by Lynn Barnes
Mine is a glorious calling. The tone I’d heard in Daniela Nicolae’s voice in that video was present to the nth degree in my teacher’s. This was what zealotry looked like.
This was a true believer.
“I came to this life when I wasn’t much older than you,” Dr. Clark said softly.
“After 9/11,” I said, cutting her off before she could say more. There’s nothing you can say that will make you anything less than a monster to me. I hoped she could hear that in my voice.
Whether she could or not, she continued, “After the attacks, I wanted to do something. The world wasn’t safe. Everything had changed.”
“So you became a terrorist,” I supplied, my voice razor sharp. “If you can’t beat them, join them?”
“No,” Dr. Clark said vehemently. “No, Tess. I would never—”
I tuned out whatever it was she would never do. She’d killed a man as I’d watched.
“While I was abroad, I was approached by someone. A mentor. He thought that I might be interested in a life of service.” Dr. Clark paused. “He was right.”
“Service,” I repeated dully. “You call this service?”
“Our organization was designed to infiltrate terrorist groups. We influence their decisions. We stop them from the inside out. We play their game better than they do.”
I was on the verge of asking her how, precisely, the Hardwicke School qualified as a terrorist group. But I decided it wasn’t worth the words.
“To do what we do,” Dr. Clark said, leaning forward and trying to take my hand, “we need eyes and ears everywhere.”
“Eyes and ears?” I jerked my hand back. “I’m bound to a chair, I saw you shoot a man dead, and you want me to believe that you just observe?” She believed what she was telling me. She expected me to believe it, too. “You people bombed a hospital!”
“And no one was hurt in that bombing,” Dr. Clark said fiercely. “You think that was an accident? A mistake? We don’t make mistakes.”
“Then why—” I cut myself off. “You knew Walker Nolan would tip someone off. That was the point.”
“Sometimes the biggest threats come from the inside. Sometimes the system is broken, Tess. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Dr. Clark glanced at the headmaster, then turned back to me. “You know what it’s like to stand up to people in positions of power, Tess. I’ve always admired the way you defend people who are not in a position to defend themselves.” She paused. “Is it so hard to believe that someone like me might want to do the same?”
I knew, just listening to her say the words, that she’d said a variation of them to Henry. She’d told him that the system was broken, corrupt. She’d led him to believe he could fix it.
“You know what President Nolan is capable of,” Dr. Clark said. “You know what happened to Justice Marquette, and you know that the Nolan administration covered it up.”
“You told Henry that it wasn’t over.” I forced myself to look Dr. Clark directly in the eyes. “You told him that the president was responsible for his grandfather’s death.”
“I believe someone in that administration was,” Dr. Clark countered. “Marquette was killed by the president’s doctor and a Secret Service agent on the president’s detail. That doesn’t strike me as a coincidence.” She paused. “It shouldn’t strike you as one, either.”
I imagined Henry, listening to these words. “You told Henry—”
“I told him that we could help him fight back, that we could help him get justice, that no one should be above reproach. Four men died. Were we not supposed to notice? Justice Marquette. His doctor. The front-runner to replace him. And a Secret Service agent, shot down by a SWAT team?” She lowered her voice. “The White House kept a lid on the agent’s identity, but we found out. We always find out. There was a reason the Nolan administration wanted this buried, Tess. Who do you think ordered the SWAT team to shoot Damien Kostas? Who do you think ordered that a man be executed, with no due process, no law?”
The fourth conspirator.
“So why not expose the truth?” I asked Dr. Clark. “If you really care about corruption and cover-ups, why not—”
“When someone takes office, we develop a contingency plan. If they’re worthy of the office, it need not be activated. If they are not . . .” Dr. Clark executed an elegant shrug.
A contingency plan, I thought. Like Walker Nolan. That had to be a plan years in the making. They’d already infiltrated Walker’s life before President Nolan was elected. They’d already sent Daniela to him. So when they developed suspicions about the Nolan administration, they didn’t have to try to dig up incriminating information.
They already had damaging information of their own.
They’d staged the bombing, revealed the relationship between Walker and the bomber, for the sole purpose of taking the president down.
My brain spun. “So shooting the president, that was what? Another contingency plan?”
“That shooting,” a voice said from the doorway, “was the one contingency we hadn’t planned for.”
I whipped my head in the direction of the voice.
“I need a minute,” Dr. Clark told Mrs. Perkins.
“You’ve had a minute,” Mrs. Perkins responded. “And you’re wasting your time. This one won’t flip.”
Dr. Clark stood up. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, the muscles in her face taut. “These things take time.”
“Unfortunately, Moira, time is one thing we do not have in any abundance.” Mrs. Perkins turned her attention from Dr. Clark to me. The gleam in her eyes was darker and harder than anything I’d seen in Dr. Clark’s.
Some people do horrible things because of their beliefs, I thought, a chill settling over my body. And some people choose beliefs that let them do horrible things.
“You killed John Thomas,” I said, unable to look away from a woman I’d always considered welcoming and warm.
