“Er, maybe you ought to listen to him,” Larry said. “Just a suggestion.”
Carl ignored him. “That’s it! I’m getting out of here.” He yanked the carpet up to reveal a trapdoor built into the floor. He tugged it open, exposing the mouth of an escape tunnel. The spies had obviously planned ahead. “Let’s go!”
Beria glared at Sophie. “Not without her. She has much to answer for.”
“Forget it,” Carl said, more interested in his own survival. “You’re not calling the shots anymore, not until we figure things out!”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Beria looked like he wanted to throttle the other man. “Don’t you realize she’s responsible for all of this? I don’t know how, but she brought this all down on our heads!”
“Moi?” Sophie said. “But I thought I was just an actress, ‘of no particular distinction.’ How could I manage all this—unless, perhaps, I’m really Tarantula?”
“Why, you lying witch!”
Beria lunged at her, murder in his eyes.
“Time’s up!” the loudspeaker boomed.
A shot rang out, shattering the blackened window behind her. Sophie stiffened in shock, then staggered forward, clutching her back. Her eyes were wide with horror. A trickle of blood escaped her lips. She groped for the light.
“The rest is silence,” she whispered, before toppling over into the converted red coaster car. The dense smoke shrouded her still and silent form.
“Dear Lord, no!” Larry stared aghast at his martyred idol, concern for his own safety shredded by the sheer enormity of the tragedy. He yanked on his cuffs, trying to get to Beria. Righteous fury shone behind his glasses. Spittle sprayed from his lips. “You got her killed, you fiend! Sophie Devereaux is dead!”
He collapsed into sobs, sagging against the steel pillar.
“Good riddance,” Beria said. “I hope.”
Keeping his head down, in case another shot came through the window, he moved to check on Sophie’s body.
“Leave her!” Carl said, blocking him. “We don’t have time for this.”
Another smoke bomb fell down the chimney. It was getting hard to breathe, let alone see. The choppers sounded like they were descending.
“Perhaps you’re right.” Beria turned away from Sophie’s supine form, choosing the better part of valor. He reached for his sword cane.
“I don’t think so.” Pilar beat him to the cane. She had wrapped a scarf around the bottom half of her face, so that she looked like a Wild West train robber, albeit one with a pierced eyebrow and bubble-gum-pink hair. “I believe I’ll be handling this for the time being.”
She prodded Beria toward the tunnel entrance. “You go first. No way am I turning my back on you.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe you killed Okata.”
“But… I didn’t…”
“Step on it!” she hissed. “We’ll deal with you later!”
This time Beria went first, under duress. He disappeared into the tunnel, followed closely by his onetime accomplices, who were possibly rethinking their loyalties.
Only Larry was left standing in the smoke-filled house. Outside, bangs and flashes made it sound like the Fourth of July. The whumping of the helicopters competed with his heaving sobs. The grief-stricken fan gazed forlornly at the body lying motionlessly in the coaster car. Tears of sorrow streamed down his face.
“I’ll never forget you, Sophie Devereaux. You were taken from us far too soon. But your talent will live forever, like a star in the celestial firmament…”
“You really think so?” she said, sitting up in the car. “That’s so sweet.”
This was hardly the first time she had heard herself eulogized, but she never got tired of it. It was possibly the best part of being killed.
That and getting to perform a nice, juicy death scene.
“Aaagh!” Larry let out a strangled cry. His jaw dropped. All the blood drained from his face. “You… you…”
He fainted dead away. He went limp against the pillar, held up by his restraints.
Sophie sighed.
“Not exactly a standing ovation,” she murmured, “but close enough.”
She stood up and looked around. Beria and his disenchanted colleagues appeared to be long gone. She doubted they would be coming back.
She closed and locked the trapdoor anyway.
| | | | | | FOURTEEN | | | | | |
BROOKLYN
“Smoke and mirrors,” Nate said. “That’s all it was.”
