Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) Page 16

  Shakespeare caught the pink weapon, gave a sly smile, and jammed it into his belt. “Thanks.” He winked at Margaret and dashed away.

  “Everybody, out, out, out!” he yelled. “Get out of the building.”

  He hit the steps and took them three at a time until he was three quarters of the way up. There. The coiled rope, rifle, and ammo lay on the ground between two rows of seats.

  He ran to it and began loading up.

  Shakespeare was not normally a praying man, but he knew it was going to take more than luck to save Everett Lester and presidential candidate Martin Sterling. He got fully locked and loaded and took off after them. With his first few strides, he whispered aloud, “Go with me, God.”

  Karen and Cole would be free, they would be safe—that’s all Everett clung to as he and Senator Sterling were shoved at gunpoint up the steps in the cold stairwell. Zaher led the pack of wolves, eight or nine of them, still in masks and breathing like gorillas as they climbed past level 5.

  “ETA two minutes, two minutes.” The voice came from behind.

  Surely the building was crawling with police and SWAT by now.

  Why hadn’t the bombs blown?

  “You okay?” Sterling said, out of breath.

  “Yeah,” Everett said.

  “Sorry to get you into this—”

  “Shut up!” Zaher yelled as the nose of a gun bashed the center of Everett’s back. “Just shut your faces. We need quiet.”

  They were communicating with someone via radio.

  They arrived at level 6 at a brown metal door. Zaher eased the door open, and the rest of them followed.

  They passed through the doorway into blackness, and everyone slowed to adjust their eyes.

  Whoa. They’d indeed reached the top of the arena. Only a skimpy black railing separated them from a six-story drop.

  Whistles sounded from below, and militant voices shouted, “Go, go, go …” SWAT members chugged down virtually every set of steps in tight single-file lines like giant mechanical snakes slithering into the vast arena.

  The seats had cleared.

  No sign of Karen or Cole. Thank God.

  The two men in orange jackets still swung above the seats, but a SWAT crew was hoisting ladders near them as people in astronaut-looking bomb suits stood by.

  SWAT team members surrounded Jack and his wife, leading them out, possibly carrying her—Everett couldn’t quite see. Good. They’ll get her to a hospital … They’ll have their baby.

  “This way.” Zaher knew right where he was going. “Silence.” He had a flashlight now. They walked quickly and quietly against the wall. Zaher stopped and waved them into a nook off to the right. It was pitch-black except for the shaky beam of his flashlight. They made several tight turns.

  “One minute. ETA one minute.” It was the same voice as the man from before. It registered with Everett for the first time that this voice didn’t sound foreign.

  They hit a narrow set of black metal steps that rose into darkness.

  Zaher grabbed the rail and started climbing.

  Then he stopped and turned back to them.

  Everett could only make out his small, watery eyes.

  “Be watching for the others,” Zaher whispered. “None of us who are alive must be left behind.”

  He hurried up the creaky steps.

  A gun jabbed the spot on Everett’s back that was already raw.

  “Move, move.”

  He had no choice. He went up, up the wobbly stairs, higher than he’d expected, feeling for each step in the dark.

  It was cold.

  A breeze whipped in.

  Night air and lights from outside.

  They were heading for the roof.

  35

  Four SWAT guys carried Pam through the concourse, radioing to a waiting ambulance. Jack and Margaret followed hand in hand, passing dozens of SWAT members storming the building. Lucy trotted alongside Pam, reassuring her. Derrick was on his phone with his photographer, Daniel.

  Finally they got to the lobby. All the doors were open, the wind was blowing in, glass was broken everywhere—and then they hit the cool night air. Hundreds of gawking people were roped off fifty yards away. Fire trucks, ambulances, and police vehicles were parked at every angle. The spotlights and red, blue, and orange flashing lights were blinding. Sirens seemed to be wailing from all directions.

