“Can I have your name, please?”
“Alison. Alison Donovan. Someone’s after me, and I don’t have a strong signal.”
“Has there been an accident, Alison?”
“No, though Santa’s been hurt bad. I’m scared he’s still out there, chasing me.”
“Santa is chasing you? Is this a hoax call?”
“No! I said Santa is hurt. The guy who kidnapped me is chasing me. I don’t know his name.”
“And you don’t know where you are?”
“I’m somewhere in the park. The foresty part.”
“You’re breaking up, Alison. Can you repeat the location?”
“I said I don’t know!”
Nothing.
“Is anyone there?”
No bars.
—
I’m here! Is anyone around??
This time, Allie tried texting her own phone number.
This was for three reasons. First, she didn’t actually have anybody else’s phone number memorized. Second, she was pretty sure her kidnapper had given her phone back to her dad as a communication link. And third, the phone she was using had data reception—but no voice cells.
The reply was almost immediate. Who is this?
Allie. You’re using my phone, she typed.
Where are you?
Somewhere in the park.
I’m going to call you—it will help me trace your location.
Two seconds, and the real Santa’s phone rang. A single bar of cell reception had miraculously appeared in time.
The voice on the other end was nice. Strong. Irish. It made her imagine sparkling colors like gold and silver.
“My name’s Haddox, Allie. I’ve been helping a lot of people look for you. Where are you?”
“I don’t know—somewhere in the park. I don’t have good reception.”
“Try to stay still. I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”
“Mister?”
“Call me Haddox. I’m still here.”
“I need help.”
“I’m going to help you, sweetheart. I’m getting your location right now. Tell me what you see.”
“The forest. The lake. In the distance, I can see the towers of the San Remo. I’m worried the Candlestick man is still looking for me. And Santa’s hurt.”
“You’re hurt?”
“No—not me. This guy in a Santa suit. I’m using his phone.”
“Can you wait a second?”
She could hear him having a conversation. Someone was talking about FBI. The police. Her dad.
“Allie, are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“We have your location. We’re sending someone to find you, okay, honey? Two women officers. While you wait, try to stay on the line.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, I’m with a woman named Eve. She’s going to talk with you as well, okay?”
“Hello, Allie.”
She had a nice voice, too. It made Allie see sunsets and rainbows, like Mom’s voice used to do.
She kept looking around, searching the shadows for movement. Hoping for none.
“Listen, when your kidnapper was with you, can you tell me some of the things he said?”
“He hates my dad. And the NYPD. And one of the parade sponsors, I don’t know which one. Says they’re the reason he lost his family.”
“Anything else, Allie?”
“I don’t know. He took something out of the storage room where he kept us. Kept talking about how society had been poisoned and needed an antidote. How’s Frankie?”
“He’s going to be fine, Allie. Don’t worry about him right now. It won’t be much longer ’til the officers are there.”
“My fingers and toes are numb.”
“It won’t be much longer, Allie. Help is coming.”
The phone slipped from her fingers.
“Allie?”
Chapter 82
The Security Tent, American Museum of Natural History
The phone Allie had used belonged to Rick Robbins—who had served as the parade’s Santa for the past seventeen years. He lived alone on West 105th Street; no one had reported him missing.
Some of the other volunteers—friends of his—who’d worked to prep different floats and balloons had thought it odd that he hadn’t stopped by to say hello.
But it had been a weird year. The anti-police riot had started the parade off-schedule, and on an awkward footing.
That was just one more reason why—with proper ID and a full Santa disguise—nobody had questioned the man who hopped onto Santa’s sleigh Skyward and joined the parade.
—
The two NYPD officers located Allie—as well as Rick Robbins—within moments of Haddox and Eve losing their cellphone connection with her.
Robbins was taken to Saint Luke’s for emergency treatment.
At the parade’s medical tent, Allie was treated for minor cuts and bruises.
Chapter 83
Security Tent, American Museum of Natural History
“Allie says he calls it an antidote. That he kept it in the same storage room where she was held. I think we have to assume that’s potentially the Soman,” Eve told Haddox.
She pressed her face into her hands. She was so tired. Her brain was tired. But she couldn’t stop working—not with so much at stake.
“Antidote,” Haddox repeated with a roll of his eyes. “What kind of bastard calls a chemical nerve gas an antidote?”
“His child was sick—and neither his employer nor his wife’s employer helped,” Eve hazarded. “That’s the NYPD and Wholesome Minds. Both of which I believe he’s targeting today.”
“Not to mention the commissioner. Assuming Sam is the Santa next to Donovan on the sleigh, why don’t we just take the bastard out?”
“Let a SWAT team swarm Skyward?” Eve started pacing.
“Why not? We’ve identified him. We can give the networks a heads up to go dark. Then we only worry about the bystanders.”
“Millions of bystanders,” Eve clarified. “Not to mention elves at the base of his sleigh.”
“But for the greater good, is there a choice?”
“Depends on whether he’s succeeded in weaponizing the Soman. Now that Allie is safe, the right approach depends on how viable a threat we think this is.” Eve locked her gaze onto Haddox. “Our key question: Does he have possession of enough chemical to be a threat? Or enough knowledge to weaponize it? Jan’s team located only trace evidence.”