The crew, plus Larry and Denise, was crowded into the back of Lucille, which was speeding away from the decaying amusement park. Police cars and fire engines blared past them on their way to investigate the pyrotechnics at JoyLand. Parker drove the van while Hardison monitored the police and emergency radio bands. Nate was relieved to hear that nobody had reported a suspicious van before or after all the fireworks. It looked as though they had made a clean escape.
“But it all seemed so real,” Larry said. A blanket was draped over his skinny shoulders. His hands trembled as he took some restorative sips from a flask, which Nate just happened to have on him. Smelling salts had been required to rouse Larry after Sophie’s miraculous resurrection. His precious scrapbook rested on a counter nearby; Sophie had taken care to rescue it from captivity as well. “It sounded like we were under attack by a small army.”
Nate grinned. “That was the idea.”
EARLIER:
“Three dogs. Two guns,” Eliot said. “How you want to divvy this up?”
He and Denise were lying side by side atop Lucille, belly down and equipped with matching tranquilizer rifles and night-vision sights. They took aim at the fenced-in amusement park before them. JoyLand appeared to be completely deserted, but they knew better.
Denise grinned at him. Black camouflage grease blended her face into the night. A dark wool cap, similar to Eliot’s, hid her henna-colored hair. She was decked out in matte-black commando gear that fit her to a tee. The innocuous author and temp had taken a backseat tonight, letting an old friend out of the closet. Tarantula had returned for one last mission.
“Race you to the third shot,” she said.
“You’re on.”
He thumped on the roof of the van to get Hardison’s attention. The hacker was ensconced within Lucille as usual.
“Hey,” Hardison protested via the comms. “Don’t you go beating on my girl.”
“I thought I was your girl,” Parker piped up. “Or pretzel.”
“Pretzel?” Denise gave Eliot a quizzical look.
“Don’t ask.” He thumped the van again. “Damn it, Hardison. Fire it up.”
“I hear you,” Hardison said. “Just respect the van. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Hardison!”
Lucille’s high beams switched on, targeting the park beyond the fence. The glare of the beams illuminated the ominous sign affixed to the fence.
beware of dogs!
Sure enough, a trio of snarling Dobermans came racing toward the fence, enraged by the intrusive beams and Lucille’s infuriating proximity to their territory. The team had taken a head count of the watchdogs earlier, after Hardison had hacked into the park’s security cameras. Now the animals were barking up a storm, jumping up onto their hind legs against the fence. Froth flew from their snapping jaws.
“I’ve got the left,” Eliot said, bracing the stock of the rifle against his shoulder as he peered through the sight. The dog’s eyes glowed demonically in the green phosphor view of the night-vision scope. Hardison had insisted on stocking Lucille with tranq darts after his run-in with some aggressive watchdogs in a police impound yard one time. Not a bad precaution, Eliot had to admit. You never knew when an unfriendly canine might object to a little friendly trespassing.
And then, there was that time with the panther…
Eliot got the left-hand dog in his sights. He didn’t like guns, but he knew how to use them. His finger tightened on the trigger and a burst of compressed gas shot
a tranq dart at his target. The dart struck the frenzied Doberman in the neck. It yelped once before crumpling to the ground. The steady rise and fall of its chest confirmed that the dog was only knocked out. That was how Eliot liked it; he had enough blood on his hands.
Denise’s gun went off beside him.
The blowback from his first shot loaded the next round. He swung his rifle to the right, hoping to sight the last dog before Denise did, but he’d underestimated her speed and accuracy. The other two Dobermans were already down for the count, snoozing along with the one he had sent to slumberland. All three dogs were now out of commission.
“Whoa,” he said, impressed. He turned to look at Denise. “Damn, you’re good.”
“Don’t mess with Tarantula,” she said with a rueful smile. Her long hair was tucked under the cap, exposing the cobweb tattooed at the nape of her neck. “I was good at my job, back in the day. Too good.”
