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 coin 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.”