0:51.
0:50.
That had to be it.
Damn it! She was one section too high and two to the left.
'He has to be in section one-twenty-five!' she shouted into her transceiver. 'Right between the goal posts!'
0:44.
0:43.
Lauren glanced at the game as she sprinted toward the exit to the main corridor. The Lions had crossed the thirty and were definitely within field goal range.
Second down and six.
Time out on the field.
She shoved through the herd working its way in the direction of the concession stands to beat the halftime rush and dashed toward the stairs to the lower level. Her footsteps echoed as she leapt them three at a time, narrowly avoiding the groups leisurely working their way down. She exploded through the door and raced toward the gap under a sign painted with the numbers one-two-five, where several agents were already converging.
A deafening cheer erupted from all around her, making the entire structure shake.
She hurried through the opening in time to see a replay of the touchdown pass to the corner of the end zone replayed on the big screen. The offense was already running to the sideline as the special teams jogged inside the five to line up for the extra point.
She caught up with the agents at the bottom of the stairs and took up position with the goal posts at her back as the net was raised behind her. Frantically, she scoured the sea of faces, but didn't latch on to one that looked suspicious. The man could be in the other end zone, waiting for his opportunity a hundred and fifty yards away.
'He's not here!' she screamed.
God, did they really think they'd be able to isolate one lone---?
'There!' one of the agents shouted. He pointed up into the stands.
She followed his extended arm to where a man stood, maybe fifteen rows up, dead center, his bare torso and bulging gut smeared with Honolulu blue and silver, his face painted to look like a lion with savage jaws and fiery eyes. He was the only person not pumping his fists or bouncing or whooping like a savage. It was as though he were totally immobile, frozen in place. He just stared past them at the field, focused solely on the place kicker as he lined up with the holder, took two long steps backward, three to the side, and prepared to make the kick.
Lauren knew that the cameras would now be on her back, and millions of people around the world would be staring straight through the gap between the goal posts.
The man raised a metallic object, pinched between his index finger and his thumb. It was slender and short, and flashed when the lights reflected from it.
The world around her slowed to a crawl.
She heard the referee whistle, which started the play clock.
The crowd returned its focus to the game.
The man swelled as he took a deep breath and brought the object to his mouth.
Agents converged from both sides, shoving past the people in the seats beside him, knocking them into the adjacent rows. One agent leapt for the man and seized his wrist before the object touched his lips. Another tackled them both to the ground and they disappeared from sight.
A thumping sound behind her.
The entire stadium roared again.
The ball hit the net and tumbled down toward the turf.
She felt relief like she'd never experienced before as the agents led the man into the aisle, his arms cuffed behind him, and shoved him up the stairs to where a dozen armed men waited.
III
The man sat across from her, his ankles and wrists shackled and connected to another chain around his waist, which was, in turn, fastened to an eyebolt in the floor of the modified transport carrier. He stared across the bed of the enclosed cab at her from that horrible painted lion's face, itself significantly less menacing than what she saw behind his sadistic black eyes. Had she not known they were there, she never would have been able to detect the latex cheek, nose, chin and brow prosthetics that dramatically altered the configuration of his face. But that was him, all right, the mass murderer responsible for the deaths of more than three hundred men, women and children at the Lithium Springs Fairgrounds. Sitting not more than four feet away from her, studying her in the expectant silence as the road shuddered beneath them and the four soldiers, one to either side of each of them, fondled their assault rifles, praying for any excuse to use them.
Lauren wore the beekeeper's suit that had protected her earlier. The Marine unit wore matching outfits in woodland camo. The yet-to-be-identified man wore no such protection. Lauren was anxious to get him into the CT scanner to see what was inside of him, but based on his distended abdomen and the foul scent that radiated from the seepage in the seat of his pants, she had a pretty good idea of what she would find. Every few minutes, he doubled over in obvious pain, but always recovered and offered them the kind of smug, bloody-lipped grin she was certain the devil himself wore.
She turned the small metallic object over and over in her gloved hands. It was a simple device, one found at any pet store around the world, and yet one that was as deadly as any detonator.
'Give it a blow,' the soldier beside her said. 'Just a little one. Let's see what being eaten alive from the inside out does to that fucking smile.'
Lauren clenched the dog whistle in her fist and looked away. There was a part of her that wanted nothing more.
'
'Tight game and we're missing it thanks to this douche bag,' the guard to the man's right said. 'You say this truck's perfectly sealed, right doc?'
The man continued to stare directly at her with that horrible expression on his face. Lauren felt the same crawling sensation on her skin she remembered so well from the first time she wore this suit.
'We found your disposable cell phone. Hey, you listening to me, asshole? We're tracing the number of the call you made right before we got you,' the guard to the man's left said. He held the phone only inches from the man's face. 'Started celebrating a little early, didn't you, Mohammed or Mahmud or whatever the hell your name is? It's only a matter of time before we take out your whole damn terrorist cell. Maybe we'll get you all together in a little room and blow that whistle of yours.'
'Aren't you supposed to do one of those Jihadi
The men in camo laughed, their faces shadows behind their netting.
The truck slowed and veered to the right. Lauren recognized the driveway leading deeper into the CDC complex by the gentle side-to-side swaying and the rocking of the speed bumps. They slowed, and then sped up again.
'
'My people have been on stand-by since yesterday afternoon,' Lauren said. 'Pull around to the rear entrance.
