His only consolation was that the male, still on the floor, was certainly suffering the same effects and therefore wasn’t an immediate threat.
The utter and eerie silence continued as the elevator climbed toward the second floor. At one point Tom found the wits necessary to search the female for intel.
He found a smartphone and wallet, pocketing both as he moved to the male, who was barely conscious.
Searching the young man, Tom noted that there was blood trickling out of his ears, indicating, at the very least, that the man’s eardrums had burst.
His search turned up the same items. Tom pocketed them as well, then stood and half stepped, half stumbled back to the control panel to the right of the door, leaning against it to help him stay upright.
The case was in his left hand, and the Colt was in his right.
The elevator stopped—something Tom didn’t hear but felt. He used the now-familiar long pause that came prior to the doors parting to cross to the dead female and claim her pistol.
It was a Glock 17 with an extended baseplate on its magazine, which increased the standard capacity from seventeen rounds to twenty. The round the female had prechambered brought the capacity of that weapon up to twenty-one, but she had already fired that, so Tom had twenty rounds of 9 mil at his disposal—a caliber that better lent itself to single-handed shooting, but just as importantly, one that when fired in an enclosed space would be nowhere near as devastating.
His Colt holstered, the case in his left hand and the Glock in his right, Tom moved back to his position of cover by the control panel.
He removed the mag to check that it was, in fact, topped off, then reinserted the mag and executed a one-handed press check to confirm that a round was chambered—all with just the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.
With that done, he waited for the doors to open.
When they finally did, he checked that the long hallway beyond was clear. It was, but he didn’t move.
The doors eventually closed again, the elevator rising to the next floor.
Tom needed every second of recovery time that he could get, so he was grateful for the crawl-like climb upward. Also, his only hope of getting out of there was to keep his enemy guessing.
And when possible, force the men seeking him to waste their time.
At the next floor, the doors opened, and Tom made certain the hallway beyond was empty before exiting.
The time he’d had between the second and third floors hadn’t been nearly enough; he was staggering and his head was reeling and he was deaf, save for the ringing that had suddenly returned.
With every bit of concentration he could muster, he made a visual search of the long hallway to locate the door leading to the stairs.
He had to assume that the men who had fired upon him down in the lobby were on their way up those stairs, pausing to perform a quick search of each floor before moving to the next.
There was no way for Tom to know whether they were still on the floor below or had already reached this one and were waiting behind the door before one of them opened it and the other, likely armed with the carbine, peered out to scan the hall.
Tom spotted the illuminated EXIT sign at the far end of the hall on the right-hand side. He chose to skim that same side of the wall as he made his way toward it.
The aluminum storage locker doors were recessed slightly, and Tom made use of the concealment these narrow spaces offered by pressing his back flat against a door and pausing there before moving as swiftly and as quietly as possible to the next door, where he did the same before moving with the same speed to the next.
He was halfway down the hallway, caught in the open between two storage units, when a sudden box of light appeared at the end of the hall.
The door to the stairwell had been opened.
Rushing to the next unit, Tom reached it and pressed his back against the door, making himself as flat as possible and holding his breath.
Because the ringing was all he could hear, there was no way for him to ascertain what was happening at the far end of the hall.
Had the man with the carbine entered the hall, his weapon raised and ready as he scanned it? Had he spotted Tom and was now waiting for a clear shot? Or was he keeping his weapon trained in Tom’s direction as his partner moved down the hall with the intention of flushing Tom out?
A moment passed with no indication of any of this.
Tom knew that if he leaned forward enough to view the end of the hall, he’d be offering his head as a target, but he couldn’t stay where he was forever.
He could feel the pressure building in his lungs but didn’t dare exhale. Finally, though, the need to breathe won out and Tom opened his mouth, exhaling as silently as he could. Then he drew in air with the same care.
He did that several more times before finally leaning forward just enough to take a quick look down the hall.
The light was gone.
And though his look had been barely more than a peek, he had been able to determine that the end of the hallway was empty.
Leaving the doorway, Tom hurried to the next unit, then to the unit after that.
One by one he made his way to the last unit, beyond which was the exit to the stairs.
The steel door had a narrow window of mesh-reinforced glass set roughly at eye level. Tom walked slowly forward, staying close to the wall, till his back was beside the door. Pausing, he leaned to see through the window.
Its narrowness meant his field of view was limited, requiring him to reposition his head frequently so he could glance through from several different angles and, in stages, see as much as possible of what was on the other side.
He focused on the top steps of one flight of stairs and the bottom steps of the next.
To further his view, Tom moved in front of the door, pressing his shoulder against it and peering through the glass. This angle allowed him to scan the landing and its corner.
He saw nothing—no shapes, no shadows, no movement—so he pushed down on the door lever with his left elbow and nudged the door with his shoulder. After opening it just enough to slip through, he eased it shut as he checked the stairs above. Then he stepped to the railing and looked down the stairwell.