“That’s almost over,” he promised her. He laid a gentle hand on her neck, hiding the tattoo. The chilly night had cooled her smooth skin, raising goose bumps. He started to thump the roof again, then decided to go easy on Hardison for once. They were depending on him now. “Hardison, you knock out the cameras yet?”
“They’re blind as Matt Murdock,” the hacker replied, “minus the radioactive radar sense.”
Eliot took that as a yes.
“Parker?” Nate chimed in over the comms. “You good to go?”
“Go?” she echoed. “I’m already gone.”
The first explosions went off.
Whoo-hoo! Parker thought. Now we’re talking!
She ran along the top of the roller coaster, gleefully hurling miniature flash-bang grenades all around the house below. The rickety wooden tracks had seen better days, but that only made this nocturnal workout more exhilarating. A wolfish grin spread across her face. After being cooped up in the hotel suite for what felt like forever, slaving away on some boring book, this was just what she needed.
Too bad the coaster was only eighty feet tall.
Granted, the chain-link fence around the park had been something of a letdown. Just razor wire? Really? Getting over the barrier had been a breeze; she hadn’t even snagged her working clothes and pack on the barbs. Beria was obviously a cheapskate where security was concerned.
What? she thought. He couldn’t spring for lasers?
She scampered across the rotting tracks and trusses as fearlessly as if she was jogging along a well-paved path. A generous supply of minigrenades was clipped to her climbing harness and belt. Gaping cavities, created by missing tracks, threatened to send her plunging to the earth, but she bounded over them without hesitation, flinging the grenades all around the park below. The devices, which Hardison had procured by redirecting a delivery meant for some wacky right-wing militia, produced an impressive amount of light and noise, but that was all. She didn’t want to actually blow up the coaster house, at least not while Sophie and her stalker were still trapped inside.
Maybe later, she thought, although Nate and the others didn’t really approve of recreational arson. Party poopers.
“Parker,” Nate said in her ear. “The sound equipment?”
“Oh, right.” She had been so caught up in the thrill of running the rails that she had almost forgotten. Reaching into her pack, she extracted the first of several compact microspeaker/amplifiers, which she clamped to a relatively sturdy timber high atop the coaster. “Okay. Ready to go.”
“That’s my girl,” Hardison said. “You wearing your ear protection?”
Parker scowled. She didn’t like being babied. She hoped this wasn’t going to become a thing.
“’Cause I’m being serious here,” he persisted. “We’re talking serious decibels, above and beyond the flash-bangs. Dolby Stereo meets Sensurround by way of rock concert volume. And I’d kind of like you to be able to hear me the next time I drop some pithy words of wisdom. You get what I’m saying, girl? I’m just looking out for those sharp little ears of yours. You know, the ones you use to crack all those safes?”
“I get it.” She double-checked the fit of her industrial-strength muffs, which fit snugly over her ears. The sophisticated sonic filters protected her hearing while not interfering with the comm device deeper inside her ear. “I’m covered. Can we get on with it?”
“You bet,” he said. “Let’s rock-and-roll, baby!”
Gunfire and helicopter noises blared from the miniature speaker, which Hardison had designed himself. Parker could even hear the thunderous sound effects through the heavy-duty muffs. Invisible rotors rattled JoyLand. She had to hand it to Hardison. For a dinky little gizmo, his microspeaker packed a lot of punch. The sound effects themselves had been sampled from a variety of news clips and action movies. Parker recognized a burst of automatic gunfire from Die Hard 5. If she didn’t know better, she’d think a heavily armed assault team really was closing in on the coaster.
Nate’s amplified voice issued from the speaker, joining the show:
“Attention! We have you surrounded. Throw down your weapons and surrender, or face severe consequences!”
Parker wondered why he’d gone with the southern accent. Were there no hard-ass military guys from Boston?
