Amira’s adrenaline spiked, and a roar unleashed itself inside her head, mixed with a buzzing triggered from the deafening gunshots. Everything was muffled, but she breathed through it, knowing her hearing would return. The man she’d saved shouted at her, but she couldn’t discern the words, drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat and the buzzing inside her head.
The man in the doorway moved into the Black Box, and he looked at her, his pistol aimed at the floor but in her direction, just in case she might be a threat.
A dam burst inside her head, and sound roared in with an intense split-second of vertigo, although the buzzing loudly remained.
“Ms. Cerone, I said, ‘Are you hurt?’ I’m with the FBI. Is there anyone else in here? And can you please lower that weapon?”
He knows my name. How? And then it hit her – Susan. She made it out and somehow got help.
The revolutions in her mind caught back up to the pace of reality, and she lowered the pistol, a flood of relief that the violent encounter had ended. You did it, Princess. I knew you could. The love she felt in that moment for her father enveloped her.
“There’s another one behind you,” Amira replied, pointing with her left hand, the pistol in her right. “I don’t know if he’s dead. I slammed his head against the wall pretty hard.” She heard the crack of his skull in her own head and shook it off. “Who are you?”
“I’m with an FBI task force, but I’ll explain later. First, is there a light switch in here? Also, the man you shot, you think you can kick that pistol away from him, if you’re up to it? I need to secure this other guy in case he wakes up.”
Up to it? Before she could catch herself, Amira shot back defiantly, “I shot him. I think I can take his gun, too.”
The man paused at her confidence and fierceness, stared at her briefly, as if seeing her truly for the first time. He nodded, and said, “I’m Trevor Emerson. And I have no doubt you can.”
Chapter 4
The aftermath of the combat – which is how Amira’s mind catalogued it – felt like a Sunday drive of serenity compared to the chaos and violence of the encounter. She and Susan sat on the couch in the main lobby, the same one she’d kicked the first attacker over, as College Park Police, federal law enforcement, and paramedics swarmed over the scene in the lobby and the Kogod Theater. The final body count had not fallen in favor of Susan’s abductors – three had been killed, and the one Amira had knocked unconscious had been airlifted to DC’s MedStar Washington Hospital Center trauma unit. His skull was fractured, and the paramedics weren’t sure he’d survive a lengthy ambulance ride.
Unbeknownst to Amira and Susan, once they’d fled into the Black Box, the gunshots they’d heard in the lobby had been Trevor Emerson and his FBI partner engage and neutralize – fatally – the two additional attackers they’d seen approach the entrance. Shattered glass and the two bodies, covered in white sheets, lay just inside the double set of doors.
FBI Special Agent Carter Johnson had immediately informed Susan that her parents, who lived in northern Virginia and worked in DC, were safe under the protection of a team of FBI agents.
“You know why they targeted me, don’t you?” Susan asked Special Agent Johnson.
He was in his late-thirties, short brown hair, deep lines under his eyes for a man his age. He exchanged a look at Trevor, who shrugged and nodded, and responded, “I do. I think some of it should come from your parents, but what I’ll tell you is that these men worked for the Chinese government, specifically, their intelligence service, and they were trying to use you as leverage against your parents. But I think the rest should come from them. You should know you and your parents aren’t in any more danger. The US government is going to ensure that. In fact, your parents are very brave, honorable people, but like I said, you need to talk to them.”
Susan nodded and pulled tighter across her shoulders the warm blanket the paramedics had offered. With the front doors propped open and shattered, the cool November air had invaded the space, creating a chill that touched everything in the lobby.
Amira squeezed her friend’s hand. “At least this is over.”
Susan looked at her friend, her eyes welling up. “I owe you my life. Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out and hugged Amira, forging a bond the two would never break. “Love you,” Susan added with sincerity and no awkwardness.
“Love you, too,” Amira replied.
“Ms. Cerone, can I speak to you separately?” Trevor asked.
The two girls disengaged, and Amira looked up at Trevor. “Sure. My parents won’t be here for another fifteen minutes or so.”
Amira had called her father as soon as she’d retrieved her dance bag from the Kay Theater. She’d conveyed to him the basic outline of what had happened, he’d told her how proud he was of her, that he loved her, and then he’d let her mother, Amara, talk to her, comforting her in a way that only a mother could. She’d tried to explain to her mother that she was fine, but her mother had insisted that they’d come and get her at the Clarice. While the FBI would be
