Sunday, August 4, 2:13 p.m.

Faith’s tailbone rattled against the plastic seat in the rear section of the helicopter. Her sense of helplessness was becoming more overwhelming with each passing second. Will was down there somewhere—probably feeling just as hopeless, while she was trapped inside an overloaded washing machine. The sun baked the metal skin of the Huey. To her left were six very large men wearing SWAT uniforms and carrying AR-15s. Their legs were spread wide. Their arms were the size of tree trunks. Their expressions were hard. They were angry, ready to do battle.

But for now, they were stuck in a holding pattern. The air ambulances had priority over the hospital’s landing pad. The interior of the Huey had taken on the stench of prolonged agony. They were ready to spring out of the cramped space the moment they touched down. The pilot’s silence in the chunky headphones was excruciating. Still, Faith’s ears strained against the static. Only Maggie and Amanda had taken theirs off, choosing to keep their conversation private by shouting into each other’s ears. Amanda looked furious, which was understandable unless you knew Amanda. She never looked furious. She was usually the calm in the middle of the storm.

There was a lot to be angry about.

Will was in the emergency room. There was no word on Sara. No idea who had taken her, why they had set off bombs, what they were going to do next.

Fifteen confirmed dead. Thirty-eight wounded. Cops murdered. Security guards murdered. A sheriff’s deputy who had died on the operating table.

“They’ve cleared fifty percent of the campus buildings.” Maggie was back on the headphones. Her voice echoed as if she was using a tin can. “The first bomb was on the fifth level of the Lowergate East parking deck. It brought down the roof. The second bomb was bigger, the rainmaker. Sub-level one, strapped to a major support column. Strategically planted to take the whole thing down.”

“This wasn’t an escalation,” Amanda yelled. “This was an opportunity.”

Maggie pointed to the headphones. The line was not secure.

The pilot said, “We’re clear for landing.”

The helicopter made a sharp dip before hurtling toward the campus. Faith’s stomach dropped—not from the sudden loss of altitude, but from the sight of the cratered parking deck.

Smoke fogged the air. Faith counted six fire trucks battling separate blazes. Broken glass and chunks of concrete littered the ground. Cars had been blown out of the deck, scattered onto the street, shot like missiles into the adjacent buildings. The sky bridge across Clifton Road had a van on top of it, wheels up like a dying cockroach. She saw shoes, papers, metal bent like paperclips. It reminded Faith of when her son was little and he’d steal items from her desk to play with his toys.

“The Porsche driver.” Maggie had gotten another update on her phone. “He’s a doctor from the children’s hospital. They think his neck was broken after the crash. They wouldn’t want to leave any witnesses. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Faith thought about the randomness of the car accident. The poor man had probably been thinking about slipping into bed when the truck rear-ended him.

“The students are being bussed out.” Amanda pointed down at the line of kids with backpacks and suitcases. There were white tents for triaging patients. Uniformed law enforcement swarmed over the broken concrete. Firemen and civilians were moving away debris, passing buckets from one person to the next.

Maggie told Amanda, “Press conference is in fifteen minutes. Do you want to be in on it?”

“No, but I’ll draft some language.” Amanda took out her notepad and started writing.

Faith tried to orient herself as the helicopter approached the landing pad. They were directly above what was called the Clifton Corridor. The bombed-out parking deck was on the opposite side of the road from the hospital. Behind the three clinic buildings and the Winship Cancer Institute. A block away from Egleston Children’s Hospital. Even farther from the student dormitories and libraries on the other side of Clifton.

Of all the places the terrorists could’ve detonated the bombs, the parking deck was the one that offered the least awful outcome. They had killed some people, but they could’ve killed a hell of a lot more.

This wasn’t an escalation.

The helicopter touched down with a bone-jarring bump.

“Go-go-go!” the SWAT leader yelled.