“Aye,” Haddox agreed. “But even if he’s a hack, he’s still dangerous. What if he gets lucky?”
“He’s no expert,” Eve admitted. “So whatever he’s managed to obtain is highly volatile. As dangerous as it is unpredictable.”
“Do we assume the weapon is with him?”
“Or that he controls it, likely with a detonator. That’s why we have to proceed carefully. We don’t know for sure that it’s in the sleigh.”
“It wouldn’t be, unless he’s on a suicide mission.”
“Not necessarily. In Tokyo, those men who disseminated the Sarin? They took an antidote—a real one—in advance.”
“I’m making a few guesses. The when will be at twelve noon as the parade wraps up. The where will be Herald Square, the location the parade officially ends. It’s the how that I can’t figure out.”
Eve squeezed her eyes shut, thinking about Sam Heath. Putting herself in his frame of mind.
I’ve been injured, she thought. Made to feel that those important to me don’t matter. Because of who? She considered all the connections she might make. Between Sam and the commissioner—whom he was now targeting, along with the NYPD. Between Sam and his wife’s employer, who hadn’t stepped up. How Sam was delivering an antidote. Something Allie had said about corporate sponsors. What Eve believed about the importance of a public stage.
One simple motive, really. And it formed one simple, terrifying pattern.
“I think I’
ve got a pretty good idea where he’s put the Soman,” Eve told Haddox. Then she picked up her phone, dialed Jan, and informed her—explaining what was needed to get confirmation.
“I’ll put Tactical on it immediately,” Jan affirmed.
“The technology will give us a picture of what we’re dealing with? Suggest its method of dissemination?”
“It should. The device uses infrared quantum cascade lasers—what we call QCLs—to offer hyperspectral imaging for detection of explosives where close contact is impossible.” Jan cleared her throat. “This has been extensively tested in military environments—but a parade with moving balloons and floats? That will be a first!”
Chapter 84
A.P.B.
Eve also sent out an all-points bulletin to every NYPD, FBI, and Joint Terrorism Task Force officer on duty—in addition to the mayor, the governor, and even the White House. It told them that intelligence indicated a potential attack—possibly along the parade route, probably with a chemical nerve agent.
The nerve agent’s exact delivery method remained unknown—but it was advised that any vehicle approaching the parade route should be regarded with extreme suspicion. Cabs, delivery trucks, even vehicles belonging to police, FBI, and first responders should be considered dangerous until thoroughly vetted.
The all-points bulletin made clear that anything out of the ordinary, no matter what, should be regarded with immediate suspicion, secured, and isolated.
Officers should also be alert for a camphor or fruity odor.
Chapter 85
Along the Parade Route
Twenty-eight minutes until the parade’s end.
Eli, still holding on to the Molly the Mongoose balloon, made the turn off Central Park South onto Sixth Avenue, passing the Trump Parc building.
“Careful—don’t lose your bones!” The perky handler next to Eli had it all under control. Bones were the name for his individual handling ropes. And yes, he was completely on the verge of losing them every time the wind whipped down Central Park South.
If he weren’t just a bit terrified of what Allie’s kidnapper had planned, Eli would’ve said that he couldn’t get to Herald Square fast enough.
For now, he walked. Waved. Waited.
And tried to hang on to his bones.
—
Nineteen blocks uptown, Haddox and Eve were at the computer when the digital image of what Samuel Heath called the antidote hit their computer.
Jan Brandt was on the line, explaining what it meant. “Eve, you were spot-on. You’re seeing a digital imprint of the chemical Soman, which we’ve located inside a small plastic bag pinned to the interior of the Molly balloon.”
“It’s not a large quantity,” Jan continued, “but you have to keep in mind: An amount the size of a pinpoint is sufficient to kill one adult. Heath has rigged a small igniter inside—sufficient to rip the plastic bag and release the Soman.”
“We have to assume Sam Heath has the detonator. Taking him out with a sniper shot could risk activating the detonator, releasing the gas,” Haddox said. “Not to mention sparking a stampede and panic among the spectators—though I suppose that’s the least of our worries.”
“That’s the backup plan,” Eve said. “First, I’d like to try a different idea.”
—
Twenty-three minutes until parade’s end.
Mace and the Wholesome Minds float passed Fifty-seventh Street, continuing down Sixth Avenue.
Rue 57’s red awnings were decorated with strings of tiny white lights. As he talked with Eve on his headset, Mace watched a gangly teenage boy amuse himself trying to jump up and reach them. Completely unaware of the deadly poison gas that was floating over his shoulder.
“You sure something’s about to go down, Eve?” Mace demanded.
Believe me, I wish I were wrong, she replied.
“But I’m backup? I just have to get ready and stand by?”
That’s the plan. With luck, I’ll never need you.
—
Eighteen minutes until parade’s end.
Santa’s sleigh Skyward passed Fifty-first Street.
Radio City Music Hall’s red neon sign framed a Christmas tree—a virtual candy corn, lit up in blazing tiers of orange, red, and white.