“When the president was shot and it seemed likely the vice president would be taking office, I put a new plan into motion. We needed to kill a student in order to get the headmaster to agree to bring in extra security. Armed security.” Mrs. Perkins shrugged. “The fact that Mr. Wilcox had been poking around in his father’s files made him an obvious choice. We would have had to deal with him eventually. Two birds, one stone. I saw an opportunity.” There was a gleam in Mrs. Perkins’s eyes when she said those words. “And I took it.”
“His father was working with Senza Nome,” I said. “He was one of you.”
“He was never one of us,” Mrs. Perkins replied. “Never trusted. He was a viper whose goals aligned temporarily with ours. Why overlook an opportunity like this for someone like that?”
An opportunity to orchestrate a takeover of Hardwicke while the vice president was in charge.
“So that’s it?” I said. “You saw an opportunity, and you took it? And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with the president being shot in the first place? That was just a happy coincidence?” I asked. “Senza Nome claimed responsibility for the attack!”
“Did we?” Mrs. Perkins returned, an edge creeping into her voice. “Did we really?” Her eyes bore into me.
Daniela Nicolae had told interrogators that Senza Nome hadn’t been behind the attempt on the president’s life.
“No matter,” Mrs. Perkins said, shrugging. “The attack on President Nolan might have disturbed one plan, but it gave us an opening for another.”
One plan. Daniela Nicolae, Walker Nolan, and a PR attack that would have crippled the current administration during midterm elections.
An opening for another. The seizing of Hardwicke.
“Now,” Mrs. Perkins declared, “I have a problem, and you, my dear, are going to solve it.”
That isn’t going to happen.
“Certain parties remain unconvinced that this is a battle they cannot win,” Mrs. Perkins continued. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists, et cetera, et cetera.”
She gave a roll of her eyes. “And the people who are more amenable to negotiating have asked for a show of good faith.”
Good faith wasn’t a phrase anyone should apply to these people. Ever.
“We need your help,” Dr. Clark told me. “I need your help to get all of your classmates out of here alive.”
All of them? I thought. Or just the ones who aren’t disposable?
As if to punctuate my thoughts, Mrs. Perkins turned, lifted her gun, and put a bullet between the headmaster’s eyes.
My stomach rebelled, nausea slamming into me with the force of a truck. I fought back against it, swallowing and willing my ears to stop ringing.
“Do I have your attention?” Mrs. Perkins asked.
“Yes.” I gritted out the word.
Mrs. Perkins knelt next to me, the way Dr. Clark had. The expression on her face was almost motherly. “You and I are going to have a chat, Tess. And then, as a show of good faith, I’m going to let you go.”
I stared at the hole in Headmaster Raleigh’s forehead, the blood streaming down his lifeless face.
“Let me go?” I repeated.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Perkins said. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to tell dear Ivy and the acting president and everyone else who asks everything I’m going to tell you. You will communicate our requests, and you’ll encourage the powers that be to respond appropriately.”
Respond appropriately. As in, give the terrorists what they want.
“And if they don’t?” I asked.
“You’re a resourceful girl,” Mrs. Perkins said, “related to some very powerful people. I have every confidence that you’ll work this out.”
My mouth went dry. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll give you eight hours. After that, every hour on the hour, I will put a gun to one of your classmates’ heads. And, Tess?” Mrs. Perkins reached out and gently pushed a stray hair from my face. “I’ll enjoy pulling the trigger.”
CHAPTER 54
Less than two hours after I’d heard the first shot, I walked out the front gates of Hardwicke with my hands raised. I was greeted by a SWAT team, the FBI, Homeland Security, and a dozen guns trained at my head.
“Are you armed?” a woman in an FBI jacket asked. “Are you wearing any explosives?”
I shook my head.
“Are you injured?”
I gave another shake of my head.
“We need you to get down on the ground,” the woman said. “Face-first.”
I did as she asked. A second later, I was being patted down. They found nothing other than the USB drive I wore on a chain around my neck. Instructions. For the authorities. From Senza Nome.
They let me sit up. I didn’t realize I was bone-cold and shaking until the FBI woman put her own jacket around my shoulders. “You’re okay,” she told me. “Tess, I need you to listen to me: you’re okay.”
Maybe those words should have been comforting, but they weren’t. I was okay. But if I didn’t do exactly as Mrs. Perkins had instructed, if I didn’t follow orders, the others wouldn’t be. Not Vivvie. Not Emilia. Not even Henry, if they thought they had anything less than his undivided loyalty.
“I need an EMT in here!” the female FBI agent shouted. “She’s going into shock!”
People crowded in around me. Agents fired off questions. A medic shined a light in my eyes.
Eight hours, I thought. I have eight hours.
“Tess!”
My body responded to Ivy’s voice, my shoulders caving inward, my head coming up.
“Oh God, Tessie.” Someone tried to stop Ivy from coming to me. She turned on him like nothing I’d ever seen. “That is my daughter,” she said, fury in her voice and tears streaming down her face. “And the next person who tries to get between me and my daughter is going to rue their existence on this earth.” Ivy didn’t believe in unspecific threats: “Every secret you’ve been keeping will find its way out. Every decision you make will be questioned. You will be audited, investigated, and transferred to the most hellish nightmare of a desk job I can find. Now, get out of my way.”
