“Yeah?”
“Okay, what else do you notice, reporter guy?”
Alec studied the hundreds of photos. “Diversity.”
“Look at you.” She grabbed his badge. “Mr. Alec McCullers for the win.” She raised her hand and waved it as though she were brushing the ceiling with her hand. “They all represent a different country, see it?”
Alec gazed at the countless faces, then nodded.
“Okay, now for the mindblower. See their eyes? Notice anything?”
“No.”
“Right. No one can. But in each eye is a camera set to stream the whole thing to that particular country. They’re literally selling balcony seats for every country, live-streaming the whole thing.”
Alec raised his brows. “Two cameras per country?”
“One camera for Ivan, the other for the orchestra and some audience shots, which I think come from a solo camera on the stage. But I think you pay extra for it if you want both angles. It’s an up-sell thing.”
“Millionaires gotta pay the bills, right?” Alec said.
The girl laughed, flashing an infectious grin.
He couldn’t believe he was thinking it right now, but he was taken by this girl. He needed to get his mind back to the conductor. He was here to help Janet, Markus, and Cody, not get a number, which he was awful at anyway. No matter how normal this moment felt, each minute that passed was pulling both of them closer to disaster. He needed to find something he could exploit for good. “Nice gig helping out with the event, huh?”
She swung her legs back and forth. “Weeks like this, with the basketball game and the orchestra—yeah, can’t beat it.”
“What should we expect tonight? Ivan always plans surprises. Any idea what’s up?”
The girl pretended to zip her lips, then shook her head. Something about her just exuded loveliness.
He couldn’t help himself. “Okay, could you at least tell me your name? Or do you have a card?” A card, Alec? From an events worker? You idiot.
“A card?” She smiled coyly. “Like with my number on it?”
“I mean, what I . . .” Alec stuttered.
Her eyes got big. “Well, color me flattered, but I’m seeing someone. So kind of you to ask, though, you seem great.” She curled her hand into a C, raised it to her mouth, and pretended to whisper. “I’ll call ya if it doesn’t work out.”
They both laughed.
Someone whistled from across the room and they looked up. It was another female crew member. “Ivan needs you,” she said.
“You know him?” Alec said to the girl.
She swung her legs out and dropped to the floor. She turned back to him, hair swinging. “Everyone thinks he hangs the stars.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “He’s just a man pretending to be a mountain.”
The girl gave a little bow, then turned to leave.
Alec had heard that saying before, recently. His mind conjured up the conductor in that wingback chair in the fancy house, saying, “Just a man pretending to be a mountain . . .”
Did this girl know the conductor?
“Wait, you never told me your name,” Alec called out to her.
Making her way toward where the other crew member had called, she sang out over her shoulder, “Rosetta.”
20
SUNDAY, 5:23 P.M.
Anita Postma looked up at me from her phone, which had just buzzed. She nodded.
I leaned toward her. “Where? When?”
“Fifty-five minutes, on campus. Girls’ locker room in the gymnasium.”
The chief shook his head.
Cody, who’d been disassembling and reassembling his gun, cocked his weapon.
I tapped Postma’s elbow. “Can you do this? We’ll be close, but you have to stall him. Make him believe nothing is different with you.”
Postma nodded but was fidgety.
Cody gave me a sideways look. I don’t know about this, not with the emotional shape she’s in, he was telling me.
My gut was telling me the conductor would make her within seconds. He’d then take her captive and Cody and I would be forced to lower our weapons. If we refused, he’d do something terrible to Postma. There had to be a better way.
A reclining Renfroe put his hands on his knees. “It’s not going to work, you know that.”
“I can do it,” Postma said. “I’m sick of it. I’ll make him believe. You just do your part.”
I met Cody’s eyes. Leaving this opportunity in the hands of someone we’d just met and was obviously shaken wasn’t the plan I wanted to execute. But what other choice did we have?
