“These are my notes from when I interviewed the head of the military base. He told me they can range up to three hundred meters,” she says.
That dampens the mood.
“That means some guy carrying the ADS could be in any of those apartment blocks, at least two streets back,” Caitlin says. “We’re literally surrounded.”
My glance goes to Riya, wishing she didn’t have to be part of this panic, watching what could be the last minutes of her life tick down, slip past, while we try to figure out what to do. While we seem so powerless. I look at Luca and Caitlin.
“We need two more people up in the attic,” I say. “Covering the areas facing east and west.”
I glance at Caitlin. Technically I’m the best sniper. But I want to stay with Riya. In case.
“Police are opening the front gate,” Ethan advises over the comms. “They’re coming in.”
“Luca, let’s do this,” Caitlin says. They run for the stairs, heading to the attic to cover the extra sniper posts.
That leaves just Riya and me at the door as the police start hammering on it. Riya turns to me.
“Put your hands up,” she says. “In case they’re trigger-happy.”
She shouts through the door in Hindi, identifying herself, calming down the situation, while also playing for time. But she takes too long; they start ramming at the door, trying to break it down. Riya shouts again and the battering stops. She opens the front door, slowly, telling them what she’s doing the whole time, keeping them feeling like they are in control. I keep my hands raised.
The police team push inside, covering me with an automatic rifle. Riya holds out her detective badge and ID, tries to establish a connection with the men. Four of the policemen are inside, each of them armed. There’s a ton of urgent chatter back and forth between Riya and the first cop on the scene. He’s a young guy, in a blue uniform and cap and a bulletproof vest. He keeps his rifle trained on me and Riya switches their conversation from Hindi to English so I can follow.
“This young woman works for the owner of the school,” she says. “She can be trusted.”
Hesitant, the cop lowers his gun.
“I’m Riya. What’s your name?” she tries.
“Dev,” he answers. “Who else is here?”
“Just the girls and the headmistress,” Riya says, not missing a beat.
“Where are the girls?” Dev asks.
Riya dodges the question. “Look, I have very good reason to think the girls are safer inside. . . .”
Dev ignores her. He jerks his head and snaps at his three colleagues to go find the girls. They disappear into the building.
“They are on the ground floor, at the back,” I call after them. The last thing I want is police crawling all over the building, or anywhere near the attic, where our four snipers are lying in wait.
Now Sunil comes onto Riya’s phone.
“It’s my boss. Detective Sunil Patel,” she tells Dev, flicking on the speaker.
“I’m literally door-to-door with Maneesh at the apartment blocks around the school, with the picture of the ADS,” Sunil says. “Someone saw a man pull it out of a van not long ago. But they don’t know where he went and we haven’t found him yet.”
“Dev,” Riya says. “Detective Patel and I have been working this case from the start, and I believe Family First wants you to take the girls outside, so they can kill them. Please, try to understand . . .”
It sounds outlandish, and in any event, Dev is clearly not in charge here—he is a highly trained order-taker. Worse, all this information is making him nervous. He tunes us out, and listens to a crackling voice on his radio, paying no more attention to Riya. She looks at me, desperate, then her eyes move over my shoulder to where a column of wide-eyed girls is marching through the corridor, approaching the foyer. The other three armed policemen walk behind them, ensuring they all stay together and keep moving. Some of them start to cry, others to ask questions, but Jaya encourages them to stay quiet.
Dev turns to us.
“This school will be attacked at noon—in three minutes,” Dev says. “My orders are clear. Get everyone evacuated now.”
What an idiot this guy is, saying that right in front of the girls. A ripple of fearful gasps rises up into the tense atmosphere, and the girls all surge forward, wanting to get out. Dev opens the front door and, instinctively, I run over and shut it. The sudden slam echoes in the foyer, sending a shiver through all of us.
“Stay back,” I yell at the students.
Immediately, Dev’s weapon is thrust upward into my face. Riya cries out, but I step back and raise my hands again. The last of the girls are here now, pooling into the back of the hallway.
“Turn around and face the wall,” Dev barks at me. “Hands on your head.”
I throw Riya an agonized look as I obey. Behind me, Jaya comes forward.
“Officer, is this really necessary?” she demands.
With my hands still on my head I can’t see my watch, but I know the deadline is right on top of us.
“Anything, anyone?” I mutter under my breath, willing our attic team to give us some good news.
“Nothing,” Ethan replies. “We’re scanning but they’re likely waiting for the girls to exit before they show themselves. I don’t know how we’ll see them in time. . . .”
Riya hears that and exchanges a look with me. She tries talking to Dev again, tries appealing to the other cops, but they keep back behind the girls and generally behave as if she doesn’t exist. I watch the policeman hold open the door once again. The girls are shepherded out toward the threshold. Toward their deaths.
I turn, braving Dev’s wrath.
“I have to stop this,” I say to Riya.
Riya shakes her head at me. “And get killed?” she says. “It’s not your time. If anything, it’s mine.”
But there’s no space for this conversation now, and the strange thing is, I don’t feel afraid of dying
