No Test for the Wicked: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Five (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

After the footsteps passed, I cracked open the door, did a double check to ensure the corridor was empty and then pulled it open wider for us to drag the body out. Brandon went first, pulling the legs. Terror gave me a strength I didn’t know I had. I followed at a half run, holding his arms and trying my best to keep up. Brandon was far stronger and faster, so my side with Jouret’s head kept bouncing across the floor like a basketball and making me sick to my stomach. We somehow made it into the stairwell in what seemed like record time. The muscles in my shoulders were screaming, and I had trouble catching my breath from the throbbing pain in my ribs. A quick glance at the security camera indicated no blinking red light, which ideally meant it was not filming our body disposal.

There was no time to waste.

Push him
, I mouthed to Brandon.

I slid my hands under his shoulders to get a better grip when disaster struck. Jouret’s belt buckle hooked onto the laces of my right shoe. Before I could warn him, Brandon heaved the body. I went with it and tumbled down the stairs, landing with a jarring thud on my right shoulder. Jouret’s body landed mostly on top of me. My teeth snapped together and stars danced in front of my eyes. I heard a gasp of horror and looked up at Brandon, who stood frozen in shock.

There was noise on the other side of the first-floor stairwell door. Someone was coming to investigate. I pushed at the body and tried to wiggle my foot out of my shoe, but Jouret was damn heavy. Worried, I looked up at Brandon.

“Go,” I hissed. “Now.”

He looked at me for a long horrified moment before turning and dashing to the second-floor door and disappearing into the corridor. I pushed hard at Jouret’s body once more just as the door to the first-floor stairwell opened. Gasping, I looked into the surprised eyes of a ski-masked guy with a machine gun.

He almost dropped the gun he was so shocked. Unfortunately, he quickly recovered, shouting for help and aiming the gun at my head. I closed my eyes and waited for the blast. I’m pretty sure that I had never been more terrified in my entire life.

After a moment, I cracked one eye open. He hadn’t shot me. Yet.

Instantly the entire stairwell filled with armed thugs, shouting and waving weapons at me. One of them rolled Jouret off me. I scooted back against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest. The guy checked Jouret’s pulse and apparently determined he was dead.

When he made his announcement, the chatter in the stairwell got louder and more strident. The guy who’d found me dragged me roughly to my feet, pressing his gun against my neck.

A man strode into the stairwell and everyone fell quiet. He was dressed all in black like the others, with a vest and an assortment of guns and weapons either connected to his belt or vest. He was, however, the only one not wearing a ski mask.

I recognized him instantly. He looked very much like his younger brother.

Mazhar Zogby.

I didn’t have to fake terror or fear. I covered my face and burst into tears.

He stood directly in front of me. “Who are you? What’s your name?”

He didn’t even have a trace of an accent. I remembered he’d been fourteen when he came to the States.

“L-Lara Carson.”

He studied my uniform. “You’re a student here?”

“Yes.”

He glanced down at Jouret’s body. “Why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then who did?” He reached out and roughly grasped my chin, turning my face from side to side.

“N-no one. We fell down. I...I was trying to get away from him. He was my teacher...b-but he said he was taking me to the cafeteria anyway. He seemed really mad that I had hidden. He was acting strange. He wouldn’t help me.”

I started crying again, mostly because I hoped he wouldn’t shoot a crying girl, but also because at this point, Zogby’s fingers were digging into my sore cheek and it hurt like crazy. To my relief, he finally released my face with a grunt of disgust.

“I don’t believe you. You’re nothing more than a girl. I’ll ask you again. Who did this?” Anger was palpable in his expression.

“N-no one. I swear. I didn’t want to go to the cafeteria. I told him, but he wouldn’t listen. I was really scared, so I pushed him and he slipped on the stairs. He fell and I went with him. I hit my shoulder and face on the stairs.” I shuddered and looked at Jouret. “He hit his head and then he just lay there on top of me.”

Zogby swore, first in English and then, I presume, in Urdu. He swore for what seemed a really long time, then he began pacing in the tiny space in the stairwell while we all watched him, no one daring to say a word.

At some point, he strode up to me, then grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me hard.

“Where are the others?”

“What others?”

