Into the Fire(19)

Max crouched opposite him, their eyes level. Evan pressed the edge of the penknife into the pad of his index finger. It didn’t cut.

A dummy blade.

He pinched it between thumb and forefinger. Sure enough, it slid off its casing, revealing the metal head of a USB plug concealed beneath.

A thumb drive.

Max blew out a breath. “Grant was clever. I’ll give him that.”

Etched into the metal stub of the USB connector, visible only if tilted to the light, was a logo formed of the union of two letters, the right slant of the M forming the first rise of the A. A nifty little piece of branding for Merriweather Accountancy.

Over Max’s shoulder Evan registered movement on the wall monitor. A slender man emerging from the stairwell, turning his shoulders to slip through the barely cracked door. A black wool balaclava covered his face, save for two almond-shaped eyeholes. He looked too skinny to be the Terror, at least based on Max’s description, but the exposed forearms were also ridged with carefully inflicted scar patterns.

His hands turned ghostly white by latex gloves.

One held a pistol, the barrel stretched wickedly long by a suppressor.





11



Much More Force, Very Specifically Directed





Evan hustled Max out of Grant’s office and into the lobby, careful not to slip on the scattered files.

Already he was running scenarios. Grant’s killers had hacked the new security feed to monitor the office. When the bullet camera had mysteriously swiveled, they’d sent a man to investigate.

A man with a suppressed pistol.

Evan and Max neared the front door, and Max balked, jerking back.

“Wait a sec,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Shouldn’t we hide? Or run the other way?” His jaw was clenched, veins standing out in his neck. “Do you even have a gun?”

“We don’t want him dead,” Evan said.

“I don’t want anyone dead,” Max whispered. “Especially me.”

Evan grabbed his collar and shoved him through the door, staying at his back.

Up the length of the hall, the masked man stood beneath the swiveled bullet camera, staring directly up. Under the hem of black wool, his Adam’s apple floated between the flexed pillars of his neck muscles.

The almond-shaped eye cutouts snapped down at Evan and Max, standing in full view before the door.

The man’s shoulder tensed, the pistol starting to rise.

Evan propelled Max up the intersecting corridor toward the elevator doors.

A muffled pop sounded behind them, and a puff of plaster dust lifted from the wall.

Evan shoved Max toward the elevator. “Push the DOWN button. Go.”

Max ran.

Evan swung open the wall-mount cabinet, freed the fire extinguisher, and unleashed a cloud of carbon dioxide behind him. Particulates filled the hall, visibility instantly reaching blizzard conditions. The man would be cautious turning the corner; now he’d be doubly so.

Evan backed up, swinging the nozzle, storm-making. He could hear Max jabbing at the DOWN button over and over. At last the elevator doors opened.

Dumping the extinguisher, Evan turned and swept Max into the waiting car, shoving him into the protected front corner. He spun into the opposite pocket, jamming his thumb into the OPEN DOORS button.

“What the holy fuck?” Max said, sliding to the floor. “Let’s go!”

But Evan kept the button depressed. His body was clear of the line of fire. Only a sliver of his face was exposed as he peered through the swirling particulates, waiting for a human form to take shape.

Another two pops. A pair of rounds embedded in the back of the elevator.

Max’s knees were tucked under his chin, his arms covering his head. He stared up at Evan. “What the hell are you doing?”

The next shot blew out the light casing above them.

At last Evan sensed a change in the textured air, a billow of white preceding the man’s approach.

Evan released the OPEN DOORS button.

Flattened to the wall.

The bumpers started to shut.

The man’s gun hand shot forward between the closing doors, the long barrel bucking once, twice.

Evan caught the arm at the wrist, jerking it forward, locking the elbow. The elevator doors bump-bump-bumped against the limb but did not retract.

Through the cage of his arms, Max’s eyes looked huge.

Evan said, “You might want to look away.”

Max complied.

Hyperextending the arm, Evan dealt a sharp hand-heel blow to the forearm on the thumb side near the crook of the elbow.

The radial head gave a wet pop as it dislocated.

The man screamed.

The pistol dropped to the floor, bounced once on the threshold, rattled through the gap, and vanished.

Evan let go, the limb slithering back into the thickening whiteness.

He tapped the button for the lobby.

It was unlikely that Max’s pursuers would have sent more than one man to deal with a security-camera irregularity and more unlikely still that they’d want to have a shoot-out in a public lobby. But if they did, Evan was game.

The elevator doors eased shut, a gentle whir announcing their descent. The air was clear, but a chemical taint lingered, the smell of an aggressively treated Jacuzzi.

The speakers piped in a flute rendition of Christopher Cross, perennially stuck between the moon and New York City.