Cody spoke as if Postma hadn’t said a thing. “We could leave her out of it. Storm in and start firing. Figure the rest out later.”
“Do you think he’s stupid?” Postma said. “He’s not stepping foot into the locker room until he’s sure it’s me, alone.”
“Is there just the one entrance to the locker room?” I said.
Postma shook her head. “Do I look like I frequent the girls’ locker room? I don’t know. But he’ll have contingencies. He always does.”
The chief cleared his throat, then spoke in a monotone. “There’s a small frosted window, ground level, along the east side of the gymnasium. That would get you into the locker room.”
“All right then,” Cody said. “She goes in through the front, I cover the window route, and Haas follows Postma as soon as he sees someone go in after her. Or if the nut tries the window, he’s mine.”
“And if he’s in there before she is?” Renfroe said.
I considered that. Gave Postma solid eye contact. “We won’t be able to protect you, not if he makes a move. But if you make a sound, any at all, we’ll be moments away.”
Renfroe scoffed.
But Postma straightened her skirt. “We’re wasting time. Teach me some self-defense.”
I did just that until it was time for the meet. Then I opened the classroom door for her.
Cody nodded at the chief. “What do we do with him?”
I motioned for Renfroe to get up. “He stays with me.” I turned to Postma, who was stepping out of the tiny classroom. “Hey, remember the pain he’s caused. You get to put an end to that.”
“Well,” Cody said, “or a bullet.”
I watched as Postma and Cody left the English building, heading in separate directions. As soon as they were out of sight, I exited as well and walked toward the gymnasium. I kept one hand pressed to Renfroe’s back—where the incision had been made—making sure he stayed at my side.
“It’s not too late, Haas,” he said. “You don’t have to get Postma and your best friend killed.”
I shook my head. “Just have to let this thing play out, right, Chief? That way no one gets hurt.”
He looked at the ground. “You don’t know what you’re doing, and you know it.”
Students walked and rode past us, backpacks flung over their shoulders, phones out, tapping away. How many of them had been touched by the string? Were some assigned to text the conductor whenever they saw me?
Nearly all of them were texting, only looking up to scan the faces within their personal bubble or to make sure they weren’t about to trip on a loose brick. Those who did make eye contact with me did double takes, most likely recognizing me from the ginormous front-page spread in the Trenton Telegraph. Any one of them could be a tail, reporting our every move to the white-faced demon. Probably wouldn’t even need to be threatened to do so. Most any student would agree to watch a university cop and text his location for weekend coin.
I kept my head lowered and continued toward the gym. A quick glance behind didn’t reveal anything suspicious. Just students moving along, minding their business, oblivious to what could transpire tonight.
Renfroe snarled at me as if I’d kicked a dog.
I knew he saw those students too. As coldhearted as he’d become over the years, he still cared about keeping people safe. And my plan held no guarantees of taking any of t
he students out of harm’s way. I hated that he might be right. But I couldn’t wait for whatever the conductor had planned. We needed to take our shot while we had it.
Reaching the gym, I couldn’t believe I’d been here just last night, stripped of my badge and meeting Janet for the first time.
We entered the lobby and were immediately met with boisterous noise from the setup crew. Speakers were blasting pump-up music as though the crew members were a team prepping for the championship game.
“This isn’t the right play,” Renfroe said. “He’s got something planned. He’s not stupid enough for a trap.”
I tugged the chief toward the trophy case wall. “Let me guess. The right play is cowering in a corner, praying to God the conductor doesn’t blow you up?” My attempt at suppressing emotion wasn’t working. “You’re pathetic. And you know what’s worse? I thought it could work for me at Trenton because I read your file. You put together a nice body of work for the city. I don’t know what’s changed, but you’ve given up everything decent and noble. And for what, gambling?” I shook my head. “You lost your way and your soul with it.” I brushed off my jacket and led him toward the doors that would lead us into the gymnasium.
