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ACTIVE SHOOTER:SECTION 111.
Chase scanned the entirety of the stadium bowl. His heart was in his throat as he scanned the area where he had been sitting earlier. Chase pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. The top text read:
Safe exfil. RV at Angelo’s.
He breathed a sigh of relief. His family had evacuated. Behind him, Daniels was shouting. The flat screens rimming the walls each depicted a different camera feed showing terrified Nationals fans in flight. All being broadcast into homes around the country.
Daniels turned to a woman in khakis and a Nationals polo who appeared to be his deputy. “Give me a SITREP, Connie!”
“No sign of the shooter yet,” said Connie. “Or any victims.”
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know, Chief. I didn’t sanction this.”
He stared at her for a beat, confused, then called to the room. “Put every fucking camera on 111 right now. Keep panning until you pick up the trail.”
Chase turned from the windows to the screens. The figures of the yellow-jacketed security personnel appeared life-size on the displays, surging against the fleeing crowds like brightly colored fish swimming upstream. They converged on 111 from different directions, arriving and scanning the section, weapons drawn, then looking at each other in confusion.
“Where’s the shooter?” raged Daniels. “Who called it in? What the hell is going on down there?”
“That’s the thing, Chief,” said Daniels’s deputy. “We’re not sure…”
Daniels spun on a panicked young man hunched over a console. “Who authorized you to put that message up?”
“Sir, I didn’t.” His eyes were huge behind his glasses.
The chief security officer grabbed the young operator by the shoulder and jerked him aside. The operator’s wheeled chair spun backward as Daniels muscled in.
Before he could take a closer look at the display system’s controls, a fresh round of screams sounded outside. The security feed showed the crowd looking at the LED screens lining the walls. Chase turned back to the windows. Outside, the main LED screen had changed.
ACTIVE SHOOTER: SECTION 302.
The remaining fans surged in the other direction, like schools of fish turning in unison.
“I didn’t touch anything!” the operator began, but Daniels was already yelling into his radio.
“Can anyone confirm shots fired? Does anyone have a visual on a suspect?”
Across the bowl, in the tier above them, Chase watched the yellow jackets converge on Section 302. The reports were coming back in.No sign of a shooter. No sounds of shots fired. None injured except from the panicked exodus.
From behind him, Chase heard Daniels. “You,” the bullish chief security officer growled.
Chase turned as Daniels slammed him against the windows. The back of Chase’s head bounced off the thick glass. It smarted.
“This is you, isn’t it?” Daniels demanded through clenched teeth.
Chase calmly reached across Daniels’s fists with his right hand and seized the wrist at his left side. With his left hand, he reached across and grabbed Daniels’s forearm, then drew his arms down, pulling Daniels to him, exerting steady, crushing pressure. Daniels tried to break free, but realized Chase had his arms trapped. Chase spoke low enough that only the chief security officer, whose eyes were now wide, could hear him.
“This was not me. We are in this together. And right now Avalon’s ass is in the wind, on national television. Nod if you understand.”
Daniels nodded quickly.
Chase released him. “Kill the network feed,” he said. He pointed at the control console operator. “And you, pull the plug.”
“It’s not that simple…” said the operator.
“Emergency shutdown,” ordered Chase. “Right now.”