They moved quickly so that the Huey could make space for the next air ambulance. Faith jumped out with the help of a hospital orderly. They jogged into the building. The roof access door was already open. A patient was strapped to a gurney, waiting for the next chopper to arrive. The SWAT team disappeared down the stairs, rifles clutched in their hands.

Faith’s eyes were watering so badly that she could barely see. She coughed. The air was thick enough to eat. She didn’t want to know what she was breathing. She squinted her eyes onto the back of Amanda’s navy blue suit jacket and followed her down the stairs.

The air had cleared by the next floor. They kept going down. Faith used the tail of her shirt to wipe the grime out of her eyes. Maggie was already on her satellite phone. It was the same as before. She rapid-fired information over her shoulder as she bolted downward. “The man that Will shot at the car accident. They scanned his fingerprints. He’s not in the system.” She listened again before continuing. “Robert Hurley’s Android phone is a wash. He only called one number, a burner phone. We’re trying to track it down.”

They all stepped aside so two orderlies could run past.

Amanda said, “My people can get a warrant faster. Let us do the paperwork.”

“Good,” Maggie propelled herself down the next flight. “I’ll reach out to Murphy. I can’t make any promises.”

“Neither can I.” Amanda sounded furious again. Her breathing was audible. Her high heels stabbed into the stairs.

Faith checked her watch.

2:17 p.m.

The bombings would be on the news by now. Evelyn would assume that Faith was responding with Amanda. Then, she would call Jeremy and tell him that she’d talked to Faith and everything was okay. Then, she would break the iPad rule with Emma and pretend like it was a treat rather than a distraction. She had been a cop for thirty years. She knew how to lie to her family.

Faith rounded the landing. She took the last few steps two at a time. They had reached the second floor. An Atlanta police sergeant was holding open the door. He told Maggie, “The doctor couldn’t wait. He said to find him when you’re here.”

“Find him.” Maggie rolled her hand. “Walk and talk.”

The sergeant skipped to catch up, saying, “They left the bullet in Hurley’s leg. Safer that way. His jaw needs to be wired shut, but there are a lot of criticals ahead of him. The sixth floor was cleared. We’ve got him covered. Nobody’s taking a piss. Excuse me, ma’am.”

“We all piss, Sergeant.” Maggie asked, “Is Hurley awake?”

“In and out, ma’am. He refused pain meds once they moved him up from the ER.”

“He doesn’t want to slip up and say something.” Amanda turned to the officer, “See that his jaw stays a low priority. I need him to talk. Keep him alone in the room. Make sure he can see out the window.” She added, “Don’t give him any water.”

The sergeant looked at Maggie. She nodded her okay, then turned back to Amanda.

“Take this.” Amanda ripped a page out of her notebook. “Tell the press it’s the official statement from the GBI. I need you to read it out exactly as written.”

“Understood.” Maggie traded the paper for her satellite phone. “Find one of my people if you need me. Good luck.”

Amanda headed down the hallway, calling to Faith, “We need to go up a flight. I want to talk to the nurse.”

Lydia Ortiz. Faith knew about the woman from the debrief they’d gotten in the helicopter. Ortiz had recognized Michelle Spivey in the surgical recovery area. She’d called security but before they could arrive, all hell had broken loose.

“This way.” Amanda passed the elevator. There was a closer set of stairs, but crime scene investigators were scouring it for clues.

Robert Jacob Hurley had dragged Michelle Spivey out of the recovery area on the third floor. He had met his two accomplices outside the second-floor landing. As they were going down to the ground floor, two cops were coming up. The officers were responding to Lydia Ortiz’s SOS. Both were shot in the head. Another officer, a sheriff’s deputy, was waiting for them when they exited the building. She was shot in the chest when they made their escape to the silver Chevy Malibu. She had gone down firing, hitting Hurley in the leg and his accomplice in the shoulder before Hurley turned around and shot her in the face.

Faith opened the door. She told Amanda, “They detonated the bombs in the parking deck while they were driving away.”

“Correct.”