Everyone got out of Ivy’s way.
She was by my side in a heartbeat. She dropped to her knees, fast enough and hard enough on the concrete that it must have hurt, but she didn’t seem to feel it. Her arms encircled my body, pulling me tight against her one second and pushing me away the next as she ran her hands over my shoulders and arms, assuring herself that I was here, that I was in one piece, that I was whole.
Then Ivy was saying my name, over and over again, a low, keening sound. She asked me if I was okay, her hands finding their way to the side of my face. She smoothed down my hair, pressed a kiss to my forehead.
My arms wrapped their way around her. “Ivy.”
“I’m here,” Ivy murmured into my hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you, Tessie. I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”
“Ms. Kendrick.” The female FBI agent stood a respectable distance away. She’d given Ivy and me our moment but couldn’t afford to give us any more. “I understand that Tess has been through a great ordeal, but she’s our only source about what’s going on in there, and that makes her our best chance at getting the rest of those kids out alive.”
Eight hours, I thought. Less than that now. I wanted to believe that the FBI could handle this, that if I told them what I knew and what I’d been told, they would find a way to save the day.
But I didn’t have that luxury.
Every hour on the hour, I will put a gun to one of your classmates’ heads.
“The agent’s right,” I told Ivy. “I need to talk to them.”
I’ll enjoy pulling the trigger.
“And after that,” I said, my voice low enough that only Ivy could hear me, “I need to talk to you.”
Several feet away, behind a law enforcement line, I saw Adam, trying to keep a grip on his emotions as he stared at Ivy and me. And behind Adam, I saw a stone-faced William Keyes. Ivy followed my gaze, and I clarified my previous statement.
“All of you.”
CHAPTER 55
It was four hours before the FBI let Ivy and Adam take me home—half of the eight I’d been given gone answering questions and describing the situation on the inside.
The hostage negotiator and profilers had asked me to provide a description of each of the players involved. Homeland Security had then begun running background checks on Mrs. Perkins and Dr. Clark. I’d been able to describe one of the guards—the one who’d knocked Anna unconscious, the one Henry had incapacitated in his quest to get me out—in enough detail for an artist to make a computer rendering.
I told them everything I knew about the terrorists’ numbers, the brief dissension I’d sensed in their ranks, the game of good terrorist/bad terrorist Dr. Clark and Mrs. Perkins had played with me. I told them about the tunnel and the security feed and the men I’d seen shot dead.
I told them they had eight hours. I told them what would happen if they didn’t give Mrs. Perkins what she’d asked for.
I told them everything except the truth about Henry—and a subset of the demands that Mrs. Perkins had made of me.
“Can I get you anything?” Ivy asked as she opened the door to our house. I stepped into the foyer, and for the first time, it felt like home. This was where I belonged. I would have given anything to stay here.
With Ivy.
“Could you make me some hot chocolate?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
The request took Ivy by surprise. I wasn’t good at letting her take care of me. I’d never asked her, even in a little way, even silently, to be my mom.
“I’ll make us each a cup.”
I did us both the favor of ignoring the raw emotion in Ivy’s voice. She went to make the hot chocolate.
“Don’t do that again,” Adam said quietly. He’d joined us on the ride home, but like Bodie, he’d remained mostly silent, fading into the background under the roar of the con
nection between Ivy and me.
“Don’t do what?” I said. “Ask for hot chocolate?”
“Don’t let bad things happen,” Adam said, pulling me suddenly into a hug, his words sounding more like a prayer than an order directed to me. “Not ever. Not to you.”
“I’ll get right on that,” I replied into his chest.
He held on to me for a few seconds longer, and then the front door opened. William Keyes hovered in the doorway, his gaze frozen on Adam and me.
“Make yourself at home,” Bodie told the old man dryly. “No need to knock.”
Bodie’s words snapped all three of us out of our reveries. The kingmaker stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him, and Adam turned, one arm still wrapped protectively around me, to face his father.
“I was told my presence was required,” Keyes informed Adam. There was a note of challenge in his voice, but he was the one who broke eye contact first, transferring his gaze from Adam to me.
“You are unharmed?”
Keyes had been updated on my condition, but this was the first chance he’d gotten to ask me for himself. I could only imagine how frustrating he’d found waiting—and the fact that the FBI had let Ivy in to see me but not him.
“I’m uninjured,” I said. “But I’m not okay.”
Ivy picked that moment to return. She handed me a mug of hot chocolate and kept the other for herself, positioning herself directly to my left. With Adam on one side and Ivy on the other, I should have felt safe.
I should have felt protected.
Three hours and fifty-four minutes.
I didn’t have time for dread or guilt or fear.
“I’m not going to be okay until this is over,” I said, looking from one face to the next. “And this isn’t going to be over until we give them what they want.”
“I didn’t tell the FBI everything.”
The five of us were settled around Ivy’s conference table now—Ivy, Adam, Bodie, the kingmaker, and me.
“Why not?” Adam was the one who issued the question.
I answered it. “Because I was told not to.”