A long line of cars were parked along Eighth Street just outside the Hotel Monaco. Regina Cash realized that the vehicles would provide the perfect cover for catching up to and overtaking the kids. She pushed through the crowd and quickly made her way into the street, over to a small blue car. Using the car to conceal herself, Cash lifted her head ever so slightly and peeked through the window. On the other side of the vehicle, she could see the boy and the girl moving quickly along the wide tree-lined sidewalk. They had a bit of a lead, but the distance was manageable. Cash knew she would have to move fast to reach them. She glanced around for any sign of Nigel Stenhouse, but he was nowhere to be seen. She reached into her coat and withdrew a small air pistol that fired a tranquilizer dart. Cash would have one shot to subdue the boy. Once that happened, the girl would have no choice but to cooperate.
Keeping her head low, Cash sprinted from one car to the next, glancing up occasionally to make sure the kids had not changed course or stopped.
Finally, Cash arrived at a large white sedan. She peeked once again through the windows and realized she was almost parallel with the boy and the girl. They were less than fifty feet from the end of the block. She couldn’t allow them to reach the intersection. It was now or never.
Just a few feet ahead of the kids was the service entrance to the hotel—a dark recessed space adjacent to the sidewalk. It was the perfect place for an ambush. Cash gripped the pistol tightly with her finger on the trigger. She was a crack shot—she never missed. The boy didn’t stand a chance.
Cash stepped around the white sedan, leveled the pistol at the boy, and prepared to fire.
They were almost to the end of the block. Art glanced back over his shoulder. So far so good—no one seemed to be following them. Just a bit more, and they would reach the corner of E Street. From there, they could catch a cab and be far away from the hotel in a matter of minutes.
“You look cold,” said Camille.
“I’ll be okay,” Art assured her. “Besides, I think we’ve lost them.”
The words had barely left his mouth when he saw her—standing behind Camille, next to a large white car parked in the street. It was the woman in the brown jacket. She was pointing something at the boy—a gun of some sort.
Art had no time to react. There was a slight pop of air, and a small red dart implanted itself firmly in the thickly padded shoulder strap of his backpack. Art looked down—the dart had missed hitting his chest by less than an inch.
Startled by the small red dart that had suddenly appeared on the strap of Art’s backpack, Camille grabbed the dart and held it between her fingers. A tiny drop of milky liquid clung to the tip of the projectile.
Regina Cash stared in disbelief.
It had been a perfect shot, and yet—miraculously—the boy had been saved by the shoulder strap on his backpack.
The element of surprise was gone, and there was no time to load another tranquilizer dart. Cash would have to do this the hard way. She sprinted from the side of the car directly at the boy and the girl. Covering the distance in three quick strides, Cash pushed the kids toward the dark recess in the side of the hotel.