“We need to get outside.”
Desmond nodded at the tablet. “That’s going to be a problem.”
They were surrounded.
The figure who had reprimanded the troops walked closer, never breaking eye contact with Peyton. There was no smile, only a hard stare that Peyton thought said: I’m sorry.
The person spoke to Charlotte first.
“It’s nice to see you again, Charlotte.”
The Australian doctor looked as surprised as Peyton felt. She merely nodded.
There were a million questions Peyton wanted to ask. She had no clue where to start. Most of all, she wanted to know why. Why this person she loved so much, this person who meant so much to her, was involved with this.
The person stopped just a few feet from Peyton, and with a sharp head motion, dismissed Gretchen. The soldiers who had cut down the Navy SEAL and attempted to frisk Peyton departed as well.
“Hello, darling.”
Peyton swallowed. “Hi, Mom.”
Chapter 118
Desmond pushed Carl against the wire mesh wall. “How many exits are there from this room?”
“Two,” the nervous man said.
“They’ll be covered,” William said.
Desmond knew he was right. But Peyton’s father always seemed to be a step ahead. William was already reaching into his bag. He took out three round green cylinders, ran to the end of the row of server racks, and tossed the canisters in different directions. Smoke issued forth as they rolled across the floor. The canisters thumped as they crossed the joints where the tiles fitted together; they sounded like the beat of a drum before the start of a battle.
William returned and handed Avery a grenade.
“Go. You’ll have to make your own exit. I’ll buy you some time.”
Before either Desmond or Avery could speak, the man slipped into the smoke. Gunfire began a second later.
Bullets ripped through the cages around them. Sparks flew. A dozen electrical explosions and pops went off. Shards of metal and plastic issued from the cages like a lethal mix of confetti.
“Stay down, Carl!” Desmond shouted as he and Avery left the man behind and sprinted away.
Overhead, fire suppression nozzles hissed, pumping the room full of gas—argon, or perhaps nitrogen, to reduce the oxygen level and choke off the fire.
Avery ran ahead of Desmond, tossed the grenade at the end of the row, then drew her handgun from inside her waistband and squeezed off two rounds.
Desmond had counted to three seconds by the time he reached her. Most US-made grenades went off at four or five and a half seconds.
He wrapped an arm around Avery’s midsection and pulled her behind the metal cage just before the grenade went off, blowing them to the floor, him on top of her.
For a moment, all went silent—then the silence was replaced by ringing. Lights overhead went dark. The constantly blowing air conditioning and fire suppression gas ceased. Debris fell onto the raised floor like heavy raindrops on a metal roof.
Avery rolled Desmond off her and stood, gun drawn. She looked left then right, then extended a hand to help Desmond up. He marveled at her. She’s unstoppable.
His body ached when she pulled him up.
Seconds later, they stepped through the opening the grenade had created in the wall of the server room, into a corridor lined with offices. Soldiers in body armor stood at both ends of the hall. They dashed across the hall into the closest office, and Desmond ran to the floor-to-ceiling window.
They were on the second floor; Desmond estimated about a fifteen-foot drop. Doable, but it would hurt—and probably break a few things. He raised his gun, fired two rounds into the glass.
“Are you crazy?” Avery snapped.
“Yes. He is.”
They turned to find Conner McClain in the doorway.
“You disappoint me, Avery.”
Desmond moved in front of the woman, shielding her. He knew Conner wouldn’t harm him. And he knew why.
Chapter 119
William crept through the room, peering around the servers, moving as quickly as he dared. It reminded him of playing hide-and-seek as a child in a large library in London. But this game was more deadly.
The smoke was thick now. He could see only a few feet in front of him. The aftermath of the explosion had brought calm. He desperately hoped Desmond and Avery were outside the building by now. He had picked off two soldiers advancing on their opening, and that had driven the rest back, into the smoke.
He moved around another cage, listened, heard nothing except for the scattered debris falling and the pop of electrical circuits blowing. Gas issued from the overhead nozzles in about half the room.
If memory served him, he was close to the exit—three rows away.
He moved to another row, paused, waited. Then another. He was almost out. He desperately wanted to activate his comms—to tell the Marine and Navy SEAL forces to execute a diversion and for Jamison to move in, but the comms still didn’t work.
Too late, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, but the man was already on top of him, knocking him to the ground. Another soldier joined him, and in seconds they had bound William’s hands.
They raised him roughly to his feet, then walked him out of the server room, through the halls, and onto the elevator. It reminded William of that night in Rio, when the thugs had hauled him out of the taxi and marched him through the favela. He had saved Yuri and Lin’s lives that night; they had been captives of a madman, kept confined in a dirty back room of a shanty house. Now he was the captive.
They exited the elevator on the fourth floor and marched him to a room with a piece of equipment that reminded William of an MRI machine, except far larger.
It’s true. They’ve done it, he thought.
A voice William knew well came over the speaker. “Scan him and bring him to me. Quickly.”
The soldiers forced William onto an exam table, unbound his hands, and strapped his arms and legs in. A woman wearing blue-green scrubs walked in and injected something into his shoulder. The soldiers stood back while he lost consciousness.