Chapter Seventy-eight
The
December 21, 8:01 P.M. EST
“Hello, asshole,” I said.
“Are you always this crude? It’s unbecoming for a person of rank.”
“Actually,” I said, “I’d really enjoy showing you how crude I can be.”
“Do you expect to do something right here and now? With all of these important people around?”
“Only if I have to.”
“I could kill you where you stand,” murmured Santoro, smiling faintly. His hands were in his pockets; the handle of the knife was hard against his right palm.
“Really? Would be fun to test that theory.”
“Are you always this foolish?”
“Do you always wear a dancing red light on your tie?”
Santoro looked down and saw the pinpoint of a laser sight hovering over his heart. He looked up to find the shooter but could not see him.
“Don’t bother looking,” I said. “He’ll find you if you twitch the wrong way. Now—let’s go.”
Santoro spread his hands. He looked amused. “Very well.”
Over the PA system the emcee announced Prince William. The applause was absolutely thunderous. It was probably going to be a great speech; it would probably make me want to grab for my checkbook. But I had other things I wanted to hear more.
A waitress stepped up beside Santoro. Beaky nose, blue eyes, short-barreled Ruger held under her tray. “Sure you don’t want a crab puff?”
Santoro smiled with genuine appreciation.
I let Santoro lead the way belowdecks. We passed another waiter and at least fifty passengers hurrying up to hear the Prince. Santoro did not try to escape, didn’t grab anyone to use as a hostage, not even when he saw that the laser sight was gone. That worried me a little, because it showed a level of confidence consistent with a belief that he was going to slip this punch.
At the bottom of the stairs I told Santoro to turn right. He did and we entered another corridor, and this one was also packed with people.
I tapped my earbud. “Find me a clear route.”
All I got was a crackle of white noise.
“Cowboy to command.”
“It won’t work,” said Santoro calmly.
DeeDee stepped up and put the barrel of her pistol against Santoro’s spine and we steered him into an alcove. She patted him down. Not a thorough job with everyone watching, but she found his pistol and took it, and took the knife from his pocket. She also removed a small syringe and handed it to me, then shifted the pistol from his back to his temple.
“You have one second to tell us how you’re jamming this before I blow your shit up right here right now.”
“No need for threats,” the Spaniard said. “All communications are being jammed by a system even I cannot disable.”
“What’s the syringe for?”
“It’s epinephrine. I have allergies.”
“Right,” I said, pocketing the syringe.
Above deck I heard the reverb of the Prince’s speech.
“Sound’s back on, Boss,” said DeeDee.
“No. The public-address systems are fine,” said Santoro. “We want that noise. But nothing that is happening here is getting out.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I growled. “I thought this whole thing was to broadcast the Kings’ big bonanza event.”
He smiled like a crocodile. “What makes you think
“C’mon, Boss,” growled DeeDee. “Let’s drag this shitbag back to the suite. I guarantee you I’ll find—”
And Santoro moved. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone move that fast. He pivoted and struck DeeDee in the throat with his left hand and then flicked his right so that a sliver of bright metal dropped into his palm. His hand was a blur and then DeeDee was falling against me, blood exploding from her face, a scream tearing itself from her throat.
Ghost and I lunged for Santoro at the same time, no more than a half second after his cut, but his hand was already moving. I felt heat in my chest and then I was falling. I landed hard on Ghost’s back and heard him yelp in pain as we both crashed down together.
I heard people in the hallway scream—first in shock and then in pain as Santoro leaped into the crowd, cutting left and right, and then burst through on the other side, running at full speed down the hall.
Chapter Seventy-nine
The
December 21, 8:03 P.M. EST
The video feeds went dead all at once.
“What the hell?” Circe yelled.
Church was right there. “What is it?”
“We lost video and audio—”
Outside the cabin they heard shouts. And then gunfire.
Chapter Eighty
The
December 21, 8:04 P.M. EST
I had two choices: see to DeeDee or chase Santoro. I cut a quick look down and saw that she was still alive. Her face was a bloody ruin and she had one hand clamped over her left eye. Blood welled from between her fingers.
“Go!
I hauled myself to my feet. Ghost squirmed out from under, whining and trembling. I couldn’t check him out, either.
I ran.
