Susan explained her choice of location. “We have ten different groups combing all the likely places. Then, it hit me. We can’t think like an adult, or even like a normal child. We have to think like Sharicka.”
Remington took over, “Obviously, she can’t drive. The drivers of any type of public transportation will question an unaccompanied four-year-old. She can’t pay for a cab. Lawrence believes there’s no actual contact between the terrorists and the patients, that the bombs or components are left in a certain location and the means for using them is programmed. So, it’s unlikely the masterminds even realize one of their victims is a child.”
Susan found it difficult to think of Sharicka as a victim. “I got hold of her parents, and we brainstormed places she might go. Based on what they told me, and the location of the bomb materials uncovered by USR, we’re almost certain she’ll strike the Knickerbocker Mall.”
Kendall rubbed his cheek, then winced in pain. “I presume you’ve told everyone to converge on the mall.”
Susan made an uncomfortable face. “I’ve told Lawrence about my theory, but we can’t put everyone in the same place without either alerting Sharicka or leaving too much unguarded. She’s bright, Kendall, probably a genius. And, unlike those of the other patients, her mind isn’t muddled; she’s just . . . mean,” she said, using Sharicka’s grandmother’s term.
Remington surreptitiously passed a pistol across Susan to Kendall. Kendall made no move to take it, only studying it through widened eyes.
“Take it,” Susan whispered, not mentioning she had refused the same proffering. She knew doing so might prove foolish, might even cost her her life, but she doubted she could pull the trigger under any circumstances.
Kendall just stared at it, forcing Susan to cover it with her shirt. “Couldn’t you get something . . . less lethal?”
Susan flinched. Remington had gone through all of this with her earlier, but his tone gave no indication of growing impatience. “There are no effective nonlethal alternatives.” He said it with such authority, Susan believed him without question. “Those all take time to work and require us to get real close. Sharicka only needs a split second to trigger a bomb.” He added something new. “We’re just lucky the SFH, or whoever, didn’t set them up with a deadman’s switch.”
Susan had to ask. “What’s a deadman’s switch?”
Remington didn’t miss a beat. “It’s a switch that’s activated by releasing the button rather than pressing it.”
Susan made a strangled noise. It made sense for a professional assassin to use such a thing. If someone took him down, it would initiate, rather than stop, the blast. “It’s a good thing we’re not dealing with that level of expertise.”
Remington brought his full gaze to bear on her. “Susan, we’re dealing with people who can reprogram nanorobots. How much more expertise do you need?”
Susan could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck rising and sweat trickling down her spine. She had understood the danger of their mission but never so much as at this moment.
“What about Tasers?” Kendall hissed.
Susan had not thought of that, but Remington still had an answer. “Private Tasers have been illegal since 2017; unlike guns, they’re not protected by the Second Amendment. This isn’t ideal, but it’s better.” He shook the pistol slightly, bumping it against Susan’s leg. “I’d much rather have rifles, but I don’t own any small enough to sneak through the city. At least, this gains us a little more distance.”
Kendall wore a bemused expression. He did not look wholly convinced.
Remington glanced out the window, then back at Kendall. “Given Sharicka’s size, a Taser is still technically a lethal weapon. They also have a high rate of failure used against psychiatric patients, and a stray Taser barb could theoretically set off the bomb itself.”
Kendall’s jaw set. He accepted the gun, shoving it into his pocket. “I don’t have . . . much experience.”
“You don’t need much,” Remington whispered matter-of-factly. “It has a red dot optical site, so you barely have to aim. Flip off the safety. Point. Pull the trigger.”
Susan knew Remington carried a pistol as well. She did not know enough about firearms to guess the type. “Let’s hope we don’t need it.”
“And thank God we have it, if we do,” Remington added.
Chapter 23
By the time the tram drew up near Knickerbocker Mall, Remington had shoved the front of the radiation detector through the open window and was reporting on the strength of the signal. Driven to action, Susan glanced around restlessly, attuned to the change in the pitch of the brakes that would signal it was safe to leave the tram. “Are you sure she’s close? She’s definitely not there yet?”
Remington pulled the device back in the window. “Of course, I’m not sure. I’ve got no more experience with this thing than you do.”
Although she could not feel the vibrations Remington did, Susan could hear the faint clicks suggesting someone with the proper radiation tags had come within range of detection.
“It’s weak, but nothing else is supposed to set it off at all.”
Susan caught sight of the mall, still standing, and relief flooded through her.
The brakes finally made the proper hissing tone. The seat belts clicked off. The doors flowed open automatically, and the three R-1s rushed out with the crowd. Once on the sidewalk, people scattered in all directions; and the three headed directly for the mall, half a block north. Four stories high and completely brick, it squatted between smaller, thinner shops like an ancient castle. It had three entrances, but the Ansons had steered Susan to the one facing North Atlantic Street. It was the closest to the bus stop, and Sharicka had always liked the gargoyles overlooking it.
Remington grabbed Kendall’s arm. “Find a way up on the roof and use your detector. You know what she looks like. If you see her headed for an entrance, shoot her.” He released Kendall, leaving him sputtering, then took Susan’s arm and guided her swiftly toward the building.
Only then, Susan could see the monitor going crazy. The clicks came fast and furiously, and the vibration of the thing shook Remington’s arm. “She’s here, Susan.”
Susan’s chest squeezed shut. She could feel her pulse hammering in her temples, and a lump formed in her throat. She craned her neck toward the gargoyle-decorated entrance, but she found no sign of Sharicka Anson. “I don’t see her.” She looked frantically through and around the passing people. It only made sense the girl would act in broad daylight, with the mall full of shoppers; but the crowds drove Susan wild. Having to see around them made it difficult enough, but Sharicka’s small size only worsened the situation.
Remington broke into a run, and Susan chased him. She saw uniforms near the door, and relief flooded her. “There’s security, Remy. They can intercept her. We just need to let them know —”
Remington’s pace did not slow. “Let them know what? How are we going to convince them a four-year-old is armed and dangerous?”
Susan understood the problem, but it did not seem insurmountable. “Once they detain her, we can show them the bomb.”
Remington shook her off. “By the time we tell them, she’s that much farther. By the time we convince them . . .” He threw up his hands suddenly. “Boom!”
Susan glared at him. “What the hell did you do that for?”
They skidded to a stop in front of the entrance. Susan cast about madly, looking for Sharicka. She saw no sign of the little girl, but her Vox shuddered. Nerves frayed, Susan jumped at the sudden touch, then stabbed the button to answer. “What?”
“It’s Kendall. I’m in position. I think she’s coming around the back.” Remington came to the same conclusion almost simultaneously. “She’s around the other side!” The radiation detector had grown calm in his hands, blocked by the building and the layers of stores between them. “Go! Go! Go!”
Susan raced around a building that abruptly seemed enormously wide, hoping Kendall could stop Sharicka, by
