She eyed the topmost parts of the structure, facing east and west. Either location would elevate her, but they’d have to clear the section of spectators. In seconds, she ruled those out.
Her phone rang. Caroline again. She answered, told her sister where she was, and hung up.
After peering across the stadium at the second press box, she focused her attention on the sky. A quick check of the weather app revealed a crystal-clear day. Few clouds, no precip in the forecast. Sunset at 4:40 pm.
Her chest tightened. She believed if Haqazzii was going to strike, it would be sooner than later.
“This is good,” Sydney said. “What do you think?”
Tank walked to the end of the platform, peered down. “Hal, where does the President watch the game?”
Hal answered, but Sydney had pulled out her tripod and gotten busy setting it up.
Seconds later, Tank walked back over to her and pointed. “The President will be in one of the three center luxury suites.”
She nodded, then hoisted her rifle onto the mount, stared through the lens. In a sea of thousands, she would be reluctant to open fire unless one-hundred-percent confident she would hit her target.
“You got company,” Hal called up.
Seconds later, Caroline climbed onto the platform, followed by Grey. Sydney joined them.
“Great spot,” Grey said.
“Yeah, I’m gonna work on my tan,” Sydney replied dryly.
“How are you doing?” Caroline asked.
“I’m doin’ okay, shweetheart,” Sydney said in her best gangster impersonation. “How you doin’?”
Caroline smiled. “I’m happy to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“I need you to be my spotter,” she said.
Caroline looked over her shoulder before pointing to herself. “Me? Not Tank?”
“Tank and Grey should be with the President. They have three skyboxes filled with family and guests. I don’t want to work with an Op?—”
“I’man Op—” Caroline said.
“You’re my sister, and I need someone who can read me, someone who knows me, someone I don’t have to filter my words with. If I need you to look left, I need you to look left. If I’m about to take a shot, I need you to be quiet.”
“Admit it,” Caroline replied, “you just like to boss me around.”
Sydney smiled.
“I got you,” Caroline said.
“Tank, will you be monitoring the terrorist chat rooms during the game?” Sydney asked.
“I can, but they go quiet the day of a strike.” He jumped on his phone.
Silence while they waited.
After a long minute, he said, “Nothing.” Then, his gaze shifted to Sydney. “Do you want something to eat?”
“Yuck,” she replied. “I can’t work on a full stomach.”
“It’s gonna be a long day,” he pushed back.
