by Ronie Kendig
“You got this, Pete—sorry, I know you hate that.”
“No,” she said softly. “I don’t.” She drew in a breath. “Ready?”
He gave a sharp nod. “Three . . . two . . .”
Peyton thought through what she’d do. Push up. Rest the barrel bipod on the roof. Sight the building. All in a second.
“One.”
In fluid motion, she rose with her cheek pressed to the stock, staring through the scope. Waiting for the reticle to cross the target. Saw it. Felt the bipod settle.
Crack! Snap!
She heard the sonic boom almost simultaneously with the concrete shards spitting at her. Wind variance had probably saved her life yet again. The sniper had missed. Would she?
Though she heard Adam curse, Peyton focused on her task. Find the sniper. Kill the sniper. She located a black lump atop the AC unit. Breathed out. And fired. The weapon bucked into her shoulder. Staring through the scope, she slid the bolt back to expel the spent round, then forward again to chamber the next round, ready to—
Air punched from her lungs. She felt herself falling. Found herself staring up at the sky.
“Pete! Pete!” Adam leapt over her, hand crushing her shoulder.
She cried out, only then sensing an explosion of pain. Felt warmth sliding down her chest and back.
“Peyton! Oh God—please, no!”
What happened?
Her hearing hollowed.
“Coriolis is down! Repeat, Coriolis is down! I need immediate evac!”
Vision graying, Peyton could only think that she’d never see Adam again. “Ask me.”
Amid a flurry of curses, he scowled at her. “Pey—”
“Ask,” she breathed. Coughed.
Tears ran down his cheeks and into his beard. “Pete, c’mon. Hold on!”
She blinked, but her eyes wouldn’t open.
“Pete!”
CHAPTER 35
TAIPEI, TAIWAN
Stunned, Leif stared at the roof of the science center. “Badge? Badge, talk to us.”
“Coriolis is down! She’s—” Lawe’s curses seared the line, mangled with tears and growls.
“Air evac en route,” came the controlled voice of Overwatch. “Coriolis eliminated the sniper.”
Leif expelled a thick breath, mind warring between Devine and the ongoing mission.
“Veratti will be ticked,” Andreas said.
“He’s got nothing on me,” Leif growled. It took everything in him to stay down here, stay engaged in the fight, not sprint to the other building to help Devine. There was nothing he could do for her. Instinct pushed his gaze back toward the front of the park, toward Mercy, who was walking away from the park security detail that had questioned her and Baddar. “Kitty, you okay?”
Mercy looked stricken. “I . . . y-yeah. Pey—”
“She’s getting help. Head in the game.” He spotted Iskra with a bottle of water moving along the outer perimeter toward the main gate. Had she noticed something? “We still have a Neiothen loose. You have eyes on the president?”
“Distantly,” Mercy responded.
“Move in. Watch for your newcomers.”
“Copy,” Baddar said.
And they still hadn’t found Huber. “Reaper, anyone have eyes on the target?”
Mercy and Baddar reported negative. Saito—negative, but additional detail were now clearing part of the park. The only good thing happening at the moment.
“People, I want this guy,” Leif growled. “End this. And them.”
“Got him,” Cell said. “Well, not at this moment, but surveillance shows two minutes ago he bought something at the souvenir shop, then headed out.”
“To where?” Leif demanded, glancing up at the purple cars gliding along the rail over the park.
“He exited the shop. Stepped into sunlight.”
That wasn’t helpful. No, wait—it was! “Sunlight means south of the bumper cars.” He moved in that direction.
“Chopper’s going to make them nervous,” Andreas noted.
“Foursome is at the same ride as the presidential party,” Mercy muttered. “Nothing out of the ordinary, but I can’t see their faces.”
“Stay with them,” Leif said. “If they—”
“Holy Madame Hydra!” Mercy gasped. “It’s her—Sienna Gilliam! That’s Sienna with the three men.”
Leif stilled, confused. “Move in. If she—” A familiar blue-gray blur snagged his focus. “Got Huber! Heading to the Wave Swinger. Cor—” He gritted his teeth, realizing he was about to ask for Devine’s help.
