A quick glance up at the monitors—the crowd was scattered, everyone on edge and trigger-happy after recent events.
Something hit Weick’s drone. A shot from somewhere below.
The remote beeped—the top right of the screen blinked with the message “Engine Failure - Land Immediately.”
With one last inhale and exhale, Laird threw the joint into the ashtray. The remote between both of his sweat-covered palms, he turned the drone, heading it straight toward the UCAV. He couldn’t trust the missiles to make it. It was too high of a chance that he would hit civilians.
On the monitors above, Axtell was being escorted off the stage by the body she’d been wrestling with—Diana Weick.
The back of the UCAV was right in front of him on the blinking tablet, warning signs all over, and with one last push on the remote, Laird slammed his drone into theirs. There was a burst of orange, metal against metal, and then nothing but black.
The monitors showed the explosion, metal parts and fire raining down on the rows of chairs below, a huge mass of red and orange clouds stretching across the sky. The news cut, some of them showing frantic and confused anchors, others cutting to a “technical difficulties” screen.
Laird put the remote down. Quickly rolled himself a new joint and leaned back in the office chair, knowing that, at the very least, he’d done his job.
Chapter 24
Diana Weick
Washington DC
The flames stretched ahead—the heat at their backs. Drone parts flew everywhere, some of them catching onto jackets and purses that had been left behind by the crowd in front of the veteran affairs building.
“On me,” Diana said to Axtell, guiding her along the side of the building.
“What the hell is happening, Weick?” Axtell snapped.
“Readers,” she replied. “They could still be after you just for the sake of it since the UCAV is down.”
“Just for the sake of it?”
“They do love sending a message.”
They pushed through the crowded sidewalk of confused bystanders, Diana doing her best to keep her hand on the back of Axtell’s neck, ready to push her head down at the sign of another sniper shot. They were going to shoot her, just to be sure, and then blow up everyone that was in attendance.
Thank God for Laird. It was something that Diana hadn’t thought in a long time, but it had never been truer than now. The UCAV was a crumpled pile of metal. So was Taras’s gift, but Diana was probably better off without it. Laird was definitely better off without it.
They made their way into a multilevel mall, advertisements covering the windows and unaware DC citizens shopping for bubble tea. Amber met them exactly where they’d discussed—a bowling alley in the basement of the mall.
“Fatalities?” Diana asked as soon as she saw him leaning back on a plastic chair, wing-tipped shoes propped up against the bottom of the electronic scorekeeper.
“Two,” Amber said. “One from a piece of the drones and another from a sniper shot.”
“Sniper was Snowman?”
Amber nodded. She noticed a certain stress across his forehead, in and around his dark stare, more crow’s feet than usual.
“Any officials?” Axtell asked. They both looked at her, standing with her hands behind her back, her uniform only slightly off-kilter after the assassination attempt.
“Is that all that matters?” Diana snapped, sitting down next to Amber and taking a moment to wipe the sweat from the back of her neck and her forehead. The bowling alley was dark, blacklights illuminating the light wood floors and greasy fingerprints along shined bowling balls. Three lanes down, a group of middle-aged men were complaining about immigrants and throwing their personalized bowling balls right along the tiny black arrows. Two of them were staring over the back of their chairs, one of them with his eyes glued to Amber’s gun bag that was leaning against the ball return.
When Axtell didn’t reply, Diana said, “We can’t stay here.”
Almost on cue, three soldiers came through the glass doors at the bottom of the stairs. They were being led by Major General Hoagland who gave them all a nod as he came to stand in between the plastic chairs. With a flick of his hand, his soldier cronies started to evacuate the bowling alley, escorting the middle-aged men out with cheese dust and sticky beer still on their fingers.
“You knew all that was going to go down, hey?” Hoagland said, looking right at Diana. “And you chose not to tell.”
Diana pressed her lips together, staring up at his round red face and shaved head, part of her wishing the Readers had gotten their job done with him.
“I could arrest you right now, Weick,” Hoagland whispered, bending down in front of her like he was a parent scolding his child. “You’re too pretty for prison.”
Her fists moved up but Amber grabbed her, pinning her arms down from beside her and looking at her with a slight shake of her head. It would feel so good to break the bones in Hoagland’s nose. Diana yanked her arms out of Amber’s grip and wrapped her hands underneath her legs to try and keep control.
“I guess that means you’re not going to arrest me,” Diana said. The smell of this place—nacho cheese and the spray that they used to clean the shoes. At least it wasn’t the smell of smoke and fire that had been so persistently following them everywhere they went.
“You’re lucky you re-enlisted before Ratanake got himself shot,” Hoagland noted. “Technically, you’re still a SEAL. Technically, you work for me and I want to nail these bastards as much as you do.”
“That just can’t be true,” Diana said.
Hoagland smiled a little and said, “I know where Zabójca is headed.”
At that, Amber not only stiffened but stood up entirely from the chair, circling around behind the soldiers. Diana tried to watch him from either side of Hoagland’s thick torso but he was like a wall of camouflage.
“So you’re
