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“...and the home of the brave.”
The game was about to begin.
59
COLTON
I’d been frozen, along with Tanya, by the sheer scale of the place. By how many people were going to die if we didn’t stop this thing. But as the national anthem faded and the crowd whooped and applauded, I finally got my ass in gear. Where is he? Where is he? I didn’t have a hope of spotting the President in the crowd, so I looked for the biggest concentration of Secret Service agents. And there they were, a dark-suited protective ring around one particular block of seating. In the center was a man with silver hair. And next to him was a dark-haired, stubble-jawed figure I recognized. Kian!
The problem was, there were three stories below me, and there were about six Secret Service agents on the stairs between us and him. Already, they were eying us with suspicion.
I squeezed Tanya’s hand. “Run.”
And I took off, head down, charging like a bull straight towards them. I knew we were going to be stopped. We just had to get close enough before we were.
Agents started yelling for me to stop. If I’d been wearing a big, bulky jacket or anything else that might have concealed a suicide vest, they probably would have pulled their guns and shot. But I was in a heavy metal t-shirt with the sleeves torn off and there really weren’t a lot of hiding places. They hesitated, figuring me for some beered-up football fan, and that let me reach the first rank and shove two agents out of the way.
Now they got serious. The next line of protection ran up the stairs towards me, desperate to keep me away from the President. But I kept my weight low and battered my way through them, scattering them like skittles. My cracked ribs hurt like hell, but I was running on adrenaline, now. I could hear Tanya racing down the stairs behind me: if I couldn’t get there, at least I was clearing a path for her.
There was still a full block of seating between the President and me. And now the Secret Service had gotten their act together and were completely blocking the stairs below me. I swerved, climbed up onto the back row of the next block of seats and went through the block, using the backs of seats as stepping stones and putting my hands on shoulders and heads to steady myself. I was getting close, now. I’m going to make it!
But then the fans woke up to the fact that some crazy guy was making a beeline for the President. “Stop him!” “Grab him!” Hands closed around my legs. I shook them off but more took their place. Behind me, I could hear grunts of frustration from Tanya as people tried to grab her and sharp cries of pain as she kicked herself free. Our progress slowed to a crawl and then stopped altogether and the President was still twenty rows ahead, still oblivious. “Mr. President!” I yelled, but everyone was yelling. He didn’t turn around. And now the Secret Service were pushing their way between the seats to arrest us.
I filled my lungs and hollered. “Kian! Kian O’Harra!”
A Secret Service agent grabbed my arms and wrenched them behind my back. No!
And then I saw Kian turn around, frowning. He saw my face and his jaw dropped. Then he was waving to the Secret Service agents: bring him here.
Tanya and I were patted down and frog-marched down the stairs and over to the President’s seating block. The agents kept a firm grip on us and didn’t let us get within ten feet of Kian or the President, but it was enough.
“Colton, what the fuck?” Kian’s Northern Irish accent came out more when he was worried.
I was panting. “Get the President out of here. Everybody, get everybody out.”
The President, Jake Matthews, stepped forward. The Secret Service tried to hustle him back but he waved them out of the way. “You better tell us what’s going on, son.”
I swallowed, a little in awe. “Uh, Mr. President, Sir, there’s a plot to kill you. And everyone else in this stadium, they’re going to release a nerve agent.”
One of the Secret Service agents, a woman with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, said, “Sir, we haven’t heard anything. No word from the CIA about an increase in chatter.”
Tanya spoke up. “The CIA are involved. Casey Steward, the acting chief of the Special Activities Division, he’s behind this. He’s paid a Serbian mercenary to release nerve gas.”
The Secret Service agent showed the President her phone and I glimpsed a photo of Tanya there. Shit. “Sir, this is Tanya Yeshevskaya, she’s a former Russian agent wanted for murder. This could be a ploy: we rush you out of here and then they attack the motorcade.”
