report the car stolen. Black Ranger Rover.”
“What make? What year?”
“You want me to wipe your ass for you too? You make a big enough fuss, they’ll find it. Tell them it’s your wife’s car and you don’t know all that information. They’ll pull it over, should be time. Highway Patrol, not Serenity Services. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Stay within three feet of me. Farther, and you’re blown.”
The map he’d been compiling unfolded in Ford’s mind, the path Linc had laid out most clear but the rest still visible. Sadie could see spots of color, images, hovering around the edges, but he was keeping the center clear of distractions. His heart rate was remarkably even, his breathing a little shallow but not fast, and Sadie concentrated on matching hers with his.
They got to the scaffolding that went to the catwalk and were halfway up when Linc stopped moving to take a phone call. There were three guys in ski masks on the stage, each holding a palm-sized monitor in one hand and an automatic rifle in the other, not more than twenty feet from them. Sadie felt Ford’s heart beat babum, babum as he hung there, completely exposed, listening to Linc whisper, “I understand. Yes. I’ll take care of it,” before continuing on. His forehead was sweating and his mouth was dry, and his knuckles ached from holding on.