“There are two other kids missing. Where are they?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

I decided to stick as closely to the truth as possible. “The Weather Lab.”

He frowned. “There were no classes scheduled in that classroom when we arrived. Why were you not in your assigned classroom?”

“I was skipping.”

He shoved me away and gave a hoarse laugh. “Skipping? All of this because you were skipping a class? Unbelievable.”

Zogby abruptly turned and slammed his fist against the wall. I jumped and then shrank against the handrail, wondering if he’d hit me next.

After a few agonizing moments of tensing myself for his fist, Zogby barked an order. The stairwell immediately emptied. A pair of guards went up to the third floor and disappeared, while another pair headed for the second floor.

The fresh sweep had started.

I hugged my trembling body, hoping with every fiber of my being that Elvis, Brandon and Piper were safely hidden and would remain that way.

It was just the two of us alone in the stairwell. Zogby stood there and stared at me with his hands on his hips. There was murder in his eyes and I had no idea what he would do. Trying to shut down the list of horrific possibilities that were now racing through my brain, I dropped my gaze to his vest and the assortment of weapons and gadgets that hung there. It didn’t ease my concern. Unfortunately, all the things in his current possession could kill me if he resorted to torture rather snap my neck with his hands.

When he moved, I actually cowered. He grabbed me by the upper arm, jerking me toward him. I winced as a shaft of pain shot through my ribs and sore knee.

“Let’s go, Lara Carson, and see if you really are who you say you are.”

I was relieved he didn’t intend to kill me on the spot, yet scared witless at what might happen next. I tried to keep up with him but pain shot through me with every step, so I limped along. He half-dragged me to the cafeteria.

I didn’t make it easy. My legs were shaking so badly, I almost fell twice. He had to pretty much hold me up. Two guards who stood duty outside the doors looked at me curiously as Zogby pulled me forward.

They exchanged short words and then Zogby pushed me inside the cafeteria. I straightened and looked around, trying to take in everything at once. The terrorists had meticulously organized the cafeteria. They had pushed tables and chairs to the side of the room, using them to barricade the extra exits. The students sat in the middle of the cafeteria on the floor. Bile rose in my throat. An outer ring of kids had been wired with explosive vests. I could see the red lights on their vests blinking. One of the kids with a vest raised his head to look at me.

Wally
.

My mouth fell open and he blinked in astonishment when he saw me. I gave him a halfhearted smile as I glanced around the rest of the cafeteria. The adults sat at two round tables to the side of the students near the front of the cafeteria, apparently cuffed with their arms behind their backs. My gaze locked with Bonnie’s and she seemed both shocked and worried to see me.

I tamped down my terror and took in the scene as carefully as I could, counting on my photographic memory to help me remember everything. I knew—perhaps better than most—that sometimes salvation is in the details.

Zogby led me to a table covered with papers, a laptop similar to the one that Elvis and I had stolen and a couple of water bottles. The sight of the water reminded me how thirsty I was. I suddenly had trouble swallowing.

Zogby sat down at the table, shuffled through some papers and then chose one. He looked up at me and then down at the paper. He made a mark on it and stood. I sincerely hoped the mark meant I had been located instead of singled out for execution.

I stood waiting. Zogby still seemed very unhappy with me. He circled me like a predator waiting to strike. I tensed when he stood behind me. He could shoot me, hit me or hurt me and I wouldn’t even know it was coming. My palms started to sweat and my legs quivered, but I tried to stay calm. I closed my eyes and thought of Elvis, Brandon and Piper and hoped they were surviving the sweep. We desperately needed a bit of luck to go our way.

Maybe that’s what Zogby was waiting for. Waiting to see if his men rounded up anyone else. Then he would torture us, perhaps in front of each other, to see if we would spill whatever secrets he thought we had.

If I got out of here alive, I promised myself I would never
ever
watch any movie involving bombing, torture or terrorists. I’d had enough of real-time visuals for a lifetime. It would be all puppies, kittens and sunshine after this.

Zogby circled to the front of me and opened his mouth as if to ask me a question when another man ran in the cafeteria. He motioned frantically for Zogby to approach. My stomach twisted hard. Oh, God. Had they found the others or had they killed someone else?