  Two paramedics spotted them, waved, and jogged toward them with a stretcher. Pam lurched in agony. The contractions all seemed like one now. And she didn’t want anything to do with Jack—only Lucy could provide any form of instruction or encouragement. Where had she come from? Who had she been with? It was as if she were an angel sent specifically for them.

  “Hey, I gotta meet Daniel.” Derrick patted Jack’s back. “You’re in good hands.”

  Jack nodded and clasped his hand, then pulled him close and hugged him.

  “Can you believe it?” Jack said.

  “No, I can’t. What a night. And it ain’t over yet.”

  They loaded Pam into the ambulance.

  “Now we just gotta pray those bombs don’t go off while Lester and Sterling are still in there,” Jack said.

  Derrick nodded. “And the dudes they’re strapped to. I’m afraid for them.”

  “I know.”

  “Your girls are covered, right?”

  “Yeah, they’re with our neighbors.”

  Rebecca and Faye were fine. He’d made a couple of quick calls earlier, arranging for the girls to stay with their neighbors, Tommy and Darlene, who didn’t have children and were always thrilled to watch them.

  Pam was already in the ambulance with the two paramedics, who were taking her blood pressure and getting her adjusted.

  “We gotta go have this baby,” Jack said.

  “I know, and I got a story to cover.”

  “Be careful, dude,” Jack said.

  “I will. Text me when the baby comes.”

  “I will. Let me know what happens here.”

  Derrick slapped Jack’s hand and took off.

  “Mr. Crittendon.” The female paramedic hopped out of the ambulance. “You can meet us at Mount Sinai Hospital. Do you know how to get there?”

  Jack looked at Margaret and Lucy, then at Pam, who was staring up at the ceiling inside the ambulance.

  “Can any of us ride with you? Is that an option? I’m just trying to figure out how to do this. Lucy, you’re probably done here …”

  Lucy looked at her watch and pressed her fingers to her forehead as if torn. “I want to see this through. How about if I meet you there?”

  “Lucy.” Pam lifted her head and squinted out at them. “Can you come?”

  The EMT shook her head as if to say no, but Lucy spoke up.

  “I’m an RN,” she said. “I can help. I’ve been with her the whole night. I think she’s really far along.”

  “We normally only take one passenger—up front,” the paramedic said.

  “Please.” Jack held out a hand toward Lucy. “She’s been a lifesaver. Will you let her ride inside with Pam? I’ll take her mom, and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Gloria,” the male paramedic called. “It’s okay. Let her come. But we need to move out.”

  The female paramedic’s shoulders dropped, and she reluctantly opened the door. Lucy scrambled in, and Jack peeked inside one last time. “Honey, I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  She nodded without looking at him. “Make sure the girls are okay.”

  “I will,” Jack said. “Lucy, thank you. You’re an angel.”

  Lucy nodded and smiled almost sadly as the paramedic closed the doors and hurried around to the driver’s seat. “You can go straight to the emergency-room entrance, sir,” she said to Jack.

  “Okay.” Jac
k grabbed Margaret’s hand and glanced through the back window of the ambulance one last time.

  While the male paramedic looked down, adjusting something next to Pam, Lucy leaned right over her, holding her hand, looking her in the eyes, talking to her like a sister or midwife.

  “Okay, we better hustle.” Jack led Margaret toward the parking deck, thoughts swirling about the fastest route to the hospital, Shakespeare’s whereabouts, and the safety of Everett Lester and Martin Sterling.

  “We’re lucky to be alive,” Margaret said.

  Their eyes met, and Jack squeezed her fragile hand. He walked as fast as she could keep up.

  “Well, no matter what else happens, it looks like you’re about to have another baby,” she said.

  Jack knew he should be elated.

  Elated they’d made it out alive. Elated his girls were safe. Elated his wife was in good hands, on the way to the hospital.

  But instead, what dominated his thoughts was the cost of the ambulance, the emergency room, the meds—thousands more dollars in mounting bills he wouldn’t be able to pay.

