Was he Sir Nicholas? No, he couldn’t be, Sir Nicholas was the nearly headless ghost in Harry Potter. Lady Pamela—his ex-wife. Life was like an onion, her mother had always said, you never know what you’d have when another layer peeled away.
What had happened in Afghanistan?
The lights flickered, once, twice. The crowd didn’t seem to notice.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mike said aloud. “Now is not the time for the lights to go out.”
Zachery’s voice came over loud and clear on her comms unit. “Probably the snow, but our people up here are checking into it. What more could it be than a simple power surge?”
“I hope you’re right. Can you imagine, eight hundred people wandering around and the lights go out? Pandemonium.”
Her cell rang; she saw Nicholas’s name on the caller ID. “Hang on, sir, it’s Nicholas.” She clicked off her comms unit and answered her cell.
“Mike, did you see the lights flicker? Zachery thinks everything is okay, but I know it’s not. Something’s not right. Get up here now.”
26
When the elevator doors finally opened, Mike looked out on chaos. People were stumbling around like the walking dead, coughing, eyes tearing, crying out. The hall was getting increasingly foggy and her own eyes began to burn.
Gas.
Nicholas ran out of the communication center with Sherlock tossed over his shoulder. She wasn’t moving. Mike rushed to her side, felt her pulse. It was, fortunately, strong and steady. Whatever was in the gas wasn’t deadly.
Nicholas coughed deeply, then turned back to the comm center. Mike shouted after him, “What’s happening?”
Nicholas called, “I don’t know yet. Tell Zachery everyone in the comm center is down.”
She fought panic, hit her comms unit. “Sir, we have an active attack on the communications center. Everyone’s down. Repeat, officers down. It feels like tear gas.”
An instant of silence, then, “Copy that, Mike.”
She took off after Nicholas, who was dragging more people from the room.
A deafening wail began. The fire alarm.
Nicholas swung the communication center doors wide, sending in fresh air to dissipate the gas. Soon people began staggering out under their own power.
Savich came out with Bo leaning on his shoulder, both of them gagging and choking, their eyes red, tears streaming down their faces.
Mike wiped her eyes and went back to Sherlock, who groaned and tried to sit up.
“Hey, sit still. You’ll be okay. What happened?”
Sherlock’s eyes were watering heavily. “Some sort of percussion grenade, with gas. Nick was out checking the power grid when it hit, so he escaped. Knocked us all out.”
Nicholas cupped her face in his hand. “Did you see who did this?”
“No, I didn’t. Where’s Dillon? Oh, there you are. You’re all right? Did you see anything before the gas blinded you? I had my back to the door, looking at the security feed from the exhibit room.”
“I didn’t see anything.” Savich slumped down against the wall next to her and touched his head to hers. “Are you all right? You’re all blurry.”
“I’ll be fine—my eyes are burning, that’s all. I was close to the door. All I remember was someone said Dr. something, and then the fun began.”
The elevator doors opened, and Zachery rushed out, barking orders to the five agents on his heels.
Nicholas said, “Your techs, Mike. We’ve got to get into the exhibit room.”
But she was already on her feet, running down the hall, the train of her dress flaring out behind her like a bullfighter’s red cape. He shouted to Zachery, “The exhibit room—we’re going to check.” And he ran down the hall after her.
27
Mike was banging on the thick metal door. “It’s locked and no one’s answering. How do we get in?”
“Bo,” he said, then ran back to the communication center, found his uncle in the hallway beside Savich and Sherlock, wiping his eyes and trying to draw in clean air.
“Bo, how can we get into the exhibit space?”
“I’ll let you in, but you’ll have to guide me,” Bo said. “I can’t see a damn thing.”