The United States did not negotiate with terrorists. Now that Daniela had seized Hardwicke, that left her attempting to come to terms with someone else.
“You’re fine?” Ivy asked me, her voice shaking on the other end of the phone line.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“You’re . . .”
“I’m fine.”
I heard Ivy suck in a breath. Even with a phone line between us, I could practically see her summoning up her composure with an uncanny level of emotional control. “You’re grounded until you’re forty.”
“We’re willing to accept those terms,” I retorted, exerting the same control of my emotions that she’d shown over hers. “All you have to do is provide transport.”
Across the table from me, Daniela tilted her head to the side, considering the phone, which I’d set to speaker.
It’s not over, Ivy. I willed her to see that. It won’t be over until we come to terms.
Daniela had taken control of Hardwicke. She was amenable to finding a peaceful solution—but that peaceful solution could not entail her going back into federal custody. The woman sitting across from me hadn’t engineered this situation. She hadn’t escalated it. But she held the reins now, and she wouldn’t hand them over until she was sure that it was in her best interest to do so.
Our prior alliance could only carry this so far.
“Transport?” Ivy repeated, after an elongated silence. “The whole world is watching. This doesn’t end with a cease-fire. This ends with a surrender. It has to.”
“A student was shot,” I said, feeling a bit like I was standing outside my body, watching myself dispassionately say those words. “He needs medical attention, Ivy.”
There was silence on Ivy’s end of the line.
“Henry needs medical attention,” I repeated, my grip on my emotions slipping finger by finger when I said Henry’s name. Please, Ivy. You’re supposed to be a miracle worker. Give me my miracle, just this once. “Daniela,” I continued, my voice remarkably steady, “needs safe transport out of the country for herself and a handful of men.”
“And if I’m going to make anything happen,” Ivy countered, “I need a surrender. I need terrorists in cuffs.”
Daniela leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. “Perhaps,” she said, “there is a way for all of us to get what we need.”
• • •
I ended up sitting on the floor of an empty classroom. Dr. Clark sat beside me, tending Henry’s wound.
“Don’t worry,” she told me, her voice oddly calm, given the circumstances. “Shoulder wounds are rarely lethal.”
He’s lost a lot of blood. I didn’t say that, couldn’t let myself say that. So instead, I said, “Why?”
“Unless the bullet hits a major artery—”
“No,” I said forcefully. “Why agree to turn yourself in?”
“Because,” Dr. Clark said softly, “it’s for the greater good.”
The United States government needed terrorists in cuffs. They needed a face for this horror. They needed to win.
Mrs. Perkins was dead. And the moment Daniela had asked, Dr. Clark had offered herself up. In penance?
No, I thought, watching her tend Henry with an unnatural calm. With purpose.
Even now, even after everything, Dr. Clark did everything in the name of Senza Nome.
Ivy would get her surrender. She’d get Mrs. Perkins in a body bag and Dr. Clark in handcuffs. She’d get two-thirds of the mercenaries.
The remaining men—the ones Daniela had struck a deal with—would get out of this alive and much richer, so long as they helped take down the rest. It was amazing how easy it was to find men willing to turn on their cohorts when there were $20 million and charges of treason at stake.
I heard the first gunshot.
The subset of the mercenaries Daniela had offered to Ivy on a platter wouldn’t go willingly. That was why Daniela had stationed two of her men at my door—and more at the doors of the other classrooms.
More shots. Coordinated movement.
Daniela had brought the snipers down. She’d allowed the SWAT team in, and now they were doing what SWAT teams did.
“She’ll make it out of this?” Dr. Clark spoke suddenly. “Daniela?”
That was the plan—and based on the tone in Dr. Clark’s voice, that was what she wanted. That was all she wanted.
“Are you really doing this for the greater good?” I asked. “Or for her?”
“We’re clear!” I heard someone shout from the hallway.
That would be the sign for the remaining mercenaries—Daniela’s men, the ones she’d struck a deal with—to leave. Daniela gets away. A small subset of the men get away. The government gets their body bags and their arrests.
And no one would ever know the difference.
“Not just for her.” Dr. Clark’s answer came on enough of a delay that I’d stopped expecting her to reply to my question at all. “I’m doing this for the man who recruited me. The one who recruited all of us, trained all of us.”
This was the first I’d heard a mention of a man, the first clue I’d been given that someone was in charge of Senza Nome.
“Daniela proved herself tonight,” Dr. Clark said. “She’s worthy.”
“Worthy?” My stomach twisted sharply. Daniela had been the devil I knew. She’d been the lesser of two evils.
But she was still a terrorist. My people, the organization I work for—they have been my family. Daniela’s words washed back over me as the door burst inward and SWAT officers poured in. I was taught, from the cradle, to protect that family.
“Worthy,” Dr. Clark repeated as the men threw her facedown on the floor. “She’s his daughter.”
“We’ve got one wounded!” a woman shouted, kneeling over Henry.
“Secure!”
Amid the shouts, my concentration was wholly absorbed in Dr. Clark.
“His daughter?” I asked.
To the people you have been dealing with, Daniela had told me, let us say that I am a concern.
Dr. Clark’s face pressed into the floor, her hands cuffed behind her back, she smiled. “His daughter. And now that she’s proved herself,” she said, every inch the true believer, “his heir.”