Speakers crackled through the park. “Bushi. Bushi. Two. One—”
“No! No, shut it down!” Leif shouted. “Shut the freakin’ thing—”
A razor-sharp pain sliced the back of his head. “Augh!” It drove him to a knee. He staggered beneath the blinding, debilitating pain. He squinted toward Huber but saw someone he wasn’t sure was real. Couldn’t be . . .
With blurry vision and ringing ears that left him disoriented, he barked at Andreas, who spun after Huber.
“. . . Zero. Initiate rise. Rise. Rise.”
“Take Huber down,” Leif ground out through the comms as he found his bearings and broke into an all-out sprint. It felt like there was an ice pick in his skull. “He’s going for the monorail. Do not let him get on.”
Seeing the kids, seeing all the people lined up for that ride . . . This was going to be a slaughter. No way they could resolve this quietly.
Leif tugged out his weapon and fired three shots into the air.
Parents and children froze, then screamed. They gathered to each other, eyes wild with fright, then made for the exits.
“What in the blazes was that?” Iliescu asked. “Who fired?”
“Clear the park,” Leif ordered. “Whatever it takes.”
“But you said—”
“Runt,” Cell said, his tone ominous. “He bought a bubble blower.”
“What?” How did that make sense? Leif peered across the monorail platform and over the park, tracing the route of the rail. His gut clenched—it went right around the Drop Tower and would sail over the crowds still scurrying from the gunshots.
Huber could use the bubble blower to spew out the poison. Their attempt to save the civilians could very well kill every one of them. He started running.
“Monorail’s . . . not . . . his exfil,” he pushed out as he ran. “It’s his means to disperse the poison. Get them out!”
More shots were fired, and people started running past him, shoving. Pushing. Mayhem ensued as Leif threw himself into the lower level of the monorail building.
“He’s got a kid!” Culver choked out. “He boarded the third car and has a kid as hostage.”
Andreas was already at the top of the platform, ordering the ride operator to shut it down.
“Can you lock the doors?” Leif asked as he reached them.
“Presidential party is heading to the Drop Tower,” Saito said. “We’re clearing areas as we go.”
It was all hitting too fast. Too many things. They weren’t going to pull this off. “Send them back. Shut it down! Shut it down!” Leif shouted, hurrying back to the operator, who scowled at them, clearly not understanding English.
The rail was still in motion. The cars sat on a concrete beam, and the lower sides hung two feet over the beam. There was no way to dislodge the cabins.
Leif pivoted in time to see Andreas hook the neck of the attendant and put him into a sleeper choke hold, which left the operator to Leif. He waved his weapon at her and motioned her out of the booth. He cut the power, initiating an emergency stop.
“Rail is stopped. Eyes out!”
Now to prevent Huber from exiting the car, but even as he had the thought, he could see the purple cabin door buck, throwing shards of sunlight outward. “If he gets it open, he can disperse the poison.”
“He’s far from his target,” Culver said.
“No, he is not.” Iskra sounded panick
ed. “Sienna’s leading the president’s group to the bumper cars. They’re letting the kids play as if shots haven’t been fired. What is wrong with them?”
“Detail was told the loud noises were faulty fireworks,” Saito said. “That there was nothing to worry about. They aren’t listening to me anymore.”
“If he freakin’ believed that, he doesn’t deserve to be president,” Culver said.
“But he also doesn’t deserve to die an excruciating death,” Mercy countered.
The distant thwump of rotors pushed Leif’s thoughts to Devine. He couldn’t help but glance at the chopper as it lifted off.
And . . .
Something wasn’t sitting right. It tugged at his brain. He eyed the purple cabins of the monorail sitting quietly. Like a rat in a trap, Huber was just sitting there. For a trained Neiothen, he wasn’t fighting very hard to finish his mission.
No. This was wrong. Why? Why was it wrong? What am I missing? His gaze hit the bumper cars on the third level. “What if there’s someone else?”
“Someone else how?” Culver asked.
Leif studied the multistoried building. “Where’s the president now?”
“Still in the bumper cars,” Baddar reported.