Starting down the stairs, stepping as lightly as he could, Tom moved steadily except for when he stopped to clear a corner or blind spot.
By the time he reached the ground floor, the ringing in his ears was louder, but he could also hear ambient noises—the sound of his footsteps, his own breathing as he inhaled and exhaled through his nose, the faint echo of a door closing somewhere above him.
All those sounds, though, seemed to be coming from far off in the distance.
Opening the door, Tom paused to determine that the lobby was empty before rushing to Manning. He was still facedown on the floor, and the pool of red had spread, surrounding nearly his entire body. Careful not to tread in the blood, Tom got as close as he could, then laid the case down on the floor and reached out with his left hand to check the man’s neck for a pulse.
The coldness that greeted Tom’s fingertips the moment he touched the man’s skin was indication enough that he was dead.
The absence of a pulse was merely a confirmation of that.
Tom’s training told him to search Manning’s pockets for intel as well, but there wasn’t time for that. He was about to make a run for it when a sound penetrated the ringing in his ears and reached his damaged eardrums.
It was a voice, belonging to a male, urgently commanding him to freeze.
Tom looked for the source and couldn’t find it at first because his sense of direction was askew, but then he saw the man with the carbine walking toward him.
The weapon was shouldered, and the man was hunched squarely behind it, walking with a soldier’s glide.
Emerging right behind him through the stairwell door was the man with the pistol, who fanned out to the left, putting several feet between himself and his partner.
&nbs
p; Both the lead man and his partner had Tom in their sights, but instead of opening fire, the lead man ordered Tom to place his weapon on the floor.
It was likely that the couple in the elevator had been put there to monitor Tom until they were reunited with their partners in the lobby, at which point they would, as a stronger force, compel Tom to surrender.
Abduction made sense—what good was the tablet without the passcode?
But if their orders were to take him alive, these men were at a disadvantage.
Tom laid the Glock on the floor, then raised both hands. Before the leader could give another order, Tom rose, keeping his hands slightly below shoulder level.
The Colt was holstered at his right hip, but these men didn’t know that.
The leader ordered Tom to remove his messenger bag, but Tom didn’t comply.
The man with the handgun ordered Tom to pick up the case.
Tom didn’t do that, either.
The leader ceased his approach, maintaining a safe distance between himself and Tom, but the man with the handgun continued to move, completing a wide arc around to Tom’s flank.
He was just three feet from Tom, his pistol aimed at Tom’s head. “Pick up the case and start walking,” he said.
Tom eyed the exit to the street, knew his best chance to make a move would come as they were moving through the door.
He reached down, picked up the case, and started forward, but at a steady, almost aggressive pace.
The man with the carbine remained standing between Tom and the exit, his weapon shouldered and aimed at Tom’s chin. As Tom advanced and the man retreated, both he and his partner were forced to match Tom’s speed.
The man with the pistol walked alongside Tom, just beyond arm’s reach, his pistol level with Tom’s head. When he wasn’t looking at Tom, the man was glancing forward, monitoring his backward-moving partner’s approach to the door.
Pressing his perceived advantage, Tom picked up his pace even more, requiring that both men do the same.
The protective vest that Raveis had given Tom would not stop a 5.56 round, so it didn’t really matter where the man with the carbine aimed, but Tom noted that the man with the pistol kept his weapon trained at Tom’s head.
Even at close range, the best target when covering a man in motion was the torso.
So was it possible that this man knew about the vest hidden beneath Tom’s clothing?
Tom ignored the weapon in front of him and focused instead on the man’s eyes, watching for any indication of a break in his concentration.
When they reached the door, however, the man with the carbine arced swiftly to his left, positioning himself on Tom’s right, while the man who had occupied that position up till now moved behind Tom.
Their efficiency was a clear indication that they were experienced at handling a prisoner.
They had understood what Tom was hoping to force them into and negated that by shifting positions so Tom would move through the door first, with the man armed with the pistol following while his partner covered them from the rear.
This way, too, the man with the weapon that would be difficult to conceal would be the last one onto the open street.
Tom’s only recourse was to continue to comply with their orders and look for another opportunity to escape.
He lowered his left hand to push the door open, then lowered his right to hold it, which allowed him to let his left arm drop and hang at his side, the case by his thigh.
The man with the pistol was directly behind Tom, but for the sake of discretion he had lowered his weapon.
It was now directed point-blank toward Tom’s lower back—a place the vest did not cover.
Just as both men entered the doorway, however, Tom stopped abruptly.
The instant he felt the muzzle of the pistol touch his back, he made his move.
Spinning his torso counterclockwise and keeping his left arm hanging at his side, Tom reached for the Colt with his right hand, executing a fast-draw from concealment.
Shoving the man’s pistol off its target with his left elbow as he continued his turn, Tom brought his weapon to bear, raising it and extending his right hand forward.