“You self-righteous, arrogant rookie. You’re after glory, is what it is. It’s all about you.”
I moved my hand from the top of his back toward the bottom, right over his incision. He groaned through bared teeth.
University crew members were crawling all over the place, setting up chairs, big screens, extra speakers—dozens upon dozens of extra speakers—and ticketing booths. This was merely the overflow seating. People had traveled hundreds of miles just to be in a room connected to the room with the Celestial Orchestra playing.
I kept my head lowered as we followed the wall toward the bleachers. The way toward the girls’ locker room turned underneath the stands.
Instead of ducking into the hallway leading to the girls’ side of the lockers, where Postma would have already entered, we slipped into the passage toward the boys’ side. I then crouched and used my phone to peek around the corner. All seemed clear.
My gut told me otherwise.
Even though the window was located at the back of the gymnasium, concealed by rhododendrons, Cody double-checked to make sure no one was looking. He bent the lock with a rock, coughing to cover the noise.
He pushed the retractable window up, and dust plumed and floated to the floor inside the girls’ locker room. It was a farther fall than he’d thought. He lowered his legs, let go, then crouched onto the floor.
Toilet stalls lined one side of the room while a dozen shower stalls spanned the other. Postma must have settled in near the lockers, which were beyond the tiled area and around the corner.
Cody slipped into the nearest stall, closed the toilet seat, and crouched on it. He had a view of the retractable window if the conductor tried entering or escaping that way.
Now it was up to Postma.
Cody kept an eye on his watch. Had the conductor already made them?
The sound of Postma screaming vibrated throughout the locker room.
I barely heard Postma’s scream over the Celestial Orchestra’s specialty loudspeakers in the gymnasium. But I heard it.
I cursed and jumped to my feet. “Hurry.”
Renfroe reached out a hand. “Give me a weapon. I can help.”
“You’ve got fists. Use them.”
Holding my gun steady and making sure the chief was in tow, I ran into the tunnel toward the girls’ locker room, passed the coach’s office, and eased into the lockers area.
No sounds, not even breathing. The way the lines of lockers were set up, I could only see the first of four possible rows.
Cody had to be closing in from the other side. If the conductor had attacked Postma, it was because he knew we were close. Announcing myself wasn’t much of a disadvantage. The conductor may get a slightly better sense of my location, but Cody would too.
“Cody?” I said.
“Copy,” my friend said.
That meant we had flanked both sides of the locker room area, and whoever had Postma was trapped between us.
“Anita?” I moved to the right to peek around the first row of lockers to the second. Nothing. I made sure Renfroe was in step with me and kept my feet moving to the third row.
Cody was just turning from the other side.
Between us lay Postma, facedown.
“I got her, cover me.” Cody dropped to a knee by Postma’s side.
I crouched and suddenly realized I had two blind spots to cover, assuming Renfroe had my back.
Movement rustled from one of the blind spots. I looked at the chief. He’d heard it too, hadn’t he?
A hissing sound filled the room and Cody yelled.
I turned to find him face to the ground as Postma scrambled to her feet. What was in her hand?
“Pepper spray,” Cody shouted.
I shielded my eyes and ran directly at where I’d seen her rising, smashing into her like a linebacker. We crashed into the wall. She grunted and dropped to the floor, wheezing, the air knocked out of her.
Fragments of the liquid fire touched my skin. My eyes stung and my vision blurred. I shot to my feet—
What felt like talons stabbed into my back, and I cried out, losing my grip on my weapon. It clanged against the floor and slide away from me, thwacking into the nook between the floor and the wall.
The pain wasn’t electric from a Taser. What had—
Again spiked prongs lashed, accompanied by a loud snap—but not at me. This time Cody cried out. He was still struggling to see anything.
Postma scrambled away from me on her hands and feet.
I turned and crossed my forearms in the direction of the blows, trying to get my feet underneath me.
