Seconds ticked by.
And then—almost magically—they appeared. Eight of them, almost simultaneously, in the center of the room.
Mike Fueyo spoke in a low, controlled voice. "O.K., now," he said. "Let's move fast. We haven't got much time. We—"
And that was all he said.
Malone concentrated on just one thing: holding an image of the room, with the eight Spooks in it.
There was a long second of silence.
Malone felt a bead of sweat trickle down his cheek. He held the image.
"What's wrong?" the tallest boy said suddenly—Ramon Otravez, Malone remembered. "What's wrong, Mike?"
Mike let out his breath in a ragged sigh. "I ... don't know," he said slowly. "I can't move—"
"It's a trap!" another boy shouted.