The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(65)

Grant handed over several guns to Mike. She strapped them to her body, threw an ammunition belt around her shoulders, and accepted a comms unit, placing the earwig in her ear while she ran. “I don’t suppose you found any Kevlar?”

“Sorry.”

“Let’s go,” Nicholas shouted.

There was a massive flash, and a pop, and the room began to fill with smoke. The jitter of automatic weapons fire started, and Mike felt hot bullets speeding past.

“Flash-bangs!” Nicholas shouted, dragging her back against the wall.

“I know, I’m still seeing stars.”

Grant said, “They shot one through the window. They can see us. Jean-Pierre, kill the lights!”

Broussard, calm as a judge, reached up and typed a few commands into the computer, and the building’s lights went out, darkness was complete. The firing stopped.

Grant said, “Someone want to tell me why we’re under attack by Al-Asaad, of all people?”

Mike said, “Jean-Pierre, you called your secretary, Claudette. It seems likely Patel was tracing her phone, just in case you managed to escape the explosion on the yacht and got in touch with her.”

Another battery of bullets, but nowhere close. Nicholas said, “They’re shooting in the dark. We can’t wait until they get into the building. Where are the stairs to the roof?”

“We have to go out into the gallery. We’ll be exposed.”

“If we can stay down, the concrete knee walls might block us if we crawl.”

Nicholas went first. The white knee wall around the spiraling ramps was high enough for him to crouch down and belly crawl. Mike went next, then Broussard. Grant took up the rear. He had a set of night-vision goggles on now, was scanning and relaying enemy positions in a steady stream in Mike’s ear.

“They’re at the doors, they have a shaped charge on them, they have it set—” He ripped off the NVGs “Crap! It’s going to go off in less than ten seconds—”

The doors exploded inward, glass shattering and spraying all over. They used the distraction to scurry on hands and knees across the gallery.

They could hear booted steps, at least four pairs, by the sound of them, working in concert, no shouts or calls glass from ten stories below them. These terrorists were trained. They knew how to breach a building, and do it quickly.

The four of them crouched against the door that would lead them to the stairs to the roof.

Nicholas whispered, “The minute we open this door we give away our position. Mike, you and Jean-Pierre go first. Grant and I will hold them off. Get to the roof. Jean-Pierre, I assume you can pilot that helicopter?”

Broussard shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m not a pilot.”

Grant said, “I am. I’ll go with Jean-Pierre. Mike, you and Nicholas hold them off. When you hear the rotors turning, get up to the roof as fast as you can.”

Nicholas was more than grateful they’d found the M4s. He and Mike had them in their hands, their Glocks back in their holsters. There was two feet of glass railing above the knee wall, and Mike risked a quick look.

A bullet smashed into the barrier.

Nicholas yelled, “Go, go!” and angled his weapon down, firing in short bursts as Grant and Broussard pushed through the door and pounded up the stairs.

A barrage of gunfire came directly at their position. Mike had never been so thankful for thick concrete. It didn’t matter plaster shards and cement were chipped free and raining down from the wall behind them. They took turns shooting down. Mike got one terrorist as he ran up the winding ramp. Before she could be relieved—down to three now—six more well-armed men flooded into the vast entrance.

“Well, crap. They have replacements.”

Nicholas nodded grimly. Suddenly, Grant was behind them. Mike jerked and very nearly shot him.

“Don’t shoot. The keys. Jean-Pierre’s keys. We need them. The door to the roof is locked and I can’t shoot through it, it’s steel. I have to get back to his office.”

Nicholas was silent a moment, then a half smile crossed his face. He pointed to the installation of planets, dangling just below their position.

“Mike, how sturdy do you think the structure is?”

“The planets? You’re joking. No, Nicholas, don’t even think about it.”

But Nicholas had already wedged the M4 under his arm, swung the strap around so it wouldn’t get in the way. He looked at Grant.

“There’s no other way back to Broussard’s office, the wall is blown out. Just wait, pin them down. I’m going to climb across, and get the roof door key from his office. Back in no time at all.”

Mike grabbed his arm. “Nicholas, don’t be insane. You don’t know it will hold your weight. Your mother would kill me if anything happened to you.”

“Don’t fret, just look at all those beams and trusses. Those bolts are meant for heavy usage. All those planets, they’re far from light. It’ll hold.”

Grant grinned at him. “By the way, you have a grenade in there,” he said, and pointed to the vest Nicholas was wearing. “Drop it on them from above, it will buy you some time to cross. When you’re ready to come back, flash us with your phone, and we’ll cover you. Ready?”

Nicholas nodded, gave Mike a last smile, and said, “Steady on,” and jumped onto the installation.