Real gunfire, shooting blindly from inside the house below, blasted through the tin roof dozens of feet beneath her. Bullets splintered the wooden rails not far from where she was standing. Springing from the curve at the top of the upper track, she dived for a horizontal support beam farther within the coaster. Momentum, competing with gravity, carried her across the empty space until her outstretched fingers caught on to the rickety beam, which tore loose beneath her weight. It swung sideways like a pendulum, out over one of the lower slopes of the coaster. Parker let go and fell toward the track below. She hit the track, rolling to absorb the impact, and tumbled through an open gap. At the last minute, she grabbed on to a rail and swung herself back up onto the track, nailing the landing like a gold-medal gymnast. She took a second to catch her breath.
“Parker? What’s happening?” Hardison asked urgently. “You okay, girl?”
“Oh, yeah!” she exclaimed, grinning broadly. “Never better!”
Sure, the odds had been against the wild gunshots actually hitting her, but she couldn’t afford to take a bullet right now. She still had work to do. Dashing up the nearest hill, she attached a second microspeaker to a support beam. She raced from one end of the coaster to another, tracing its steep slopes and curves. Despite a serious sleep deficit, she wasn’t even breathing hard. Blood coursed through her veins, energizing her. She felt more like herself than she had in days.
This was what she lived for.
Or at least it used to be. Since she’d joined Nate’s crew, her priorities had changed in ways she didn’t entirely understand. The last few years had taught her that, bizarrely, there might be more to life than money, heists, and adrenaline. A crazy idea, no kidding, and she wasn’t entirely convinced yet, but maybe, just maybe, she could be something more than a thief?
Still, that didn’t mean that she couldn’t let loose once in a while.
Flash-bangs flew from her fingers, keeping the “assault” going. The gunfire from indoors died off, so she clambered up to one of the elevated tracks running directly over the house and anchored one end of a carbon-fiber jump line to a flattened steel rail. The other end was attached to her customized climbing harness. She tugged once, to make certain both the line and the rail were secure, then threw herself off the track.
The cold air rushed past her face as she plunged toward the house below. Parker savored the sensation; diving off buildings was high on the list of her favorite things, along with theft and Tasers. The rush of free-falling ended too soon, however, as the jump line’s autobraking mechanism slowed her to a halt about ten feet above the coaster house. She dangled upside down.
There was no time to bask in the afterglow. A brick chimney jutted up from the roof. Quite at ease hanging in the air, she unclipped a
different kind of grenade from her belt and lobbed it into the chimney. The bomb disappeared down the shaft.
“Look out below!”
Seconds later, puffs of white smoke escaped the chimney. The chemical smoke was harmless enough, but would surely add to the confusion and chaos. By now, Beria and his flunkies had to be thinking that they were under attack by a full paramilitary strike force—and not just one fast-moving thief.
“Attention, all suspects!” Nate threatened at top volume. “Repeat, attention all suspects! Exit the building with your hands up! This is your final warning!”
Parker hit the retractor on the cord, which ratcheted her back up to the top of the coaster, before the idiots inside could open fire once more. She readied another smoke bomb and peered speculatively at the narrow opening of the chimney below.
Wonder if I could sink a bomb from here?
From her lofty vantage point, she could see Lucille parked on the other side of the fence. The front gate had been pried open and a pair of tiny figures, the size of dolls, scurried across the ruins of JoyLand. Everybody was moving into position, right according to the plan.
“So far, so good,” she muttered.
It was almost time to kill Sophie.
“You have this?” Eliot asked.
“Absolutely,” Denise said. She had traded the tranquilizer gun for an M24 sniper rifle and enhanced thermal-imaging goggles. “I think we’ve already established that I’m the best sniper here.”
“Says who?” Eliot said.
“Just the facts. You’re a hitter. I’m a shooter.”
They had taken up a position atop a boarded-up concession stand that offered a clear view of the house beneath the coaster. She got in place, belly down upon the roof of the stand, and took aim at a blacked-out window. The window interfered with the goggles to a degree, but she managed to make out five heat signatures inside the house. Beria, two flunkies, Larry… and Sophie.
Eliot crouched beside her. She knew he had to be worried about Sophie. “Try not to miss.”