Leif recalled what he knew of the bumper cars. They weren’t in the open like some places. It was a vented, covered, upper-level section. Something in that mental snapshot punched his gut. His attention skipped to Hermanns’ protégé, tall and sandy haired. “Kolya.”
Slowly, ominously, Andreas turned to him.
Leif stilled but had no mental energy to waste on sorting out why he kept calling Andreas by that name. “Air ducts in the bumper cars. He’s going to gas them there.”
“I would’ve seen that—the maintenance closet is right here,” Saito countered. “Huber wasn’t near it.”
Leif eyed the monorail, then again the building. Third level. Enclosed. “There’s someone else.”
Andreas scowled. “Who?”
“Go after him,” Leif said, indicating the monorail. “I’m going out there.” He started jogging down the stairs to the ground level of the monorail building, hoping and praying he wasn’t making a mistake. “Cell.”
“Yeah, Boss?”
“I think Huber’s a decoy. Culver—on him. Stop Huber.” Leif sprinted around the spinning teacups toward the doors to the bumper cars, where he saw a swath of dark suits. He slowed. Hand on the door, he stopped. In a flash, he had his answer. “Cell.”
“I have no idea who—”
“Carsen.”
“Um, did you hit your head again? He’s dead.”
“His dossier. Pull it up.” Leif shifted to the side and eased his weapon out. Why? Why hadn’t he thought of it before? “You got it?”
“Loading—yes. And yep, lookee there. Dead.”
“Gilliam’s sister was listed as his insurance beneficiary.”
“Right.”
“Look at that again. Read her name.”
“C. Sienna Gilliam.”
“Her file—quick. What’s the C stand for?”
“Uh . . . oh, fire and brimstone, we are so screwed.” Cell took a deep breath. “Listed as emergency medical contact: Carlyn Sienna Gilliam.”
Leif felt the impact of that name against his chest. The spot behind his ear seemed to swell and push against his skull. “It wasn’t Carsen. It was Carlyn.”
The steady thumping of rotors preceded a shadow that spirited over them, like a ghost come to call.
Carsen had been trying to protect his sister, not himself.
“We got it wrong. Carsen wasn’t the Neiothen. His sister is—Sienna.”
CHAPTER 36
TAIPEI, TAIWAN
“Ossi. Ossi. Two. One. Nine. Initiate rise. Rise. Rise.”
Iskra froze at the mechanized voice. A familiar one that had called out each Neiothen in their time. But Huber’s initiation had already come through. So what was this? She looked at Sienna, who had a phone to her ear.
“Reaper,” Leif announced. “Sienna Gilliam is the second sleeper. Stop at all costs.”
“Annnd,” Culver said, “sounds like she just got initiated.”
Disbelief spiraled through Iskra as she turned, her attention landing on the woman in the dark green pantsuit with a contingent of men. But she wasn’t working for the men, she was leading them. Straight to the president.
Glad the children and president were in the railed-off area for bumper cars, climbing into their vehicles and lowering the bars, Iskra drew her weapon and took aim.
Across the way, a hairy guard spotted her. Shouldered Sienna aside as Iskra fired. The bullet struck a column.
Someone lunged at Iskra.
She stepped back with her right foot and swung around, effectively forcing him to roll away, bringing her sights back up to—
A weight plowed into her back. Pitched Iskra into the wall, her cheek colliding with concrete. Just in time to lock gazes with Sienna. Sunlight glinted off the glass doors, blinding Sienna and bouncing around the bumper car arena. Iskra looked in that direction.
Leif slipped into the enclosure, SIG cradled confidently in his hands as he glided forward. “Don’t do it, Sienna,” he called.
Relief hit Iskra at the sight of him, at the presence and confidence roiling off him. He knew his business, and it was good to be safe again. Gave her the courage to buck off her attacker, but he wrangled her back against the wall, pressing the barrel of a gun to her temple. She stilled.
Leif jerked, spine arching toward the doors in pain. Eyes squeezed tight. He gripped his knees. Then he was straightening, the gun wavering. What had happened? Had he been shot?
