I glanced at Sean who was settling back into position, and at Jonathan who’d moved a few yards to the left but was lying still and quiet. I knew he’d be in the zone now he had a full stomach like Ricardo and Sean.
I moved, cursing my stiff limbs and the way my clothing stuck to my skin. I’d drunk two bottles of water but didn’t need to pee; it was all coming out of my pores.
“Be back in thirty minutes,” I said, thinking longingly of taking off my vest and downing an ice-cold glass of cola.
“Yeah, no rush. This lot are as loud as geese, but harmless.”
“Don’t get complacent,” I said, unfolding and grimacing as my knees and spine complained. “We got a bomb threat, remember.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Ricardo sank to his knees, weapon at the ready.
I took my gun and held the business end facing the floor. Damn thing felt heavy to my fatigued, hot muscles. “Watch that white Honda beside the Fox News van, it’s parked out of the zone.”
“Copy that.”
Balko stood beside me and arched his back with a groan.
“We need some cool air,” I said, looking at his profile again. Now he’d told me more about his time working in Boston I felt I’d gotten to know him better. And there was no doubt about it, the guy was tough, and his skills were honed. But he had that internal substance, like a steel rod, that made him strong and resolute. I liked that, a lot. It reminded me of what Jonathan and Ricardo had inside. For me strength, morality and the ability to overcome physical and emotional hardship were incredibly alluring.
We headed back down the stairway, the chants from the crowd getting louder.
Once outside, I took the lead, Balko a pace behind me. Wary looks from the protestors were directed my way.
Please don’t recognise me.
I flipped my visor down and marched ahead, using my peripheral vision to scan the area. I hoped it was my gun they were staring at, and the huge guy behind me.
It was then I saw her.
Late twenties, pink floral dress, sensible flat shoes and a denim jacket that was way too bulky for her slim frame.
“Shit,” I muttered, coming to a halt.
“What?” Balko said, his shoulder nudging mine as he turned to where I was facing.
“Her.” I flicked my earpiece back on and raised my weapon. “She’s wearing.”
“Súložit,” he muttered.
I guessed that was one of the curse words I needed to learn. “Ten, thirty-three,” I said into my radio. “White female, to the right of the main walkway, pink dress, blue jacket.”
“Ten-four,” came the reply.
“We need to clear the area,” Balko said, his gun barrel parallel with mine. “Fast.”
“Yeah, we do.” I glanced around. There was no way to get two hundred women away without making some noise.
But that could mean we all paid a heavy price.
“We can’t let her get into the courthouse,” Balko said, taking a step forward the way a stalking lion might.
“I agree.” I glanced at the control van. There was nothing else for it. Panic was the best form of defence. “You! Stop right there,” I shouted. I was beside Balko, my sight aimed at her forehead.
She froze and turned my way. Eyes wide. Mouth gaping. In her left hand was a button, the red wire leading up the sleeve of her jacket.
“Get out of here,” Balko yelled, sweeping his free arm to the right. “Everyone out of here. Bomb!”
Instantly screams rang in my ears. The stampede created a vibration in the ground then juddered up my legs. I kept my gun steady.