The parking deck had been at 10th and G, about a third of a mile away. Bobby had been right on the money. He’d been perusing buildings within a narrow radius for the last half an hour, preparing options on every street. The downtown was a snarl of one-ways and traffic lights, and since Peters would have to be driving—no other way to handle Cooper’s family—Bobby had suggested turning that to their advantage, picking somewhere they could get to faster on foot. When it came to planning the logistics of an op, the man was unmatched.
The building was the tallest nearby. An office complex, and despite the hour, a number of the windows were lit up. Made sense. Official business hours might end at six, but in this town someone was always working late.
The lobby was at once attractive and bleak, a place meant to impress without creating the desire to linger. A janitor hunched over a floor buffer, polishing away the day’s scuffs. Broad hallways branched off to elevators. Behind an information desk, a security guard in a navy suit straightened as they entered.
“Can I help you folks?”
“Department of Analysis and Response,” Quinn said, and held up his badge. “Where’s your security office?”
“Sir? I—”
“We don’t have time to explain. Move.”
“Yes, sir. Right this way.” He slid off the chair, a little stiff but obviously fit. “What’s this in regard to?”
“It’s in regard to none of your business, son,” Cooper said.
The man didn’t like that, but didn’t question it, either. Former military, Cooper could read in his posture, and used to following orders. Good. A building that hired soldiers and cops should have the security they needed.
The guard pulled a badge on a retracting clip, used it to open a low barrier, and held it in place while they all walked through. They strode past a bank of shining elevators, down a narrow hall that ended in a door that read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A closed-circuit camera was mounted above it, pointed down. The guard knocked twice, then used his badge to open the door without waiting for a response. “This is our command center—”
Cooper chopped him at the base of the neck and stepped over his body as it fell. Took in the room without stopping, twenty feet square, two men in chairs in front of a glowing projection screen. He got to the first as he rose, punched him in the throat, then grabbed his lapels and hurled him into the other, the two colliding and tangling, an office chair rolling sideways at the impact, banging into a trash can, paper spilling. Cooper followed, dodged through the mess of arms and legs, and delivered a quick left jab and right cross to the other guard’s chin. The man’s head snapped back, cracked into the tile floor, and his eyes fluttered as his body went limp.
“Freeze!”
The third guard had been by a row of file cabinets at the back, out of his line of sight. Eating dinner, apparently, half a sandwich abandoned atop wax paper. The man had a Taser out and held in steady hands, aimed at Cooper, finger inside the trigger.
Quinn is standing behind me. I can dodge the electrodes, but he can’t. A Taser is nonlethal and doesn’t guarantee loss of consciousness, but it will scramble him, take him off his game.
And without him, this is over.
Cooper straightened slowly. Kept his hands up. “Listen—”
The guard twisted the Taser, pointed it at his own stomach, and pulled the trigger. Electrodes leaped from the barrel and jammed into his white dress shirt. There was a loud crackling and a flash of sparks. He went rigid, every muscle straining at once, and then toppled like a mannequin.
Suddenly revealed behind him, Shannon smiled. “Oops.”
Amazing.
She winked at him, then dropped, took cuffs from the guard’s belt, and locked him up. Cooper secured the others the same way. “Sedatives?”