“We think someone he knows needs to slip in as unobtrusively as possible and coax him out,” said Dr. Gaul. “Namely, you.”
“Oh, no!” burst out Mrs. Plinth with surprising sharpness. “It can’t be Coriolanus. The last thing we need is to put another child in danger. I’ll do it.”
Coriolanus appreciated the offer but knew the chances of this were slim. With her red, swollen eyes and wobbly high heels, she did not inspire confidence as a covert operator.
“What we need is someone who can make a run for it, if necessary. Mr. Snow is the man for the job.” Dr. Gaul gestured to some Peacekeepers, and Coriolanus found himself being suited up in body armor for the arena. “This vest should protect your vital organs. Here’s your pepper spray and a flash unit that will temporarily blind your enemies, should you make any.”
He looked at the small bottle of pepper spray and the flash unit. “What about a gun? Or at least a knife?”
“Since you’re not trained, this seems safer. Remember, you’re not in there to do damage; you’re in there to bring your friend out as quickly and quietly as possible,” instructed Dr. Gaul.
Another student, or even the Coriolanus of a couple of weeks ago, would have protested this situation. Insisted on calling a parent or guardian. Pleaded. But after the snake attack on Clemensia, the aftermath of the bombing, and Marcus’s torture, he knew it would be pointless. If Dr. Gaul decided he was to go into the Capitol Arena, that’s where he would go, even if his prize was not at stake. He was just like the subjects of her other experiments, students or tributes, of no more consequence than the Avoxes in the cages. Powerless to object.
“You can’t do this. He’s just a boy. Let me call my husband,” begged Mrs. Plinth.
Dean Highbottom gave Coriolanus a little smile. “He’ll be all right. It takes a lot to kill a Snow.”
Had this whole idea been the dean’s? Had he seen a neat shortcut to his ultimate goal of destroying Coriolanus’s future? At any rate, he seemed deaf to Ma’s entreaties.
With Peacekeepers at either elbow — for his safety, or to prevent him from bolting? — he crossed to the arena. He had little recollection of being carried out after the bombing — perhaps they’d gone out another exit? — but now he could see the significant damage to the main entrance. One of the two great doors had been entirely blown away, leaving a wide hole framed with twisted metal. Besides the guard, little had been done to secure this area other than placing a few rows of waist-high concrete barriers across the opening. Sejanus wouldn’t have had much trouble getting past those if there’d been a decent distraction, and there’d been the bustle of a carnival most of the day. If the Peacekeepers had been concerned about rebel activity, they would have been focused on someone targeting the crowd. Still, it seemed a little too relaxed. What if the tributes tried to make a break for it again?
Coriolanus and his escort wove their way through the barriers and into the lobby, which had taken multiple hits. The few unbroken electric bulbs around the admission and concession booths showed a layer of plaster dust coating chunks of ceiling and floor, toppled pillars and fallen beams. To reach the turnstiles required navigating the debris, and again he could see how Sejanus might have crossed it undetected, with a little patience and a bit of luck. The turnstiles on the far right side had been targeted, leaving gnarled, melted metal shards and open access. Here, the Peacekeepers had built the first real fortification, installing a temporary set of bars encased in barbed wire, and a half dozen armed guards. The undamaged turnstiles were still an effective blockade, as they did not allow reentry.
“So he had a token?” asked Coriolanus.
“He had a token,” confirmed an old Peacekeeper who seemed to be in command. “Caught us off guard. We’re not really looking for people breaking into the arena during the Games, only out.” He produced a token from his pocket. “This one’s for you.”
Coriolanus turned the disk in his fingers but made no move to the turnstiles. “How did he think he’d get out?”
“I don’t think he did,” said the Peacekeeper.
“And how will I get out?” asked Coriolanus. This plan seemed dicey at best.
“There.” The Peacekeeper pointed to the bars. “We can pull back the barbed wire and tilt the bars forward, creating an opening big enough for you to crawl under.”
“You can do that quickly?” he said doubtfully.
“We’ve got you on camera. We’ll start moving the bars when you’re successfully bringing him out,” the Peacekeeper assured him.
“And if I can’t convince him to come?” Coriolanus asked.
“We have no instructions on that.” The Peacekeeper shrugged. “I guess you stay until the mission is accomplished.”
A cold sweat bathed Coriolanus’s body as the words registered. He would not be allowed back out without Sejanus. He looked through the turnstile to the end of the passage, where the barricade had been erected under the scoreboard. The one he’d seen Lamina, Circ, and Teslee scampering in and out of earlier in the Games. “What about that?”
