Double-Crossed: A Spies and Thieves Story

Chapter Seven

THE LIGHTS WERE OFF INSIDE THE BALLROOM. So Macey stumbled inside through the glow of the candles that still burned on the tables. At first there was a hiss and then a whisper. It was like the people on the floor didn't know if she was shadow or ghost as she hobbled on a bruised leg and broken heel, slowly making her way through the flickering light.

"Macey?" a voice cried through the room.

"Daddy?" Macey called, but the man in the Clinton mask yelled, "Stop right there!"

And for maybe the first time in her life, Macey did as she was told.

She thought of the masked man's gun and the rapid burst of bullets.

She thought of Hale lying on the floor.

She thought of the mission she hadn't had the time to finish.

And Macey yelled louder, "Daddy?" Her voice cracked. Macey saw the senator moving her way, through the ballroom.

"What was that shooting?" the senator demanded. "What have you done to my daughter?"

The masked man whirled and sent the beam of his flash­light across the crowd until it shone on the tall man in the back of the room.

But Clinton just pointed his gun at Macey's head and said, "Stay where you are."

The man in the Bush mask was coming toward them. "Reagan needs you in the other room," Bush said, but Clinton shook his head.

"Found this one out in the hall," Clinton told Bush. "Her and her little friend. I handled them, though. Didn't I, sweet­heart?" He ran a finger down the side of Macey's cheek and she shivered but didn't fight.

It wasn't the time, Macey told herself. It wasn't the place. She'd have her chance later, but right then all Macey wanted to do was run into her father's arms. She tried to push past Bush, clawed against his arms and his sides, but he held her in place, not moving.

"Please," she said. "Please. I won't try to sneak out again. I promise."

"No," Clinton snapped, and pulled Macey away. "You think we're gonna trust you ?" His drawl was obviously fake and sickly sweet. He didn't sound like a former president. He sounded like a psychopath.

"You think we're gonna let you go back to your daddy af­ter what you did ?" The man fingered the side of his neck—a place that was still bleeding from an earlier blow.

"Please," Macey said, but Clinton just grabbed her arm. "Come here."

"No!" the senator shouted.

"Bill," Bush said, "Reagan needs you in the other room." "She's coming with me," Clinton yelled over his shoulder. He marched Macey to the farthest, darkest corner of the room, where he made a great show of tying her to a chair, and the man in the Bush mask went back to walking slowly among the hostages and holding his weapon.

If he had felt the hand that reached into the messenger bag he kept strapped across his chest, he didn't show it.

If he thought it strange that Clinton had made such a scene of securing his hostage himself, he didn't question it.

And when Macey whispered, "Okay, Kat. You're on," the fake President Bush didn't appear to hear a thing.

In fact, in the darkness, none of the hostages seemed to notice when the air vent at the back of the ballroom slid slowly up. In fact, not a soul appeared to see the small girl who dangled out of the opening, her black hair and clothes disappearing in the shadows of the room.

"We missed our flight for Rome," the upside-down girl said.

The Clinton mask eased up and the boy behind it gave her a smile. "I own the jet, remember? It'll wait."

"Hi," Kat said, shifting just a little to the girl at her boy­friend's side.

"Macey"—Hale gave a very Hale-ish grin—"may I intro­duce Kat Bishop?"

"It's nice to meet you," Macey said.

The upside-down girl grinned and took a small package from Macey's hand. A moment later she was gone, into the air vent and scurrying away, perfectly at home in the black.

 Macey shook her head. "Someday I've got to introduce her to Cammie."