With Evil Santa sitting on his left, Donovan mustered all the strength in his right arm and pulled against his restraints. He was cuffed to a ring that was attached to the inside of the sleigh. He felt it move just a little, which gave him confidence that he could do this. And when he did, he planned to make sure the asshole beside him got everything he deserved—and more.
Just be quiet and listen; I’m aware of the identity of the man sitting beside you. Eve’s voice crackled in Donovan’s headset.
First, are you restrained in any way? One cough for yes; two coughs for no.
Donovan coughed once.
Okay. We believe Santa is carrying a detonator. Do you have a visual on it?
Two coughs. Donovan had seen no sign of it. His strategy—once free—was to take Santa by surprise and force him to let it go.
He faked a coughing fit. Leaned over until his mouth was almost between his knees. Whispered into his headset, “Give me two minutes. I think I can get free.”
—
Sixteen minutes until the parade’s end.
Eli and the Molly the Mongoose balloon were passing Forty-fourth Street.
People were elbowing one another on the sidewalks, straining against the police blockade to get closer to Sixth Avenue. To have a better view.
Eli, are you there? Eve’s voice crackled in his headset.
“Where else would I be?” Eli marched along. Waving. Smiling.
Listen, you’ve got to do something important for me. We’ve just received confirmation that the Soman is inside your balloon.
Eve explained exactly what she needed Eli to do.
He wasted no time taking care of the task.
He had no plans to die. Not today.
—
Fourteen minutes until the parade’s end.
Mace hopped off the Ace CyberDog float, smiled and waved his way past Eli and the Molly the Mongoose balloon, and easily hopped onto the Wholesome Minds float.
As discreetly as possible, he showed his ID to the police officer manning the float—and explained what he needed to do.
The officer pointed to the rear of the float. “Guess you’re gonna need to climb that tree!”
—
The president of the United States immediately ordered into high alert the military’s Biological War Defense Center and covert teams who had the job of responding to a chemical attack on U.S. soil.
Hospitals were placed on alert, given the symptoms to watch out for: blurred vision; chest tightness; confusion; drooling and excessive sweating; nausea or vomiting; small, pinpoint pupils and/or watery eyes; convulsions; loss of consciousness; paralysis; and respiratory failure.
WJXZ REPORTS
This is WJXZ News with Gwen Allensen reporting from Herald Square. Bringing up the rear of the parade, we have right next to each other: the float of Macy’s newest corporate sponsor—Wholesome Minds—and our newest balloon, the star of their hit children’s TV show Molly the Mongoose.
Right now, I’m talking with Robert Chen, a studio worker for Macy’s. Robert is one of the carpenters involved in creating Molly and the Wholesome Minds float. Robert, can you tell us about that?
ROBERT: Sure. I’m a full-time studio employee of Macy’s, and it’s my job to create and care for the dozens of floats you’ve seen today in the parade.
GWEN: Tell our listeners about the biggest challenge you faced with Molly and her corporate float.
ROBERT: Well, we created the Wholesome Minds float to honor the values of home that we all celebrate this Thanksgiving. So we created a float of Molly’s treetop home—where she welcomes all her friends for their learning adventures. It was complicated to build, with that crazy gnarled tree—and since it’s three stori
es high, it took meticulous planning to get it from our work studio in New Jersey, through the Lincoln Tunnel, to the staging area on the Upper West Side.
Chapter 86
Along the Parade Route
This was the real moment of truth. The next few blocks were showtime: live or die.
Mace thought the odds were in their favor. Santa was distracted. Speaking urgently with the commissioner.
Drawing his Glock, Mace made his way up the remaining steps of the ladder, inside the trunk of Molly’s treehouse. From the recently cut wood, there was sawdust everywhere. He inhaled the scent of it—his fingers scattered it—as he climbed, rung by rung.
He could hear the crowd roaring. Plenty of Yea! And We love you, Santa! and cries of Look at the reindeer’s nose!
He peeked through a space between the trunk and the branches.
Now he smelled the roasting chestnuts. Heard the tinny tune “Christmas Sleighbells Are Jingling!” that accompanied Santa’s float this year. Saw toddlers dancing on their parents’ shoulders and beaming grandparents clapping and awkward teenagers snapping photos with smartphones.
Too many happy people. In fact, if it weren’t for all the skyscrapers, it could be a schmaltzy Norman Rockwell moment.
He lifted himself up. Moved toward the most secure branch, positioning himself with stealth and catlike agility.
Now he needed a solid visual to take the shot.
Should have been García, with his sniper skills. The moment the thought came, he extinguished it.
Focus on the game, he reminded himself.
But for luck, he briefly touched the red bandana that he’d taken from García’s things. And tied around his own neck.
Now Mace just needed the right visual.
So he waited—and watched the waving, dancing Santa.
Five seconds. Ten seconds.
It took twenty-three seconds before Mace made a clear determination. Santa’s right arm continued waving; his left hand must be holding the detonator.
Plus, there was the real risk that the target was ambidextrous: If Mace disabled Santa’s left arm, he might activate the nerve agent with his right.
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