No way would he try and disarm this bomb himself. He needed to leave the building as quickly and calmly as possible and bring in the experts, with their robotic counterparts, to deactivate the switch.
He backed toward the door until he felt the handle under his hands, then turned swiftly and stepped outside. The freezing air bit his face, and he breathed a deep lungful. Too close, Nicholas. Too bloody close.
The glass door swung shut behind him, and he searched for Mike. She was across the street with Tomas, her face white. She was scared. And she was shouting at him, her hands above her head, arms waving wildly.
His mind registered her screams, and he felt rather than heard the glass shatter behind him with a ferocious burst of heat and ear-blasting explosion. He dropped to the ground, rolling into a ball, protecting his head, as the explosion roared around him, glass and metal twisting and hurtling outward, shooting out fire that burned his hands.
He couldn’t hear anything, see anything. It was all black.
67
Parc Saint-Jean
Kitsune watched Drummond and Caine talking to the boy, manhandling him, and the idiot caved and opened the box for them. At least he’d followed her instructions—if a couple came in looking for information, he was to give them the box with the paper in it.
If Saleem Lanighan came in, it was a different story.
But Drummond had scared the daylights out of the kid, and he’d brought out the second box. The box meant for Lanighan.
Her left thumb was on the detonator, the right held a monocle trained on the Sages Fidelité lobby. She was safe, across the park, but well within radio range.
She watched them talking about the bank account numbers in the first box. She saw Caine flip the paper over, saw Drummond snatch it from her and read her short message, meant for them.
This is all you get. Leave me alone.
More discussion, then Drummond got physical with Tomas and she knew it was all over.
All it would take was a minute press of her thumb, a hint of pressure, and this would all be over.
No more Drummond. She recognized she was full of righteous anger, a feeling she remembered well from when she was younger and less disciplined. She’d acted on emotion only once. This couldn’t be about rage. This was about survival.
She’d wanted it to be Lanighan to open the second box, to blow himself off the face of the earth, because it would mean he’d betrayed her.
She held the detonator in her hand and watched. No, she wouldn’t have to blow up the box, Drummond was going to open it and do the job himself.
She heard Mulvaney telling her once, twice, perhaps with the planning of every tough job: Redundancy is your friend, Kitsune.
She gritted her teeth at the thought of her mentor, pushed him from her mind. She needed to be clear for this. There would be time enough later to find what happened to Mulvaney.
She watched Drummond stiffen, and she knew he’d realized the bomb was there. She watched Caine drag Tomas from the building, and run across the street. And she watched Drummond slowly lower the lid, then slowly step away from the box. His life was in her hands.
She hadn’t wanted it to end like this. She swallowed, breathed deeply, forced herself to calm.
Do it.
You have to survive. There is too much at stake.
Do it do it do it!
The front door opened and Drummond was outside—Do it now.
Her thumb twitched, and it was over.
68
The car shook with the force of the explosion, but Kitsune put it in gear and drove away, counting on debris from the explosion and the bursting flames to cover her escape.
Two blocks from the explosion, on a quiet, unmarked street, she found a small gray Fiat, still running, the owner probably running into the house to get something. Perfect.