A bullet thipped into the wall behind me. Paint chips dribbled to the locker room floor.
I stared ahead, into the conductor’s eyes.
He was no more than ten feet away, holding a multitailed whip with metal shards in one hand and a silencer-equipped pistol in the other. “You truly are an addicting breed of will and absurdity.” He took a couple of steps to his left and picked up my 9mm, shoving it underneath his trench coat. “I thought you’d finally lay low, bask in your victory at the armory, stick close to your woman and chickpeas. But here you are. So perfect.” He laughed. “Messing with my string, trying to turn my own creation against me.” He pushed his hips back and his chest forward, pressing both hands to his heart. “Absurdity.”
Postma and the chief were like statues, each frozen with gazes glued to the conductor.
“Ever seen the way a puppy looks at its owner?” the conductor said. “Awe and wonder. You couldn’t get that puppy to bite, not if you had a lifetime.” The conductor glanced at Postma, then Renfroe, shaking his head. “Tryin’ to turn my knots against me, shame, shame—I know their names. Isn’t that right, Anita?” He walked over to her, leaned down to help her stand.
She was trembling like I’d never seen.
“She was my first knot, you know. Been with me the longest, helping me get all the details in order. Loyal, hardworking, and scared to death.”
Tears spilled down Postma’s cheeks.
“Stop it,” I said. “Look at what you’re doing. Look what it’s done to you.”
The conductor trained the gun on me and squinted as if lining up a shot at my forehead. “Every ounce of logic tells me to bleed you in the shower stalls—drains, you know? But this isn’t about something so small as logic. You’re the sacrificial lamb, Haas.” He strode toward Renfroe. “An honor that should have fallen to Chief here, if I’m being honest.” He scoffed. “But Chief slaughtered himself long before my day of reckoning.” The conductor turned to me, emotionless. “Leaving you. Perfect you.”
My lips quivered and I could feel my veins ready to pop out of my neck.
The conductor’s lips twitched upward. “That’s the Markus I know and love.” He stepp
ed behind the chief, then rested his pistol on Renfroe’s shoulder as if just finishing a long shift. “All these knots, bloody boring. I’m not telling you anything new ’bout this one. Spineless, gutless, a nothing. It’s why I brought him into the party so late. Self-preservation is the most hazardous trait of the lot.” The conductor eyed Renfroe like a piece of rotten meat. “No ideals. No morals. Just survival. Makes me sick.” He waved his gun at me. “You even sicker, right, Markus?”
The conductor tossed his whip to me.
I caught it, my back screaming in pain.
“Do for me what’s needed to be done for years.” The conductor motioned the cracking of a whip. “Rear back one of those hulking arms and sink it into scum—if not for me, then most assuredly for you.”
I looked at the whip, my own blood still dripping from its prongs. I tossed it onto the floor.
Renfroe, who’d been grimacing and staring at the ground, slowly raised his head.
As if someone had taken a swirling water brush to his portrait, the conductor’s face twisted. Then it morphed into a sadistic smile.
“Haas,” Cody warned.
The conductor sneered at my friend. “Cody Caulkins, the trusted sidekick through thick and thin, no matter the lies his friend has led him to believe.” The white-faced demon ran his fingers down his cheekbones and to the tip of his chin. Then pointed his weapon at Cody. “Don’t test my patience again, Haasy. Whip him like the pigheaded excuse for a life he is.”
I tried to think, to plan. Nothing was coming. The conductor had the gun on my friend, and the lone option I had—whipping Renfroe—would maybe buy me a minute, be morally reprehensible, and leave me in the exact same position after the deed.
The conductor pushed Renfroe a step toward me. “Five. Four. Three—”
“Haas,” Cody said.
“Two.”
Cody glanced at the conductor, the conductor glanced at me.
“Okay,” I said.
“One.”
“I said okay!”
The conductor raised the barrel of his gun and fired.
The String Page 20