Page 101 of Zero Hour

A calendar.

It was pinned to the fridge with cheap magnets and scribbled with notes. His gaze sought out today’s date. There were several entries.

M&M to Aisha.

S&A with Sylvie.And in brackets, a phone number.

An exclamation mark.

Pat stared at it for a long moment. “Blade! Take a look at this.”

Blade frowned. “That’s a big damn exclamation mark.”

“Looks like she had something planned.” Pat noticed the phone number.

“Sylvie. Could be a contact.”

Blade nodded.

Pat called the number. The line rang twice before a frazzled-sounding woman answered, kids yelling in the background.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Ameera Mousa. I tried the number she gave me, but it’s not working.”

A pause. Suspicious.

“Who is this?”

“Mike from the daycare center,” he lied smoothly.

“Oh. Uh, hang on.”

A moment later, she rattled off a new phone number.

Pat hung up and immediately called Anna.

“Trace this number. Now.”

They searched the rest of the house but didn’t find anything. By the time Anna called back, they were outside in the sunshine, pacing up and down in frustration.

“Pat, you’re not gonna believe this.”

Pat tensed. “Tell me.”

“She’s in the National Mall. Near the Smithsonian Gardens.”

Son of a?—

He turned to the others. “She’s at the festival. Move.”

They drove like hell, sirens screaming as they weaved through rush-hour traffic. Every second counted.

By the time they reached the National Mall, it was a sea of people. Families, tourists, fans flooding toward the Independence Summer Festival.

A perfect target.

They ditched the vehicles and ran, dodging cars, weaving through the packed sidewalks.

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