A pool of red, slowly spreading across the floor. Silberstein is sprawled on the ground at Tanya’s feet, his head at an unnatural angle, the side of his skull blown open from a gunshot wound.
Tanya is holding a black .38-caliber pistol. It’s pointed at Howard, who is cowering in a corner across the room.
“Tanya?” I say.
Her expression is calm. The gun is steady in her hand, her grip firm but light. It is the grip of someone experienced with firearms.
“What’s happening here?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
First action: Engage her in conversation to stall for time.
Second action: Neutralize the threat.
I note the angle of the weapon. Half a turn in one direction, and Howard is in her sights. Half a turn in the other, and it’s me.
I need to distract her, buy myself another moment of assessment time. Move myself into a better position for what I’m about to do.
I slide a step to the right.
“Stop, Zach,” she says.
I stop.
“I want you to understand—” she says.
“I do understand,” I say.
Her stance, her comfort with the weapon, the blood on the ground at her feet.
Tanya is not who she says she is.
“The professor pulled a gun out of the drawer,” Tanya says. “I had to act.”
“She grabbed his arm,” Howard says. “She kept him from shooting me. She saved my life, Zach.”
“We were fighting for the gun and it went off,” Tanya says.
I appraise Silberstein’s body, its position on the ground, the gunshot that has sheared off the side of the man’s head.
I look at Tanya. If a normal girl had just killed someone, she would be shaking and flushed.
Tanya is not flushed.
A normal girl would be in shock, her eyes glazed, her pupils dilated.
Tanya’s eyes are calm. And she is still holding the gun in firing position, halfway between myself and Howard.
Tanya is an assassin.
“Your move, Tanya.”
She looks from me to Howard, struggling with something internally.
“What’s happening?” Howard says. He doesn’t understand my reaction. Maybe he thinks Tanya got lucky and shot the professor by accident.
I judge the distance between Tanya and myself. She is close, but not close enough for me to get to her and disarm her before she wreaks havoc. Not if she’s as good as I think she is.
“Zach.”
She turns toward me, and something shifts in her energy. She relaxes from a state of readiness. She spins the pistol, flicking on the safety before extending her arm and offering me the gun.
A moment ago she killed a man and it looked as if she was going to do the same to Howard. Now she’s surrendering the weapon.
It makes no sense.
“Trust me,” she says.
“That’s a little bit of a stretch given the circumstances,” I say.
“Then trust your instincts.”
My instincts led me astray. Tanya is dangerous, and I missed it. I had doubts about her at the beginning, but they were put aside by other feelings.
Dangerous feelings.
The gun is in her outstretched hand, butt end facing me.
I take it from her and slip it into my waistband.
“We can’t stay here,” she says.
She’s right. We have to get moving, or we will be trapped.
“Howard, did you get what you needed from the server?”
“Got it,” he says, and he pulls a thumb drive from the computer and pockets it.
“Then let’s get out of here,” I say.
“Silberstein—” Howard says.
“He’s gone,” I say.
I reach down and grab the security pass from his body.
I head for the door, pulling Howard with me.
“What about Tanya?” he says.
I look back. Tanya is standing in the middle of the room, watching me.
“Can I come with you?” she says.
“Why would I allow that?”
“You can’t leave her here,” Howard says.
He still doesn’t understand who we’re dealing with.
I hear footsteps running through the hallway outside. Soldiers are approaching in response to the guard’s emergency transmission. Normal protocol would be to lock down the facility, keep the scientists safe in their offices until the guards can search the entire building and secure the premises.
“You need me to get out,” Tanya says.
“I don’t need anyone,” I say.
“It will be easier with me. You know it will.”
She’s right. The presence of a woman diminishes the perception of threat. In her case, that would be a very wrong perception, but the guards won’t know that.
Tanya is dangerous, but she turned over the gun and made herself vulnerable to me. She wants to stay with us now. I just don’t know why.
Footsteps approach the door.
“They’re coming,” Howard says, his voice high-pitched.
I have to make a decision. Take Tanya, or leave her.
“We go together,” I say.