  He hit the remote and opened the passenger door for Margaret, his chest feeling like a rigid metal cage within which his heart was about to explode from all the pressure.

  36

  When he hit the concourse level, Shakespeare was passed by an army of cops and SWAT guys blowing into the arena, dodging flustered people who were scurrying to the nearest exits—but there was no sign of Martin Sterling, Everett Lester, or Shareek Zaher and his henchmen.

  Then it clicked.

  They’re going up.

  He burst through the metal door leading back into the stairwell and charged up, up, up.

  Why would they go to the Sky Zone?

  He took as many steps at a time as he could, going up and around, up and around. Passing the fifth floor he tripped, bashing his knee, but he kept going, finally hitting the top floor completely out of breath. Breathing hard, rifle in his right arm, he eased the door open just inches, peering into darkness.

  He could hear the police commandeering the arena below. He entered the Sky Zone slowly, eyes adjusting as he felt his way along the inside wall, away from the railing that encircled the very top of the arena.

  He peered over the edge. Bomb-squad guys in astronaut-like gear were gently lowering Charlie to a stretcher. Others were in the process of getting Steve down. Why hadn’t the bombs blown yet? Had the timers malfunctioned? Or did Zaher still intend to detonate them?

  Shakespeare kept feeling his way along the wall until he came to an opening on the right. He got the Maglite off his belt, turned it on, and entered the blackness.

  He felt cool air and assumed that was the norm up there—until he kept going around several tight turns and the air got colder, actually breezy.

  Then everything hit him at once as the beam of his Maglite fell on the narrow metal steps leading up to a door—to the roof!

  One foot on the steps, ready to ascend, he froze and listened, trying to separate the police clamor below from something he thought he heard above. He strained to listen, taking several tentative steps up the ladder.

  The dull thumping noise filtered through his ears and registered, suddenly, deeply, in the center of his chest—

  Helicopter!

  He doused the Maglite and raced up the steps, confirming in his mind that his weapons were locked and loaded, hoping he wasn’t too late, that the chopper hadn’t left.

  Wind whipped near the top of the ladder, and the deafening noise from the chopper seemed to physically thump against his chest. He shook off the chill, took a deep breath, and eased his head out the opening. Sure enough, like a dream, forty yards away sat a rumbling UH-60 Black Hawk, a military chopper painted a dull black. A fractured line of dark figures, a dozen or more, snaked toward the long, intimidating aircraft, whose orange lights slowly pulsed on and off.

  Sterling and Lester were under gunpoint halfway back in the line, with Zaher leading the way toward the large sliding door of the aircraft.

  Shakespeare scanned the rooftop. His only option for cover was a large bank of heating and AC units about twenty yards to his right.

  Zaher turned back around toward his men and yelled something. Several of them cupped their ears and jogged toward him, as if they couldn’t hear. He got closer and said it again. Suddenly one of the men nodded and broke into a sprint directly toward Shakespeare.

  For a second Shakespeare froze, wondering if he’d been seen. Then he dropped back down on the ladder, out of sight, sorting quickly through his options. He swung his rifle around his back, hurried down to the ground, and hid directly behind the ladder in the pitch-blackness.

  As the hostile hit the top of the ladder, he was yelling into a radio headset. “Shareek thinks we’re missing one … You’re telling me he’s dead? You’re sure … Who? … Franco’s with us on the roof, you idiot.”

  Halfway down the ladder the man stopped, just inches away from Shakespeare’s face. “Are you positive? Because if we leave without someone, Zaher will lynch us.”

  “I’m positive.” The voice came from around the dark corner. It was another masked figure, breathing hard, right there in the room with them. “I’m the last of us. Let’s go.”

  Shakespeare froze, staring right at them in the dark, not breathing.

  Not another word was spoken.

  The two men hit the ladder and disappeared into the night.

