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I pull harder on the trigger. A millimeter. And another. One more, surely, and the bullet will be sent flying. It’s centered in the crosshairs. Now. Now.
Then it’s gone. Just like that. One second in my crosshairs; the next, vanished. I search the side of the stage. There: just behind the curtain, it is surrounded by uniformed officers who are pulling it away deeper backstage.
Fire off a shot, damn it. Just fire off a shot—maybe it’ll hit her.
Another thought blazes into my mind.
Where’s Sissy? Why didn’t she take a shot?
Maybe Ashley June got off the stage too quickly for Sissy to react, to pull out the gun. Or maybe something’s happened to Sissy. Something terrible.
Something vibrates against my thigh.
It’s the TextTrans. A message has come in.
Ignore it, I tell myself. Take the shot. Before Ashley June completely disappears. I bend my head down, try to find her through the scope again.
The TextTrans vibrates with insistence, growing warm.
Exhaling with frustration, I release the trigger, fish out the TextTrans.
A message. From Epap.
It’s a trap. Run.
Thirty
I CAN’T MOVE. Even as I feel valuable seconds tick by, all I can do is stare at the TT screen, try to thaw the layer of frost that’s paralyzed my thoughts, my body. The audience suddenly starts stomping, snapping me out of my stupor. I type out a quick message.
Epap, where are you?
No reply. Inwardly cursing at myself for wasting time, I start to stand when the TextTrans suddenly vibrates again. Seemingly more frantic than before, it almost tumbles out of my hand.
Drop everything. Run.
Epap?
Run. Leave CC now. Get outside.
Where are you?
They’re coming. They know where you are.
Something snaps in me, a panic, an urgency. Fury and adrenaline in chaotic tandem. Finish the job, finish the kill. The mercy kill. But when I bend to the scope again, I can’t find her. She’s gone. There’s no sign of Ashley June.
The TextTrans buzzes in my hand.
They’re coming. Run.
Need to move. I drop the sniper. For a moment, I consider taking the backpack with me, but decide its weight will encumber my getaway. Stealth and quickness are going to get me out of here, not a blaze of gunfire. Still, I grab one handgun, and affix the silencer from the sniper to it. Kick the backpack under the sofa, tuck the handgun down my waist. I’m rushing out the door when the TextTrans vibrates in my hand.
Turn right when you exit suite.
I shut the door behind me. Glance left: the curved corridor outside is empty, only one worker behind the concession gift stand selling T-shirts and magnets and posters and other Heper Hunt–related paraphernalia. Glance right: on the far curved wall, three shadows on the wall are speeding around the bend. I have to turn right, I think to myself. Epap’s telling me to go right. The shadowy figures distort and loom larger as they race along the wall’s curvature.
I head left, quickly, staying close to the wall.
I’m not going to make it. They’ll come around the bend, see me walking briskly and suspiciously away. I sidestep in front of the concession stand, pretend to be examining the wares on display. My back to them, dillydallying as if I have all the time in the world.
Behind me, three security officers come around the bend, their boots clacking on the hard concrete, walking at a brisk pace. But they’re walking, which means they don’t believe they’re on the lookout for hepers, for Sissy and me. If they did, they’d be sprinting, bounding, foaming, and hissing.
They open the door to the Palace suite, walk in.
Now.
I spin around, stride quickly. Only as I approach the open suite door do I slow down. I walk past slowly as if strolling, glance sideways. The three security officers are standing with bent arms at their waists, looking casually around.
I start running. With as silent strides as possible. Need to create distance, get around the bend before they exit the suite and see me.
