by LC Champlin
“Five.”
Nathan leaned back, turned toward the building edge, pulling the coward with him.
“Four.”
“God, you are!”
“Three.”
Two dragging steps toward the drop.
“All right! Stop! I swear I’m not in league!”
“Two.”
“I’m Dr. Vic Birk, a researcher for Doorway Pharmaceuticals.”
The building belonged to Doorway Pharm?
“One.”
“Stop counting!” His left hand flailed, while his right gripped Nathan’s wrist. “I’m telling you what happened!”
“Zero. Your time is expired.” Satisfaction saturated Albin’s tone.
“Okay, okay.” Hands up again. “I was working late. I went back for some files when the fire alarm went off last night, but when I got to my office, a pair of gunmen came out of it. They’re probably cohorts of whoever unfortunately destroyed your—”
“Get to the point.”
“They tried to shoot me.” His pupils dilated with remembered fear. “But I-I ran into one of the secured areas where they couldn’t follow. I hid for a while. Then”—he tried to swallow, throat clicking—“then I came out to look for another exit. I found a coworker, but she was wounded. I tried to carry her out, but the terrorists or whoever they are had locked the doors and were standing guard. So I made her comfortable, then came out here to the roof and created the signal.” He looked down, then met and held Nathan’s gaze. “I truly am sorry that your helicopter was destroyed and you were almost killed. I never intended to put anyone in harm’s way.”
Bridges shouldered to the fore, his gelled hair bristling like hedgehog quills. “You’re only sorry because you lost your way out.”
“Why did they come after Doorway Pharm?” Josephine stole Nathan’s question. “It’s nowhere near downtown.”
Shrug, arms out. “How should I know? They’re terrorists. They want to cause terror.” Birk shoved a hand through his bangs.
Nathan released him with a shove, then stalked back toward the others. The man’s story lacked specifics, but the fear in his face appeared genuine. Whether that originated from almost learning to fly, or from his escape from the terrorists, remained uncertain.
“Officer Rodriguez.” Nathan halted before the DHS woman, who’d resumed bandaging Jordan’s arm. “Any chance of getting another chopper in here, preferably one with a minigun or Hellfire missiles? Or perhaps an MRAP and a few ground forces to secure an evac route?”
“An air strike on that other building would be nice, too,” Bridges put in.
Murphy frowned at the economist. “The asshats would probably ‘surgically strike’ our building. It’d be the Gulf all over again.”
“No way to contact them,” Rodriguez replied, attention on her task. “My comm’s out of range, and last I looked, cell service is still down. I can scan the other channels, but we’re pretty far out.”
“Sir.” Albin moved to his employer’s side. “Surely they have landlines here.”
Josephine interrupted, “It depends on how busy the lines are and if the terrorists haven’t already cut them.”
“Even if we get through,” Jordan put in, “personnel is limited for evacuations. That’s why they sent our chopper in the first place.”
“Officer Rodriguez, you said the Air Force found him”—a thumb jerk from Nathan at the researcher, who’d sidled up to the group—“via reconnaissance imaging.”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Then perhaps they’ll see us on the same satellite.”
Jaw set, Jordan surveyed the wreckage as Rodriguez finished with his wound. “We need to get under cover before that rocket launcher’s reinforcements arrive.”
The wreckage still blazed, sending a pillar of black, acrid smoke into the morning smog. It obscured the view to the opposite building. “Jordan’s right for once. Going inside and working our way down might throw terrorists in our way, but there’s a better chance of avoiding them in the halls.”
“I can help,” Birk piped up, keeping his distance from Nathan while easing toward Rodriguez. “I know the building like the back of my phone. There are different ways to the ground floor. If we’re careful, we should be able to skirt the dangerous areas.”
Murphy harrumphed as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You gonna take responsibility if you lead us into fireworks?”
“We need to get your wounded coworker, too,” Josephine reminded Birk.
“Right, right. I hope we can help her.”
“Move.” AR against his shoulder, Jordan waved the carbine toward a passage between vents.
As they started off into the maze of ducts, vents, and air handlers, Birk ventured, “Excuse me, but who are you people? You’re not all DHS.”
“Who are we?” Nathan closed the distance to their guide in two strides. “We are your last, best hope of getting out of this alive.”
The researcher nodded, looking unsure. “Dramatic, too. I’m sure I won’t have any problems.”
“Dr. Birk.” Josephine closed in on him. “What’s the nature of your work at Doorway Pharmaceuticals?” Welcome to Twenty Questions, Vic.
“Doorway is a leader in cutting-edge pharmaceuticals. We pioneer anti-cancer treatments.” Straight off the company website.
Even with her interrogation skills, she couldn’t uncover what the Arete Tech servers cherry-picked for their master. Nathan frowned to himself. Why hadn’t he spent more time reading the liberated files instead of organizing the tech summit?