By the time Tom completed his turn he was facing the man directly behind him with less than a foot between them.
Placing the Colt above that man’s left shoulder, Tom now had a clean shot at the man’s partner.
That move also put the Colt an inch from the ear of the man with the pistol.
Reacting fast, the man with the carbine was taking a step back and raising his weapon, his eyes locked with Tom’s.
But Tom had already found his target and fired, taking the man out with a single shot that struck squarely between his nose and upper lip.
That one shot, going off so close to the remaining man’s ear, also served another purpose.
The man with the pistol, overwhelmed by the shock wave and deafening blast, screamed out as his legs immediately buckled.
Catching the man with his left hand, Tom kept him upright long enough to press the muzzle of the Colt to his temple and fire.
Then Tom let go of the now deadweight, allowing the man to drop.
Tom was the rest of the way through the door and onto the sidewalk before the lifeless body had completed its fall.
Thirty
Released at last from her confinement, Esa was in motion.
She grabbed Durand by the collar, pulling the woman to her feet, then held the SIG to Durand’s head as she forced her down the narrow hallway to the kitchen.
There, on a table, was her clothing. On the floor beneath were her boots.
Esa pushed Durand down, forced the woman to lie on her stomach as she dressed.
She was still soaking wet, the dampness transferring immediately to her clothing. Even after she had her clothes on, she was still shivering, but then she saw Durand’s leather jacket on a counter, hurried to it, and put it on.
All it really did at first was press her wet shirt against her skin.
A small plastic bag containing bottled water and snacks was on the table. Esa grabbed that, too, and began opening and searching drawers.
In the first drawer she found a box of matches and a container of lighter fluid, which she tossed into the bag. The second drawer contained a roll of duct tape, and she tossed that in as well. The third drawer was filled with items she had no use for, but the fourth one offered a selection of cutlery.
She claimed the sharpest knife—a steak knife—and slipped it blade-down into her right back pocket.
Pulling Durand to her feet again, Esa shoved the woman back into the living room, where she instructed Durand to remove the video camera from its tripod.
Esa also wanted Lyman’s spare magazines, as well as Durand’s sidearm.
Still injured and in shock, Durand did as she was told, though not as quickly as Esa preferred.
Following her as she performed every task, holding her by one arm, Esa several times pressed the suppressor to Durand’s head and told her to move faster.
Once Durand was done, and all the items had been added to the bag, Esa bent Durand over the butcher’s block and made quick work of binding her hands behind her back with the tape.
Leaving Durand there, she crossed the room to the container of gasoline, picked it up, and stepped to Lyman’s body.
She doused it from head to toe with the gasoline, then tossed the empty container aside and removed the lighter fluid from the bag, making a thin trail with it from Lyman’s body to the doorway.
Picking up the bag, she removed two of the magazines and placed them in her left back pocket, positioning them upside down and with the rounds facing forward.
Then she put her left hand through the handles of the bag, letting it dangle from her wrist.
Moving back to Durand, Esa grabbed her by the tape binding her hands, pulled her upright, and then pushed her to the doorway, where they stopped.
Esa took the box of matches from h
er bag, removed two, and placed one of them tip-up in the box before sliding it closed.
The upright match would serve as a makeshift fuse.
Striking the second match, she placed the box at the end of the trail of lighter fluid, then lit the standing match and stood up, blowing out the flame in her hand as she once again took hold of Durand.
Now she guided her captive toward the apartment door.
Opening it, she leaned out and looked in both directions to make certain no one was present, then said, “Which way?”
Durand replied, “To the right.”
They moved down the corridor. Durand was walking with a limp, bent forward at the waist, but Esa showed neither sympathy nor patience.
At the end of the corridor was a window. As they got nearer to it, Esa could see the muted light of early morning beyond it.
The stairs were to the right of the window, but before entering the stairwell, Esa paused to survey what was visible from the window.
Though she’d estimated they were in the New York City area by the length of the drive in from Connecticut, along with the distinctive sound of car tires on a bridge roughly fifteen minutes prior to arriving at their destination, she had no way of knowing where exactly in the city she was.
An exfil was on her mind, and the faster she determined her location, the sooner she could send the coded text.
The view out the window was of a row of five-story brownstones, and their general design and condition, along with the presence of a convenience store on a nearby corner, told her that she was in Harlem.
Using Durand as a human shield, Esa pushed through the door and entered the stairwell, where she paused to listen, the SIG held up and ready right behind Durand’s head. Hearing nothing, Esa guided Durand down the stairs using her bound hands as a means of controlling her.
On the ground floor, Esa moved them cautiously through the door and into the lobby. Spotting the exit, she pushed Durand toward it.
The door had a large window, and beyond it was a narrow foyer leading to another door, this one solid wood.
They were maybe ten strides away when the outer door swung open and two men entered, one right behind the other.
The Shadow Agent Page 17