The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(62)

“No time to argue. If you have to move, circle the block. But look for me here.”

He jumped out before she could say more, easing the door closed with a hip check to keep the sound low.

He slipped the Glock into the bellyband and started fast-walking toward the school, keeping to the shadows, his breath fogging in the morning air. His tactical analysis wasn’t crazy, of course, but neither was hers. The truth was, there was no way to be sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t put her in more danger than he already had. They’d fight about it later. And he would remind himself of what a privilege that was—to be alive, to be with her, no matter what.

He stopped at the end of the line of rowhouses, crouched, and eased his head past. This was the edge of the campus. At ninety degrees to his left and continuing straight ahead was an iron fence. But it was obviously for demarcation, not to keep out determined intruders.

He waited for a moment, listening. Nothing. Just the faint roar of traffic on Interstate 70 a mile south. Okay.

He vaulted the fence easily, eased out the Glock, and ran forward. He paused again alongside a tree to look and listen. Still nothing.

Ahead was the main building and the parking lot with the Prius and the UPS truck. The building was a rectangle with its length running north and south, meaning the main entrances were on the long east and west sides, and the side entrances were on the short north and south ends. Other things being equal, they would have used the north side—the entrance closest to where they’d parked.

Most of the building was dark, though he could see some light spilling out from the west entrance doors. Presumably, room lights were turned off at night; corridor lights got left on.

There were no more trees or other cover between his position and the building. But no trees meant no autumn leaves on the ground, only soundless grass. Just fifty feet in the dark. Unless they had a sentry and night-vision equipment, he ought to be okay. He tried not to think about how many people had died with unless as their last thought, or about how his analysis of their numbers and defensive posture was a hunch based on not much data.

He ran forward at a low crouch and reached the corner of the building in seconds. He paused, reassured by the feeling of the stone fa?ade against his back. He looked and listened. Nothing.

Ten feet along was a lightless ground-floor window. If someone was inside looking out, there was no way to pass unobserved. The chances were low. But the penalty for missing could be high.

He took a quick breath and darted past the window, stopping at the edge of the north entrance. No reaction he could detect from within.

Light was showing through the door’s windows. He flash-checked inside. Nothing.

He scanned again—all quiet—and turned his attention to the door. It was open a crack, and he immediately saw why: a magnet attached to the top of the metal jamb. A simple alarm reed-switch bypass. They’d located the alarm magnet with a laminated sensor shim and left everything taped in place for a quicker exit. Maybe not an operation sophisticated enough to knock over a bank, but not the Keystone Kops, either.

But they weren’t expecting opposition. And/or they didn’t have numbers. He guessed two inside, maybe three. More than that, and they would have left a sentry at the entrance.

He eased open the door and scanned the corridor left and right. Nothing. He slipped inside and soundlessly returned the door to its position.

No cover here, and with the lights on, no concealment, either. He turned right and fast-walked to the end of the short corridor, staying on the edges of his feet to muffle the sound of his footfalls on the waxed floor. He paused and darted his head around the corner. The long corridor was empty.

It would have been convenient to have some information about where to find Gallagher and her son. But Manus himself didn’t know. He had told her not to stay in her office, which was smart. Beyond that, though, they could be anywhere. Of course, human behavior was far from random, and could be rarely lined up neatly with would be. Here, the primary question was, Where would be most comfortable for a mother to spend the night with her teenaged son? Places with a couch. And common places, rather than someone else’s office, which psychologically would have felt like an intrusion. It would have been easy enough to just call the woman and provide the bona fides Dox had communicated over the secure site. But Manus had told her to leave her and her son’s cellphones in her office. Again, smart, but also again, the security came with complications.

He moved forward, the Glock up, checking signs. BARBARA CLOONEY—ENGLISH. JERRY SACHSEL—MATH. MARIA TRZEPACZ—SOCIAL STUDIES. He tried doors as he moved. They were all locked.

He was a third of the way up the corridor when a door opened on the left twenty feet ahead. A man stepped through. He was wearing a UPS uniform.





chapter

forty-six





EVIE


Evie and Dash got to the top of the stairs just as the door opened below. She grabbed Dash’s shoulder and pulled him behind one of the shelves. It was shadowy, but there was enough light from outside to see. She pressed her fingers to his lips.

Why? he signed.

There’s a man downstairs. We can’t let him hear us.

Maybe they could have made it to the second-floor doors. But it was hard for Dash to move quietly—he had no way of gauging whether he was making noise. And in that silent space, there was no way they would be able to make it through the doors without being heard.