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“No.” She points to the crown. “I think it’s up there.”

I follow Scarlett to a stairway. There are 162 steps formed in a tight helix leading up to the statue’s crown. After everything we’ve been through today, what’s one more competition?

“Race you—”

Before I can get my words out, Scarlett’s sprinting toward the body-width stairway. She gets there first, taking the stairs two at a time. I’m hot on her heels all the way up.

By the time we get to the crown, I’m slightly dizzy and breathless. We have our phone flashlights out to illuminate the small space.

We search everywhere. Behind beams, under them, along the stairs.

And then, from speakers hidden somewhere below us, “Run Rudolph Run” starts playing.

Scarlett grabs my arm. “We need to hurry.”

I follow my phone’s flashlight over to the windows of the crown. Nothing. I trail the squiggles lining the inside of Lady Liberty’s head, all the way up to—

There. Taped on the highest beam is a wrapped present, tied off with a bow.

“Get on,” I say, bending down.

Scarlett doesn’t ask questions. She hooks her legs around my shoulders. I stand carefully as she grabs on to the nearest beam to help steady me.

She untapes the box from its hiding spot. I set her down.

“Call the bomb squad up,” she says.

I estimate the song to be halfway through. “We have seconds, not minutes.”

I take the box from her and steel myself. Then I lift the lid. Inside is a clay-like substance molded into a snowman. C-4.

“We need to get this out of here before Sadistic Santa’s little helper sets this thing off with a remote firing system,” Scarlett says.

“Hawk, you mean?”

“Ugh, I can’t even say his name right now.”

I survey the ground below—everyone’s on the other side of the statue. We’re clear. I pull open one of the small windows, the cold air blowing in. I’ll squeeze the box through…

The window crack isn’t wide enough. And I can’t get my arm through it enough to lob the bomb away from the monument.

“The song’s about to end,” Scarlett says. “I’ll run it down to the pedestal.”

“Not in time.”

“We can’t pull the C-4 apart either. Too risky.”

“Drop it down the helix!” someone shouts below us.

Holly Winter. No, Agent Holly Winter. She’s standing at the bottom of the stairway.

“I’ll catch it,” she calls up.

“She will,” Scarlett assures me. “In FBI Kid 5, there was a whole juggling sequence. She caught everything.”

“In one take, too!” Holly yells.

If it’s a poor toss or she doesn’t catch it, time will be up. We’ll all be toast.