“Thank you,” Tanya says.
“Don’t make me regret it.”
She crosses the room to join us.
I listen at the door, creating a mental map of what we will find when we step into the hall.
“How are we going to sneak out of here?” Howard says.
“No sneaking,” I say. “We’re going to walk out the front door.”
“But they’ll see us.”
“They’re going to see us anyway, so we might as well let them see what we want them to see. Make yourselves look like teenagers.”
“We are teenagers,” Howard says.
“Scared teenagers,” I say.
“We are scared teenagers,” he says.
“Howard—”
“Okay, I know what you mean.”
I lead them forward and slip into character at the same time, swiveling my head from side to side like a confused kid who doesn’t know where he’s going.
We turn the corner to find two guards with weapons drawn. They stare at us, surprised.
“Stop! Don’t move!” the taller one says.
I freeze. Howard and Tanya follow my lead.
I hold out the security card. “My dad says we have to evacuate.”
“Your dad?” the guard asks.
He lowers his gun. He steps forward cautiously, hand reaching for the pass. He doesn’t touch it, doesn’t come any closer than he has to. Instead, he gestures for me to hold the card out farther so he can see it.
He cranes his neck, examining the pass. It’s legit.
“I’m Joshua Silberstein,” I say. “My dad was giving us a tour. I have to do a report for school.”
He looks from me to Howard and Tanya, surprised to discover three frightened kids in the hallway.
The guard holsters his gun.
“Of all the days,” he says, rolling his eyes.
He points down the hall. “Keep going this direction. Two rights and a left. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”
“Thanks!” I say.
He speaks into his radio. “Three kids coming out F-1,” he says.
“Kids?” the voice replies over the radio.
“Get them the hell out of here before we have a lawsuit on our hands.”
When we get to the exit door, there’s a group of three guards blocking it. They quickly wave us through.
“I don’t know how you kids got in here,” the lead guard says.
I shake my head, like I’m as confused as he is.
I see him eyeing Tanya, and I note her head is slightly bowed, her posture meek.
“Are you all right, honey?” he asks.
“I guess,” she says.
He pats her on the shoulder as she passes by. It’s patronizing. And it gets us through the checkpoint.
Tanya was right. It’s easier with her along.
Howard turns the exit door handle, and it opens. He steps outside.
A radio crackles behind me. The lead guard slaps the chest of the guard next to him, bringing him to attention. He points at us.
“Stop!” the guard shouts, and the men rush toward us.
Tanya shifts into a defensive stance, preparing to take them on with me. But Howard is outside right now, unprotected.
“Get to the car!” I say, and I push Tanya through the exit door, slamming it tight behind her.
I turn to face the threat alone.
The first guard has a stun gun in his hands. When he lunges at me, I sidestep and grab him, using my better position and leverage to swing his body around. I use his arm like it’s my own, delivering a stun charge in the neck of the guard next to him, before spinning and delivering the same charge to his own neck.
Both men fall to the ground, out cold.
One guard remains. A young guy.
He does not go for his stun gun or his radio. He snaps his arm down, and an extendable baton drops out from his wrist. It whips through the air with a whistle. He strikes high, toward my head. I can tell he is nervous and wants this to be over quickly.
I want the same thing. I suspect we’re both going to get what we want.
When he comes for my head, I quickly lean backward from the waist. The baton flies past my face, missing my nose by less than half an inch.
His move has thrown him off balance. He’s put everything he has into knocking me out in a single blow. It’s a rookie move, like a baseball player who tries too hard to hit the first pitch.
It’s easy enough for me to step in, swing him over my hip, and throw him to the ground.
“Stop fighting,” I say.
If he were smart enough to take my advice, this would be over easily. But he’s a fighter, or thinks he is.
He attempts to swing the baton around and catch me across the back. I stamp down hard on the baton, hear it crash to the ground and roll across the hallway. Then I throw an elbow at his head. The impact is enough to knock him senseless.
So much for fighting back.
I hear more guards coming down the hallway.
It’s time for me to go. I slam open the door and emerge into the bright sunlight of the parking lot.