“Looks like he’s logged out,” Avi said on the crackling radio. “Okay, boys, it’s a go.”
Eldon had been waiting for the call. He nodded at the SWAT team, and they moved silently and in formation, guns drawn, clearing rooms per protocol, making sure there was no other madman or -woman—or Encyte himself—hidden in the building.
They worked their way across the east wing and down the long hall. “All clear,” Eldon said in the comms. “We’re going into the auditorium.”
Eldon kicked the door in, gunpowder and smoke spilling into the hallway.
“Dear god.” Eldon looked around the silent auditorium. Though he’d seen many gruesome things, both as a hostage and in service to his country, there were few sights more horrible than his young team—bloodied and sprawled out dead on the floor.
He stepped around the fallen kids. Rory, Samy, Mary Alice … accounting for each in his head. Pierce, Rayo … Eleven.
“Guys, we’re one man down,” Eldon said into the radio, his heart hammering, and then he saw at the far end of the stage: Cody, face up, T-shirt drenched in fake blood. His blue eyes were opened wide, like in death.
“Hi, Dad,” Cody muttered into the comms, still playing dead, but angling his head slightly toward his father. He gave a quick smile.
Eldon cleared his throat. “All accounted for,” he said into his radio. “We’re all clear on the—”
The sound of gunfire echoed through the silent auditorium. Eldon spun around. “Everybody down!” he screamed. “We got a shooter!”
A bump from turbulence threw Wyatt to the cabin floor. Wyatt had just listened as Darsie, back in San Francisco, told the Red Trident team that the Chinatown raid was a bust and the suspect, Hi Kyto, was cleared. Now, there was another shooter on the ground in Virginia. The entire mission was falling apart.
“Shooter!” Wyatt heard his father’s voice blare through the jet’s radio. “Everybody down!” Wyatt ran over to the tech, his face hovering just above the plane’s radio.
Bam-bam-bam … bam-bam! More shots rang out. Wyatt looked at the wide-eyed tech as they listened to the sound of feet shuffling, then silence.
“Eldon!” Avi’s voice crackled through the radio. “Sounds like it’s coming from the west wing! Near the audio visual center.”
“Roger that,” Wyatt’s dad said. “We’ve got noises coming one hundred feet ahead of us to the left. No shooter in the hallway.”
Wyatt waited. More silence. And then, his father again: “Avi, it’s Encyte. Did you get that? He just came over the intercom. He’s in the building. He’s got one kid hostage with him.”
“We just did a body count,” Cass’s voice broke in over the comms. “Everyone is accounted for.”
“We’ve got a little girl screaming,” Eldon said. “We’re following.”
Wyatt leaned over the screens, one showing grainy footage of the auditorium where his comrades lay in fake dead poses. Another screen showing the school’s hallway, where his father and a couple members of SWAT crept carefully toward the school’s audio visual center.
“Oh my god, Dad, please be careful,” a muffled voice broke in.
Wyatt’s heart dropped. “Cody!” he screamed. “That’s my brother!” he said to the tech.
The sound of more shots ricocheted down the hall: bam-bam-bam.
“Dad, something’s not right,” Cody said after a couple of seconds. “The sound is off—”
He was interrupted by a scream. The high-pitched, guttural scream of a young girl.
“Dead. They’re all dead…” a maniacal voice came over the intercom again. “Don’t try to find me unless you want to join them.”
“Avi, are you tracking?” Eldon asked.
“There is nothing to trace!” Avi yelled over the radio. “He’s not in the network. Someone physically is in the building.”
“We gotta move. We’ve tracked the shooter. He’s at the AV center. There’s smoke in the room. It’s sealed, but I can see behind the glass. We’re going to open fire.”
More shots over the intercom, and then more silence.
“It’s not live fire,” Cody said in the comms, the sudden realization obvious in his tone.
Wyatt watched on the small screen as Cody stood up and began running across the auditorium toward the door. “Dad, stop! It’s not right! It’s not real!”
“Get me into the comms,” Wyatt said to the tech.
The tech hesitated.
“Do it!”
The guy began frantically pushing buttons and then handed Wyatt a headset. “You’re in.”
“Dad, listen to Cody,” Wyatt yelled into the radio. “He knows what he’s talking about. Please, stand down.”
“Wyatt? How are you on this—”
“Doesn’t matter. Dad, you gotta listen.” Wyatt held the earpiece tight against his face. “It’s a trap! Listen to Cody!”
“Please, Dad,” Cody chimed in. “The sound is a recording. I promise.”
“We got eyes on him right here,” Eldon said. “I see the smoke from his gunfire behind this glass.”
The SWAT team leader’s voice came in, “If you’re not going, I am.”
Silence. Wyatt listened in horror to the sounds of gurgling, choking, gasping.
“Nerve agent! It’s a trap!” Eldon yelled. “Everybody out!”
On the screen, a man’s body shook. He put his hands to his neck. The foam from his mouth visible even in the low-def footage.
“We’re landing!” the pilot called from the front.
Wyatt braced as the Red Trident jet tore through the low-hanging clouds and bumped down for the landing at Fort Meade.