Into the Fire(68)
His security key card was in full view, clipped to his belt, but his holster was empty. Evan guessed O’Malley had either locked his weapon in the drawer or secured it in the gun safe before he’d entered the chaos of the bullpen.
His desk was one of four currently occupied in the immediate area, the other cops conducting similar interviews, keying in similar reports. A drug-animated prostitute waved his arms around, using a high-pitched voice and noodle arms to illustrate his story. “—thought you were my brother-in-law when I approached the vehicle, uh-huh, that’s right. It was all a big mix-up, sweetie pie.”
The other cops burrowed further into their desks, trying to focus. That was helpful.
A corridor across the bullpen, guarded by a key-card-protected security door, led back to what Evan guessed were the interrogation rooms. That’s where Nu?ez and Brust would have taken Max. They’d need privacy to talk to him. And to do whatever else they needed to do.
O’Malley slurped at his coffee and reviewed the monitor onto which he’d begun to input the complaint. “Okay, so surname ‘Case,’ first name ‘Justin.’ Is that right, sir?”
“Yes.”
A few desks over, the prostitute grew increasingly agitated. “Bitch, puh-lease! I’m a upstanding member of this mothafucking community!”
Evan set his RoamZone on his knee. Then he dug the Baggie from his pocket, rested it on his thigh just out of O’Malley’s line of sight. He took a deep breath, held it, and cracked the zippered seal. Given the state of his brain, the last thing he needed was a whiff of this stuff.
The cop at the adjacent desk was no more than five feet away, but his face stayed down as he chicken-pecked at the keyboard with two fingers, his brow furrowed from the effort. The faintest turn of his head and he’d have Evan dead to rights.
O’Malley squinted at the monitor. Taped to the top was a frayed photo of a dachshund wearing a Spider-Man knit sweater. No wedding ring. He rubbed at his eyes once more. “Wait a sec,” he said. “‘Justin Case’? ‘Just in case’?”
His face snapped over to Evan. Already Evan had the sodden gauze pads in his palm. With his other hand, he hit REDIAL on the RoamZone.
There was a half-second delay as the call routed through to the Nokia in the dumpster outside. The flashbang’s effect, compounded within the metal walls, literally vibrated the building, the boom loud enough to send a passing officer airborne. Coffee rose from his cup in a brown fountain. The detective to Evan’s side hit the floor, hands laced over the back of his head.
Evan was up beside O’Malley in an instant, cupping his hand over the detective’s mouth and nose, steadying him and pretending to lean over the desk in an improvised duck-and-cover.
Desflurane was Evan’s preferred halogenated ether. Its TV-trendy cousin, chloroform, was nearly useless, taking a solid five minutes to be effective and requiring ongoing inhalation to keep the target unconscious. In Evan’s experience the onset of action for Desflurane hovered around two minutes, but a lightweight individual like the unfortunate Detective O’Malley would be functionally incapacitated at the thirty-second mark.
The drug was also much safer than chloroform, a key consideration if you were planning to knock out an innocent cop.
Over the furor in the lobby, the desk officer shouted, “Everyone please evacuate in a calm and orderly fashion!”
As the bullpen cleared, Evan caged O’Malley’s head with his arm, tilting him forward at the big monitor to hide his face and the soaked gauze from view. O’Malley whipped his head back to crack into Evan’s, and Evan pulled away just in time so it thudded ineffectively into his chest. A heartbeat slower and Evan would’ve been laid out on the floor with second-impact syndrome, a second concussion ballooning the first, leaving him unconscious or dead.
Exhaling with relief, he held his grip firm. O’Malley’s knees rattled against the underside of his desk, but already they were losing steam. His eyes rolled up to Evan, showing white, and Evan whispered, “Don’t worry. It’s harmless. I’m not going to hurt you.”
At last the detective slumped, but Evan maintained the seal over his nose and mouth.
By now the detectives and cops had grabbed their weapons and were streaming toward the front, herding the citizens with them. Evan held Detective O’Malley in place in his chair and spoke to his unconscious face loudly, “Okay, okay. I’m coming. It just hurts if I move too fast.”
The exodus from the bullpen was nearly complete, the last of the cops filing through the door to the lobby.
Evan lowered O’Malley gently to the desk, resting his forehead on the mouse pad. Then he unclipped the key card from the detective’s belt and crossed the bullpen.
He had no weapon. But he had no time either.
With a tap of the key card against the pad, the security door clicked open. The corridor beyond had three doors on either side. Except for one, all stood open, likely left ajar in the explosion’s aftermath.
If Nu?ez and Brust had taken Max to a back room as Evan anticipated, they’d have good reason to remain behind during an evacuation. They’d require the privacy.
Evan gritted his teeth. He had to enter the fray unarmed and face whatever came at him. But he could not afford to take another blow to his head. It would put him out, maybe for good.
The closed door was locked, so Evan stepped back and kicked it in.