Page 8 of Mastermind

Moments later, his barrel was swept over the falls; as it bounced off the rocks at the bottom, the trapdoor finally dislodged, allowing him to swim free.

Henry, as poor a planner as he was, did have a knack for opportunity.

He surfaced near the Maid of the Mist, the sightseeing boat that takes tourists close enough to the falls to get soaked. This time, the passengers were there to watch my fool great-grandfather attempt an escape. Which is why they were all gathered on the falls side of the boat and didn’t see him pull himself up on the other side, probably dazed and confused but acting on his show-business instincts.

He made his way to the upper deck, found the captain’s long coat and hat, and slipped them on. He then made his way to the top of the pilot house and fired off a flare he’d stolen.

All eyes turned to Henry Blackstar—fully clothed and dry, standing above the hundreds of people who’d come to watch him die.

It was a great moment of magical theater. A newspaper photo of him hangs on the wall of the salon in the family mansion in Los Angeles to this day.

As Grandfather said, “It would have been a career maker, world headlines, if Dad hadn’t chosen the same day that Archduke Ferdinand decided to get assassinated and start World War I.”

When I asked Grandfather how Henry managed not to die, he said it was one of the rare times that his father—who hated to talk about the business, lest it give his farmer son any ideas—actually explained something to him. Henry said, “I kissed my balls goodbye and pretended I was drunk, because alcoholics seem to survive everything.”

While the first part of that advice isn’t terribly helpful in my current situation, the second part is. Prepare for impact, but don’t tense up so much you break your own arm or neck.

I loosen up and prepare for a hard landing when I notice Vaslov doesn’t have his restraints fastened.

“Vaslov!” I yell, grabbing his harness buckles and clicking them together.

The startled scientist looks down and realizes what I’m trying to do. “Sorry—” Bang.

Crunch.

My spine feels like it was just used as a pogo stick. Sheppard’s slumped over. He snaps his head up, no longer dazed.

Vaslov is muttering, “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Everybody out! Watch the rotor!” says the pilot.

His copilot has our door open and is directing us away from the helicopter’s rear rotor. We unbuckle and follow the pilot toward the other side of the street. It’s pitch-black. The only illumination is from the cockpit’s emergency lights.

“Everyone okay?” asks the pilot, doing a visual inspection of each of us.

“I think I pissed myself,” says Vaslov.

“Perfectly natural,” says the pilot. “I did that my first two times.”

I’m not sure if the FBI hiring a helicopter pilot who has crashed more than once is any smarter than hiring a woman like me to teach survival skills. On second thought, we’re alive. Great choice.

He opens up a pocket and pulls out several surgical masks and hands them to us. “This will help you with the smoke. Sometimes I have to fly close to burning things. Hinder, can you take our passengers toward the lit-up section while I keep eyes on our bird?”

“You got it. This way, folks,” says the copilot, using a flashlight to point a path through the mist.

“I can take over from here,” says Sheppard. He takes two steps, then mutters, “What am I saying? I have no idea where we are. Hinder, back to you.”

“Two blocks right, three blocks north,” I say out loud.

“Somebody was paying attention,” Hinder says over her shoulder.

She starts jogging into the mist, and we follow close behind. We don’t know what’s going on here, but staying in one place is not a good idea. There won’t be any help coming, and we’re not sure if we want to run into anyone who wants to be out on the streets right now.

We keep up with her pace, weaving past hundreds of stalled cars. When her flashlight hits buildings, we see faces looking out from behind glass, watching us, waiting for an explanation. We don’t stop, because we don’t have one.

We finally reach a block where some of the lights are still on. All the buildings have their security shutters rolled down. Probably to avoid looting or panicked mobs drawn to the light.

Hinder knocks the butt of her flashlight against one of the shuttered doors. “FBI. We need access to your roof!” she shouts.