  Shakespeare climbed just behind them, determined to save Everett Lester and the man who might well be the next president of the United States.

  Finally, Pamela caught her breath. Another nightmarish contraction had passed. Even though her face was full of sweat, she couldn’t get warm jiggling around on that stretcher in the ambulance. Lucy was right there with her, patting her face, pulling up the thin blanket, coaching her through the burning contractions.

  Marvin, the paramedic, said she was dilated nine centimeters. She couldn’t believe how fast this baby was coming—and a month early.

  Oh, God, let her be healthy.

  “Breathe in deep, Pam,” Lucy whispered. “Clear your head. You’re doing so well. You’re going to have this baby!”

  Who was this Lucy? What kind of person just stepped up to help a total stranger like this?

  Pamela felt badly about snapping at Jack, but she knew he would understand. They’d been through this twice before, so he knew to expect the worst during labor. She just hoped Shakespeare and everyone else at the arena made it out safely.

  “Mrs. Crittendon, I’m going to set you up with an electronic fetal monitor.” Marvin held up two white discs, each a little smaller than a deck of cards. “This measures your contractions, and this monitors the baby’s heart rate. They simply attach to your stomach—”

  “Oh … your hands are freezing.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” He continued settling the monitors right where he wanted them.

  He examined the moving color graphs on a lunch-box-size computer he held in both hands, touching the screen, staring at various numbers.

  “Are there any more blankets?” Pamela said.

  Lucy, who was looking at her phone, leaned close to her. “We’ve used all Marvin has. We’ll be at the hospital soon, and we’ll get you a nice warm one, okay?”

  Uh-oh.

  She closed her eyes.

  Turned within herself.

  Another one was coming.

  Focus.

  “It’s okay.” Lucy must have seen her flinch. “Keep that good breathing going right through.”

  Pamela’s eyes were glued on Lucy as the excruciating pain rose like a merciless beast. Rising, rising. Stronger. More powerful. Overcoming her …

  She blocked everything out.

  Just get through.

  Would this ever end? Would she live thro
ugh this?

  Lucy’s eyes closed. Her head moved back and forth slightly as if she was praying.

  Good.

  “Ohhhh.” Pamela squirmed. It hurt so badly.

  She felt Lucy squeeze her hand. That was okay. That was good.

  But Marvin didn’t lift his eyes from the monitor.

  In fact, he squinted closer at the screen and actually readjusted the monitor on her belly with trembling hands—as if something was terribly wrong.

  37

  Everett’s heart sparked with hope, and his adrenaline spiked. One of the attackers had dashed back to the ladder and disappeared into the arena. They would have to wait for him, giving police more time to get to the roof! He and Sterling exchanged glances and shuffled as slowly as they could.

  But just seconds later the insurgent reappeared, followed by a second. They trotted toward the group, waving at the helicopter, signaling that they were the last.

  Everett knew if he set foot on that helicopter, things would only go from bad to worse. Somehow they were going to use Sterling and Everett as pawns, or examples, or human sacrifices. He shook off an image of being blindfolded and surrounded by hooded terrorists with machetes.

  “Where’s Folsom?” Zaher barked over the deep thud of the chopper.

  The man who’d dashed back inside ran a finger across his own neck. “Dead.” He shook his head.

  The second man nodded to confirm.

  Zaher pursed his lips and stared at the ground. The line stopped moving, several of them bumping into each other. Everett looked at Sterling and then back to the door leading to the ladder.

  A dark figure moved.

  Everett looked away, not wanting to draw attention, but his senses revved with hope.

  It had to be the police or SWAT.

  He told himself to be ready to drop and roll—or flat out sprint.

  Zaher yakked on his radio. The insurgents were restless, eyeing one another, turning their shoulders, scanning the rooftop—waiting for Zaher to order them onboard.

  “Oh God, get us out of this,” Everett said aloud beneath the blaring noise of the chopper. “Protect us. Bring fire down on these guys.”