That number was in keeping with what she’d anticipated. She was pleased with her rough calculations as to how many people had been touched by the children and how many of those people would have touched someone, who then touched another and so forth.
At least 50 percent of all the people who’d gathered here.
A touch was all it took.
And given the scale of the victim pool, with people coming and going and touching others, the variant would be carried beyond the park and the numbers would grow and grow.
All Sutsoff needed to do was submit the range.
“How about everyone, except for me and little Will?” She smiled to herself.
She entered the parameters, ensuring it excluded her and the baby.
No harm will come our way.
Entering the activation code would require about five minutes.
As Sutsoff was about to start, another loud cheer floated over the crowd and people around her got to their feet. The president had called for everyone to “rise up, show your human side. Reach out to your neighbor.” He had formed a human hand-holding chain on the stage. It stretched into the crowd which swayed as people joined a soloist in the chorus of “Give Peace a Chance.” Sutsoff declined to hold anyone’s hand but encouraged others to hold the baby’s hand.
When the song ended, the crowd sat down to wait for the next rock band to perform, leaving Sutsoff enthralled. She had not expected this hand-holding exercise. She estimated that 90 percent of the people here now carried the variant.
All she had to do was submit the activation code and press Enter.
She looked at her keyboard and listened to the sounds of happy families talking and laughing, then lifted her face to the sky and swallowed.
After today, the world will never be the same.
She positioned her laptop to enter the complex code.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” A man’s voice boomed through the sound system. “May we have your attention please for a very important announcement?”
Sutsoff stopped typing and stared at the nearest large screen.
It filled with pictures of her and the baby, images showing them exiting the Tellwood hotel. There were several photos that changed every four seconds in a slide show. Crisp head-to-toe color shots credited to the World Press Alliance.
Sutsoff was stunned.
“We have a serious medical situation,” the voice boomed, “for Mary Anne Conrad who is traveling with her grandson William John Conrad. We need to locate them immediately. We believe they may be here, so please look around you. If you see her, please point her out to the nearest security or medical official. Please, do it now.”
Waves of mild concern rolled through the park as people looked around them and back at the giant screens displaying Sutsoff’s photos, now being enlarged to show details of the stroller and the baby’s shoes.
Still wearing her large hat and dark glasses, Sutsoff turned to the group of teenaged boys on the lawn beside her.
“I think she’s right over there.” Sutsoff pointed to the east.
“What?” a boy with metal rings in his nose said.
“The lady they’re looking for-see, by the man with the flag?”
“Big deal, whatever.”
Sutsoff paused her work, closed her laptop, gathered the baby and her things then headed west to the nearest exit. She remained calm. All she needed was to find a safe place for five minutes to enter the code. She had to get out of the park now and get as far away as possible.
Gannon and Emma stared at the screen, then each other.
“That’s pretty good,” he said.
In the vicinity of the southwest quadrant, an NYPD detective locked onto the woman pushing a stroller among the crowd. He compared the stroller shown on the big screen to the stroller he saw a short distance away. They were the same blue color, and the same dancing elephant patch and the same wheels. Then he focused on the baby’s shoes.
It was them.
He lifted his radio to his mouth.
Gannon and Emma were not far from the Delacorte Theater when Gannon’s cell phone rang.
“Jack, it’s Mike. We just heard on the scanner that they spotted them near West Drive not far from Seventy- ninth.”
“We’ll head there now. Alert the photographers.”
Gannon and Emma started running.
Lancer and several NYPD officers bolted from the police command point on West Drive, at the Eighty-third Street level. They navigated their way through the park toward Central Park West, while above them a police helicopter rolled into position to offer support. Radios crackled with updates from the breathless detective who was now running.
“She’s on foot on Central Park West, north of the museum. She’s moving fast, I could lose her if she gets in a cab. Goddammit, am I the only one watching her? Wake up, you guys!”
Gannon and Emma worked their way from the park. Mike Kemp called as a chopper thudded above them.
“Give me your location,” Kemp said.
“Uh-” Gannon looked around quickly “-Central Park West, around Eighty-first.”
“Okay, go south, Jack. You’re close! Keep the line open.”
Gannon could hear Kemp crank up the scanner volume.
At that moment, he and Emma saw a CBS news crew running to a parked news van, a reporter with a phone pressed to his ear, just ahead of a camera operator.
Kemp was shouting in Gannon’s phone.
“She’s crossing from the east to the west side of Central Park West!”
As Gannon and Emma crossed to the west side and ran south, they saw flashing emergency lights several blocks away. Two parked NYPD patrol cars had swung into the street, their tires squealing as they headed north toward them.
Closer to them but a few blocks away, Emma glimpsed a woman pushing a stroller across the traffic lanes of Central Park West.
“I see her! I see Tyler!” Emma screamed.
Two blocks ahead, Sutsoff, pushing the stroller, heard the sirens and saw the chopper. Her ears were ringing from the blood rush of her racing heart.
Her medication was wearing off.
All she needed was five minutes.
“NYPD, freeze!”
A man behind her was running, gaining on her. She saw the badge on a chain around his neck. Police cars were roaring toward her. She glimpsed a hotel entrance a block ahead. If she could make it, then get up the elevator in time to hide for five minutes.
She just needed five minutes.
“NYPD. Freeze or I’ll shoot!”
Gannon and Emma, racing south, were a block away when they saw Sutsoff, who was approaching them, throw a look over her shoulder at the man chasing her.
From her position, Emma saw the stroller, saw the little face of the baby strapped in it and saw the shouting cop behind Sutsoff draw his gun.
“No! Don’t shoot!” Emma screamed.
Emma thrust her palms out just as Sutsoff pushed the stroller into the street against the red light and the chrome grill of a ten-ton Brooklyn Gravel Service dump truck catapulted Sutsoff thirty feet, onto the windshield of a Mercedes, before she bounced into the middle of Central Park West.