Crushed beneath her attacker’s bulk, Iskra could only watch as Sienna produced a thick-barreled weapon and aimed at the black ventilation system hanging over the bumper cars. “No!”
Shouts rang out from the presidential detail, who snapped their weapons toward Leif.
Iskra’s heart pitched into her throat at the standoff. At Sienna hesitating, then realizing the security detail hadn’t seen her. They were protecting the president and his daughter from Leif. That left Sienna clear.
Oh no.
Saito skirted the edges of the bumper cars, hands lifted. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Friendly, friendly.”
Another shape blocked the light behind Leif—Mitre.
“Put it down, put it down,” the security detail yelled at Leif, advancing on him.
Leif lined up his sights.
Fingers digging into her arm, the man with the gun to her temple shifted. “Metcalfe!”
Leif’s gaze swam the room and saw her. Surely he knew—knew he had to take the shot. Stop Sienna.
“Do it,” Iskra ground out.
Leif refocused on the Neiothen.
The crack of a weapon echoed in the enclosed space. For a split second, Iskra thought it was the one pressed to her head. But when she didn’t feel pain, she snapped up her hands, flipped the grip on the stunned man, and aimed the gun at him, forcing him back.
Children screamed, and adults took cover.
Her attacker looked toward Sienna, saw her down, then met Iskra’s gaze. He panicked. Shoved into the crowd of children fleeing.
Blood pooled around Sienna Gilliam’s head. A guard knelt next to her, trying to save her life, but the profusion of crimson told Iskra it was a lost cause. With that much blood this fast, Leif had hit an artery.
“Hands! Hands!” Guards were shouting, rushing Mitre. Only then did Iskra realize Leif hadn’t taken the shot. Mitre had.
Saito hurried over and assured the guards they were not the enemy. Security for the president rushed him to safety, while others swarmed Reaper.
“Target is down,” Culver announced as he strode in. “Runt got her. It’s clear.”
Mercy joined them, wincing as she met Iskra’s gaze. “Did Madame Hydra do that to you?”
Iskra blinked. Felt the bruise on her cheek. “One of her goons. Excuse me.” She threaded through the queu
e rails to reach Leif, but he looked up, saw her, then turned and walked out of the building.
CHAPTER 37
SAFE HOUSE, TAIPEI, TAIWAN
“Peyton is in surgery and critical. We’re being updated hourly and will keep you apprised as well,” Dru said into the camera, eyeing the team, who had holed up until the jet arrived. The fewer Americans seen on the ground in the aftermath, the better. “We’ve confirmed that before she took that bullet, she did indeed kill the ArC sniper.”
“Hooah!” Culver shouted.
“News agencies are calling this a terrorist attack against the people of Taiwan and its president and his daughter, who were unharmed in the incident. As you can imagine, we’re in the middle of a media storm,” Dru explained. “It is purported to be an attack by Americans, but we have produced credible sources who are countering that dialogue. The former story, we believe, is being perpetrated by ArC. Still, we’re sorting details for you to be safely retrieved and delivered to an airstrip friendly to us.”
“So this whole time we were hunting down Carsen Gilliam, visiting his friends, his psychiatrist, his superiors,” Mercy said, an edge to her voice, “we should’ve been hunting Sienna.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Peyton said that woman was a mess.”
The mention of their sniper draped the room in a moment of quiet.
“I’m ashamed at how easily that got missed,” Cell admitted. “The majority of her documents and files were under Sienna, which technically is part of her legal name, but how the military allowed her to use her middle name instead of her first is a legit question.” He heaved a sigh. “The biggest takeaway from all this is that interpreting prophecy is a lot harder than one might think.”
“What we learned,” Saito said, a sting in his words, “is how little power a president has when enough people want him out of office.”
“Obviously this was the work of ArC and shows what they are willing to do and who they are willing to sacrifice to attain their goals.” Mercy’s nostrils flared. “The final count on kids in that park when the president arrived? Four hundred seventy-one.” She grunted. “That disgusts me. Rather than let him—her,” she corrected herself, “kill the president in a safe, quiet area, they were going to risk hundreds of innocent lives.”