‘Welcome to Australia, Samantha White!’ she said, loudly and so proudly.
Samantha thought that maybe the woman had a tear in her eye. ‘Um, thanks,’ she muttered.
And then a sort-of idea popped into her head. A not-quite-there-yet idea that needed some more thought, but she had no more time.
All senses alert, she followed the other passengers down the Arrivals ramp, feeling emotions buffeting her as she drew closer to the throng of people waiting for their relatives and friends to disembark. She peered anxiously into the crowd. Everybody smiled and waved, some cried in joy, holding balloons, signs, flowers. She didn’t sense anything sinister, but there were so many people. As she drew closer to the end of the ramp she scanned further out beyond the edge of the crowd.
And a block of ice the size of a brick dropped into her stomach, freezing her instantly.
Maybe ten metres away, a bank of windows and glass doors led out to twilight in Sydney, Australia. And in front of them stood four people dressed completely in black. Samantha had seen them too many times already in her life, but she only knew one of their names.
Kirra.
And Kirra saw her. She smiled, as though in greeting. And then she lifted an arm above her head, and Samantha could see that she held something between her fingers. It glinted slightly under the artificial lights and Samantha almost cried out, remembering the last time she’d seen Kirra, the whistle of metal flashing past her, and then Tamas, his life bleeding out of his throat. She blinked rapidly, trying to rid her mind of the agonising image. A sob formed. Was this how they were going to take her out?
But as she blinked, she began to feel that she hadn’t got it quite right. She stared across the expanse between them, still standing rigid, oblivious to others jostling around her. She squinted her eyes to try to see clearer, and now she was certain – whatever Kirra held aloft in her black-sheathed arm, it wasn’t a throwing star. And suddenly Samantha realised what she was looking at. Kirra waved her destiny at her – a syringe. So. Scarface and the other two goons were going to grab her and Kirra would inject her with something that would knock her out.
And they were on the move now. Coming closer, fast.
She stumbled sideways, pushing a big guy with a guitar case strapped to his back into the path of a giant luggage bag. He tripped, sprawling, crash-tackling another man who had two young boys in tow. The children shouted in surprise and people began to stare.
And even though her brain felt as frozen as the rest of her innards, Samantha knew she had to make her move. She couldn’t outrun them. Even if she did manage to make it through this crowd and bolt screaming for help, Kirra was so super-fast she’d be on top of her, have her sedated and have a convincing story for the authorities before they had any idea what was going on.
It’s now or never, Sam thought. She squeezed her eyes shut and conjured up memories of Lala, Esmeralda, Bo and Mirela. And then of Tamas and their legs tangled together in the ghost train. A searing wave of homesickness and love instantly blasted the ice from her stomach. She amplified the feelings, whipping them faster and faster into a burning sphere that roiled within her, a mushrooming, molten mass of emotion that she knew she could not hold inside much longer. With no idea whether it would work, and feeling as if surely people around her could see she was irradiated, she bent forward, as though to help the men she’d knocked over.
Instead, she said, ‘My name is Mirela. And I’m the most famous movie star in the world.’
She spoke as loudly as she could manage, and she was sure that only a few people could have heard her. But it would have to do. The energy inside her demanded urgent release. She stood up straight, focused on the heat, and pushed.
The sphere of light exploded and for a mind-blowing second she felt as though she’d splintered into a billion points of energy. She stood there, trembling. Unable to breathe, let alone think clearly, she wondered whether it had worked.
And then the screaming began.
Sam cried out as the mob swarmed her. She couldn’t hear her own voice, and the sound made absolutely no difference to the noise level – the decibels were already through the roof. All of them had their mouths wide open, screaming and sobbing her name – well, not her name. Mirela’s. Mirela had always wanted to be famous, so she’d used hers at the last minute. But not even Mirela would want this much adoration.
The only thing keeping the pack of hysterical people from tearing her apart was the big bloke with the guitar case and the man she’d pushed over, both of them using their luggage as battering rams to keep people back.
What have I done?
Sam could feel that the men saw themselves as her personal bodyguards and would die fighting before they’d let anyone touch her. Unfortunately, that was beginning to look like a possibility. The crowd was in an absolute frenzy. They surged forward, and hands from everywhere reached for her. She screamed again when, from behind her, someone grabbed a fistful of her hair. She stumbled backwards, and, panicked, struggled to stand upright before she was dragged into the crowd. Too late. Whoever it was had a full handful of her hair, and terrified, face streaming with tears, she was yanked into the riot.
Blurred body parts. People kissing her, groping her, trying to shred her jacket, rip her bag away from her – its strap digging into the skin of her neck. They fought each other, scratching and punching, scrabbling and climbing to reach her. And their emotions – lust, greed, envy and an insane desire to possess her, to be her – choked her airways, until she lost all sense of direction, of who she was. Her senses reached maximum capacity and tripped out. She no longer knew whether she was standing or being carried along, upside down. And she felt nothing. Nothing more than a faint sense of regret that she was about to be torn apart and she would never again get to kiss Tamas.
Dimly, she heard air sirens. The hands around her stopped grasping as people covered their ears, trying to block out the noise, moaning and wailing. Samantha was sure she was doing the same thing, but it just didn’t seem to matter any more.
And then she saw the commandos. Heading straight for her, two blue-uniformed men with buzz-cut scalps and necks the size of her waist cut through the crowd like butter. They had batons in their hands and ear-mikes to their mouths, and they seemed oblivious to the deafening roar of the sirens. The darker-skinned of the two reached her first, and with a single arm, scooped her up from the tangle of writhing people around her and slung her over his shoulder.
Bumping along upside down, peeking under a boulder-like bicep, Samantha saw three things.
She saw that they were marching straight for the exit to the airport – outside, into Sydney.
She saw that standing in a cordoned-off section by the doors, Kirra, Scarface and company did not look happy.
And she also saw that waiting outside the doors were three vehicles resembling army tanks, with the letters AFP stencilled across the front. She recognised the acronym from the airport website – Australian Federal Police. She’d read that they were trained to handle just about any terrorist situation, and she figured that even the ninjas were a little under-equipped right now.
A wave of relief washed over her. Looks like I’m going to make it out of here today, after all.
When she and the man-mountain were parallel to the barricade, Samantha raised her head, exhausted.
With the very last of her energy, she gave Kirra a smile and a special single-digit salute.
Samantha pressed her chipped, orange-painted fingernails into the flesh of her palms. She tried to smile at Mason and Ruben, the two AFP officers who’d just dragged her out of the deliriously murderous crowd.