“That’s for show, really. It blocks the view of the lobby, of the street. Can’t put that on camera,” the Peacekeeper explained. “But you won’t have trouble getting through it.”
Then neither would the tributes, Coriolanus thought. He ran his thumb over the slick surface of the token.
“We’ve got you covered up to the barricade,” the Peacekeeper said.
“So you’ll kill any tributes who attack me,” Coriolanus clarified.
“Scare them off anyway,” said the Peacekeeper. “Don’t worry, we’ve got your back.”
“Excellent,” said Coriolanus, not at all convinced. He steeled himself and jammed the token in the slot, then he pushed the metal arms. “Enjoy the show!” the turnstile reminded him, sounding ten times louder in the stillness of the night. One of the Peacekeepers chuckled.
Coriolanus made for the wall on the right and walked forward as swiftly and silently as he could. The red emergency lights, his only illumination, suffused the passageway with a soft, bloody glow. He pressed his lips tightly together, controlling his breathing through his nose. Right, left, right, left. Nothing, no one stirred. Perhaps, as Lucky had suggested, the tributes had all bedded down for the night?
He paused for a moment at the barricade. Just as the Peacekeeper had said, it was a sham. Flimsy layers of barbed wire mounted on frames, rickety wooden structures and concrete slabs arranged to block the view, not imprison the tributes. Probably hadn’t been enough time for a real one, or perhaps it had been deemed unnecessary with the bars and Peacekeepers behind him. As it was, he had only to wind his way through the backdrop to find himself at the edge of the field. He hesitated behind a final stretch of barbed wire, surveying the scene.
The moon had risen high in the sky, and in the pale, silvery light he could make out the figure of Sejanus, back toward him, still kneeling over Marcus’s body. Lamina hadn’t stirred. Other than that, the immediate area seemed deserted. Was it, though? The wreckage from the bombings provided ample hiding places. The other tributes could be concealed a few yards away and he’d never know it. In the chilly air, his sweat-soaked shirt felt clammy against his skin, and he wished for his jacket. He thought of Lucy Gray in her sleeveless dress. Had she curled up against Jessup for warmth? The image didn’t sit well with him, so he pushed it away. He could not think of her now, only of the present danger, and Sejanus, and how to get him to the other side of that turnstile.
Coriolanus took a deep breath and stepped out onto the field. He padded across the dirt, channeling the circus wildcats he had seen here as a boy. Fearless, and powerful, and silent. He knew he must not spook Sejanus, but he needed to get close enough to converse.
When he was ten feet behind him, he stopped and spoke in a hushed voice. “Sejanus? It’s me.”
Sejanus stiffened, then his shoulders began to shake. At first, Coriolanus took it for sobbing, but it was quite the opposite. “You really can’t stop rescuing me, can you?”
Coriolanus joined in the laughter under his breath. “Can’t do it.”
“They sent you in to fish me out? What madness.” Sejanus’s laughter trailed off, and he rose to his feet. “Did you ever see a dead body?”
“A lot. During the war.” He took it as an invitation to join Sejanus and closed in. There. He could grab his arm now, but what then? It was unlikely he could drag him from the arena. He shoved his hands into his pockets instead.
“I haven’t so much. Not this close. At funerals, I guess. And at the zoo the other night, only those girls hadn’t been dead long enough to stiffen up,” Sejanus said. “I don’t know if I’d rather be burned or buried. Not that it matters, really.”
“Well, you don’t have to decide now.” Coriolanus’s eyes swept the field. Was that a person in the shadows behind the broken wall?
“Oh, it won’t be up to me,” said Sejanus. “I don’t know what’s taking the tributes so long to find me. I must have been in here awhile.” He looked at Coriolanus for the first time, and his brow wrinkled in concern. “You should go, you know.”
“I’d like to,” Coriolanus said carefully. “I really would. Only there’s the matter of your ma. She’s waiting out front. Pretty upset. I promised I’d bring you to her.”
Sejanus’s expression turned indescribably sad. “Poor Ma. Poor old Ma. She never wanted any of this, you know. Not the money, not the move, not the fancy clothes or the driver. She just wanted to stay in Two. But my father . . . Bet he isn’t here, is he? No, he’ll keep his distance until this is settled. Then let the buying begin!”
“Buying what?” The breeze ruffled Coriolanus’s hair and made hollow, echoing sounds in the arena. This was taking too long, and Sejanus was making no effort to speak softly.