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By Root 1455 0

they brought in someone over here to put on a public face and grease the right pockets—some CEO-type so it all looks clean. We’re looking at this guy Andre Saulson, whose name is on one of Wendell’s bank accounts. The name’s probably fake, but one of our boys noticed the address matches an old listing we had for someone named Sauls. It’ll take some time to confirm, but he fits the mold. London School of Economics . . . Sophia University in Tokyo. We looked at him a few years back for art fraud—he was supposedly trying to move the Vase of Warka when it was snatched from Iraq’s National Museum, which is probably how the Yemenis found him. Very high-end scams. Yemen brings him in for credibility, then Sauls hires Janos to flatten out the speed bumps, and maybe even another guy to help them maneuver through the system . . .”

“Pasternak . . . That’s how they got into the game.”

“Exactly. They bring in Pasternak—he may not even know who they really are—and now they’ve got one of the best players in town. All they have to do is get their gold mine. You have to give them credit. Why risk the wrath of inspectors in the Middle East when you can build your bomb right in our own backyard without anyone thinking twice? Set it up right, and Congress will even give you the land for free.”

My stomach plummets. I can barely stand up.

“W-What do we do now?” Viv asks, her whole face already shiny with sweat.

We’re not just out of our league—we don’t even know what sport they’re playing.

Running back toward the hallway, Lowell’s already in rescue mode. “Lock the doors behind me—both bolts. Time to ring the king.”

I’ve heard the term before. Once he gets to the Attorney General, they’re calling in the White House.

As Lowell disappears from the room, Viv notices his keys on the coffee table. “Lowell, wait . . . !” she calls out, grabbing the key ring and following him outside.

“Viv, don’t!” I shout. Too late. She dashes into the hallway.

As I run for the door, I hear Viv scream. I step out into the hall just as she backs into me. Up the hallway, barely around the corner, Janos presses his forearm against Lowell’s neck, pinning him to the wall. Before I can even react, Janos pulls his black box from Lowell’s chest. Lowell’s body convulses slightly, then drops lifelessly to the floor. His body hits with two dull thuds—first his knees, then his forehead—echoing through the empty hallway. It’s a sound that’ll never leave me. I look down at my friend. His eyes are still open, staring blankly at us.

Janos doesn’t say a word. He just lunges forward.

73

RUN!” I SHOUT to Viv, yanking her by the shoulder and pushing her further up the hallway, away from Janos.

As Janos barrels toward me, he lets out a smirk, trying to intimidate. He expects me to run. That’s why I stay put. This lunatic’s killed three of my friends. He’s not getting a fourth.

“Keep going!” I call to Viv, making sure she has enough of a lead.

From the angle Janos is coming from, he can’t see what I’m looking at: Just inside the door of the hideaway, the Senator’s leather golf bag leans against the wall. I reach for the clubs, but Janos is moving too fast.

Just as my hand grabs a shiny nine iron, he plows into me, slamming me backwards into the threshold of the doorway. My back lets out a loud crack, but I still don’t let go of the club. Pinning me like Lowell, he stabs the black box at my chest; I knock his arm aside with the tip of the club. Before he realizes what’s happening, I ram my head forward, head-butting him as hard as I can in the nose. Same place I hit the scientist in the mine. The sweet spot, my uncle called it. Sure enough, a trickle of blood runs down from Janos’s left nostril, across the top of his lip. His hound-dog eyes widen the slightest bit. He’s actually surprised. Time to take advantage.

“Get . . . off!” I shout, seizing the moment and shoving him backwards. Before he can get his balance, I hold up the golf club like a baseball bat and rush straight at him. Sometimes the best chess is played fast. As I swing the club, he protects the black