With a final glare at me, he strode over to the other man. The two spoke in a heated fashion before Zogby approached the teachers’ table.

“Which one of you is Frank Fitzgerald?”

“I am.”

“Are you are a computer teacher at the school?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Come with me.”

Zogby said something and one of the guards unfastened his handcuffs. Mr. Fitzgerald stood, shaking out his hands, a grimace of pain on his face.

Zogby yanked his arm. “Let’s go. Now.”

Frank looked terrified. “Wh-where am I going?”

Bonnie stood up, almost falling over. “Wait. Where are you taking him?”

“Sit
down
, Headmistress,” Zogby said, his voice cold. “This is none of your concern...yet.”

He jerked his head at me, then a guard ran over and pushed me into the circle of students, forcing me to the floor directly behind Wally. My knee hit the cafeteria floor hard, but I was beyond thankful to still be alive. I sat up, scooting closer to Wally, who sat with his back to me.

“Wally, are you okay?” I whispered.

He nodded slightly without turning around, apparently too afraid to talk. I could see the back of the black explosive vest and felt a swift rush of disgust at people who would do this to kids. I wished I could tear it off of him and throw it far away.

“Hey, you’re going to be fine. Just hang in there, okay?”

A girl sitting nearby glared at me, then hissed at me to shut up. I sighed while I searched the cafeteria. All exits to the cafeteria except the one leading in and out of the main hallway had been blocked off and booby-trapped. I counted four guards in the cafeteria, not counting Zogby, and the two stationed outside the door. Six. That meant a lot of the security guys were either roving around, on the roof or planetarium or stationed in other parts of the school. I fervently hoped our plan was still intact and Elvis, Piper and Brandon were still alive. Any other thought was too awful to contemplate. I had to think positively and hold it together.

Time seemed to crawl, especially when I had nothing to do but wait. I spent most of that time memorizing everything I could in the cafeteria, including the faces of students, the patterns and habits of the guards and the frequency with which the kids were allowed to go to the bathroom.

The guards handed out water and took groups of three students to the cafeteria bathroom every fifteen minutes. I sipped my water, wanting to ration it, but I was so thirsty it was gone before I could stop myself. I watched the cafeteria clock, and when Zogby returned with Mr. Fitzgerald I knew he’d been gone exactly fifty-six minutes. Fifty-six minutes and I hadn’t heard any shots or seen anyone else dragged into the cafeteria. That had to be good news, right?

Please
,
please
,
let them be safe.

Zogby led Mr. Fitzgerald toward the teachers’ table and pulled a chair away from the group. He then motioned for Mr. Fitzgerald to sit while he scowled and paced back in front of him, clearly agitated. He looked ready to snap.

He suddenly stopped and pointed at Bonnie. “Stand up.”

Bonnie came to her feet, swaying slightly, off balance with her arms bound behind her.

“What does he teach here?” he asked, pointing to Mr. Fitzgerald.

“Computer science.”

“He is useless. You are not getting your money’s worth.”

Mr. Fitzgerald held up his hands. “Hey, I’m not worthless. Look, I don’t know Phantomonics. I told you, I’m not that familiar with the program. Kids use it these days to download bootleg music and videos. It’s an illegal program popular among some teens. Why would I have reason to know it? That kind of programming is definitely not part of the curriculum here.”

My mind raced at his words. Phantomonics? How did a bootleg hacking program like Phantomonics get on the school’s system? I hadn’t seen it when I’d been in the system a few days earlier and I definitely would have noticed it then. I certainly hadn’t seen it a while ago while in Jouret’s office, although I hadn’t really looked. So, why in the world were the terrorists asking Mr. Fitzgerald to try and circumvent it?

The answer hit me hard.

Elvis.

Elvis had planted it. He had said he’d put a bug in the system when the terrorists first arrived. I’d forgotten all about it until now. Now that their tech guy was dead, they had to find someone else to fix it. It made sense they’d go to a teacher except...except Elvis was a freaking genius. Somehow, in that mad, crazy moment, he’d thought ahead. He’d planted a bug figuring an adult—like the terrorists or the cyber mercenaries themselves—would have a hard time dealing with a kid-centric hacking program like Phantomonics. It wouldn’t stop a decent programmer, but it
would
slow them down.