Before I can say anything, he shuts the door.
I stand there for a beat, watching the space he occupied a moment ago, and then I shift my gaze up to the camera in the ceiling.
My first impulse is to give it the finger, but I think about the collar around my neck and the zap I’d felt last night. I could handle another one of those, but then I think about how Jose or maybe another child—that girl from last night—might get zapped for the gesture instead.
I haven’t been here long and already I’ve become conditioned. I can’t even begin to imagine what these children go through on a daily basis.
As I turn away and drop the towel and start to get dressed, I decide that when I kill everybody at this place—the guards and freelancers and anybody else who’s had a hand in hurting these children—they’ll all suffer greatly.
Thirty
Louis leads me outside into the morning sunlight. The sky is clear, only a haze of clouds on the horizon, and it’s much easier to scan the area.
Besides the three buildings and the shed sitting several hundred yards away against the rise of a hill, there isn’t much else. Everything is sort of tucked in at the bottom of the hill, like we’re in half a bowl.
Last night there were guards roaming the grounds, but today they’re gone.
“This way.”
The man’s voice is flat, indifferent, and he walks ahead of me with no fear whatsoever, the fob in his hand, the Glock 17 in its holster.
We head out into an open field. Four men wait beside a folding table and chair. I peg them as the same freelancers who had abducted me from the Marshals. They each wear sunglasses, Beretta nine-millimeters holstered to their hips. Earplugs hang from strings around their necks. They don’t speak as we approach, and as we near, I notice the sniper rifle laid out on the table, along with a box of ammunition and a pair of earplugs and binoculars.
Louis stops beside the table and crosses his arms.
“We didn’t know which was your dominant hand, so we got you a Nemesis Valkyrie. Are you familiar with it?”
I nod, staring down at the ambidextrous bolt-action sniper rifle. The weapon has already been assembled and sits upright on its bipod.
Louis says, “We opted for the twenty-inch barrel. Supplied you with more than enough 6.5 Creedmoor to show us whether or not you can complete this mission.”
I nod again and step closer to the table. Each of the freelancers draws his Beretta as I reach for the rifle.
I raise an eyebrow at them.
“Relax, boys. How else am I supposed to fire this thing if I don’t touch it?”
The men don’t answer. They don’t aim their pistols at me, though, and just keep them at their sides. Ready for anything.
Louis clears his throat.
“As you can see, the rifle is not loaded. We figured you would want to do that yourself.”
The Valkyrie has a ten-round magazine. I open the box and start feeding the magazine cartridges.
“What am I shooting at today?”
Louis gestures at the field.
“We’ve set up a dozen two-liter soda bottles, as well as a few smaller bottles, roughly one thousand feet away.”
I insert the magazine and pick up the rifle, and that’s when the freelancers aim their Berettas at me. They’ve moved in a sort of V-point position—one to my left, one to my right, two behind me—so that if I were to try to take out one the rest would easily put me down.
“Like I said, boys, relax.”
The freelancers don’t look relaxed.
Louis says, “They’re simply doing their jobs. Now, why don’t you do yours?”
Ouch.
“Where do you want me to set up?”
Louis picks up the binoculars from the table, and points at the chair.
“Use the table to rest the rifle.”
I sit down on the chair and secure the plugs in my ears. Pull the rifle close to me, peer through the scope. I spot the soda bottles hiding in the grass at the other end of the field. They’ve been stripped of their labels and look to be filled with water.
My finger touches the trigger.
I take a deep breath, let it out. Take another breath … and squeeze the trigger as I release the breath.
One of the two-liters explodes.
Louis, now with plugs in his own ears, lowers the binoculars from his face and nods at me.
“Again.”
I pull back the bolt, which spits out the spent casing, and then aim at one of the smaller bottles. Squeeze the trigger again, and another bottle disappears.
This is almost too easy.
I pull back the bolt again, ready to keep shooting, when Louis shouts.
“Wait!”
I keep my finger on the trigger but don’t squeeze it. Wait a couple seconds, and when Louis remains silent, I lean back and look at him.
Hayward is headed toward us. He wears chinos and a white button-down shirt and a Panama hat. Jose and his minder follow, the boy staring at the ground as he walks.
When they reach us, Louis hands off the binoculars to his boss. Hayward peers through the binoculars at the field and then hands the binoculars back to Louis.
“Not too bad, Ms. Lin. Of course, those are stationary targets. And there isn’t any pressure, is there? You have unlimited chances to hit these targets here, while when the time comes to hit your intended target, you will only get one chance.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, coach.”
Hayward’s face colors. He glares at me for a beat, then glances down at Jose.
“You have a soft spot for children, don’t you, Ms. Lin?”
Jose stands motionless, keeping his face tilted down. It’s because I remember how he writhed in pain on the floor last night that I don’t say something smart to Hayward.
Instead, I ask, “Who’s my target?”
Hayward merely smiles.
“All in due time, Ms. Lin. You’ll be a guest here at Neverland for at least another day. You and I will get to know each other better. Plus, you’ll be able to
