135

Annie finally pushed her way into the north entrance to the stadium.

She couldn’t hear a thing over her earpiece due to all the screaming.

She called the command center on her satellite phone. Not wanting to bother Roseboro, whose hands were more than full, she asked for a deputy watch officer she’d met with. When he came on the line, she explained her location. “I’m under the jumbotron. Pull up the seating chart.”

“All right—wait one,” the deputy said.

Not only had DSS and the Secret Service required every person to have an assigned seat, they had also required attendees to upload their photo IDs to a special app a full week before the event so their names and images could be run against the terrorist watch list.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” the deputy finally replied.

“I’m looking for a woman by the name of Marjorie Ryker,” Annie shouted over the din. “Last name: Romeo. Yankee. Kilo. Echo. Romeo.”

“Got it—Ryker, Marjorie—she was in the United Club skybox.”

“Where’s that?”

“East side—second floor—box 204.”