Of the files Nathan had perused since they began trickling in two weeks ago, one third dealt with viral melanoma therapy and another third covered graphene-based drug delivery methods. The cure for insomnia, if not cancer. Though nearly incomprehensible to Nathan, the files would bring a high price from the right buyer. Albin could have made more sense of them, given his medical-field heritage, but he eschewed “file snooping,” as he called it in his lawyer superiority. With more time, Nathan would have shipped the files to one of Arete Tech’s allies in the medical sector for appraisal.
He fell back to Albin, behind Bridges and Murphy. The blond regarded Birk with narrowed eyes. For Albin’s ears only: “All he has to do is get us out.” The researcher certainly didn’t seem too concerned about his coworker’s fate, but depending upon their work relationship, Nathan could rationalize this. Hell, a number of former coworkers could catch fire in front of him, and if he happened to be holding a glass of water, he’d water the plants first.
“Do we trust him even that far?”
“Trust no one. Right now he’s as eager to get out as we are.” Nathan rolled his shoulders as if still carrying the AK sling. The lack of its weight brought a sense of vulnerability.
“The account of his escape is questionable.”
They skirted a bank of silent vents. Industrial steel rose around them, walls of a labyrinth.
“Escapes often involve a significant amount of dumb luck.” Or so they seemed. “His explanation of the terrorists’ motives is also lacking. He says they came out of his office, yet claims to have no idea why. Josephine might be right: this compound is too far from downtown to be a target of convenience.”
“Are you suspecting, sir, the terrorists at the St. Regis and those here—”
“Have the same motive.”
Silence fell as the idea’s import grew. Answers to the bastard’s actions and maybe even information on the cannibals could lie somewhere in the building. Terrorists might also lie somewhere in the building.
Nathan quickened his step, edged around the civilians, up to the DHS minions. The two held their weapons ready as they halted at a steel access door.
“Hold up, sir.” Jordan laid a hand on Birk’s shoulder, moved him aside. “Let the pros handle this.”
Chapter 48
In the Office with the Gun
Heathens – Twenty One Pilots
Stack, open, clear.
“Clear.”
The group filed in, Nathan in the lead, Albin and Josephine on his heels. E lighting again, with Jordan’s flashlight augmenting it. So close to freedom, and now . . . This time he didn’t even have a Bentley to look forward to.
They descended a flight of stairs, which necessitated another stack-and-clear by the officers before the group entered the building-proper.
“Where’s your coworker?” Josephine whispered to Birk, who slid in behind her.
“Oh, she’s—”
“Shut it!” hissed Bridges, finger to his lips. “Do you want all the terrorists within three floors to hear you?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Murphy muttered. “Wish they’d give me one of them guns . . .”
Nathan snorted. “Don’t hold your breath; they confiscated ours.”
“I put my coworker in an office down the hall,” the doctor whispered as he edged to the group’s fore.
“We’re on point, Doc.” Jordan put an arm out to block his path.
“All right. I mean, left, then right.”
The eight trooped down the halls, past modernist paintings set at intervals. Did all of San Francisco use the same canned decor?
They paused when the hall came to a T. Doors lined the hall to the left and right.
“Here.” Birk stopped at a door marked Dr. Lawrence Marcus, Director of Research, after the DHS guards passed it. He produced a keycard, swiped it through the reader. Green light.
The door swung open to reveal an office with an executive chair behind a glass-top desk that hosted double flat screens. Behind the desk, blackout curtains covered the entire wall. Impressive, if the view didn’t consist of industrial park.
The tang of iron and copper mingled with Glade PlugIn. Nathan’s stomach clenched.
“There.”
Eyes adjusting to the low light, he followed Birk’s nod toward the couch. A body sprawled full length, dark liquid pooling on the gray leather.
“Move.” Rodriguez shouldered past Nathan and Birk. Jordan remained on watch outside.
Albin swung in behind her, a better door than a window for Josephine, Bridges, and Murphy, who tried to get a glimpse inside.
While Rodriguez checked the coworker for the ABCs, Birk remained just inside the doorway, rubbing the over-sized watch on his wrist.
“No pulse, no respirations.” Rodriguez moved to assess the gunshot wounds with a law-enforcement officer’s detachment. She raised the corpse’s shirt by a clean corner. A hole less than a half an inch in diameter punctured the center of the abdomen. Small caliber. She lowered the shirt with a harrumph of disappointment.
Birk grimaced but otherwise made no move. Either he expected this outcome, or he’d slipped into a state of mild shock.
“Dr. Birk,” Nathan began, voice low, “just what are you a doctor of? It’s not medicine, I assume.”
The researcher shook his head as if trying to dislodge water from his ears. “I specialize in organic chemistry and genetic research.”
“It shows.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Chemistry and genetics, but apparently he neglected to take a basic first-aid class. “I heard that Doorway Pharm is about to make a breakthrough in neural regrowth. I was considering approaching Doorway about investing in the research, but it sounded doubtful. Do you work with anyone who’s on the project?”
“Yes.” Smug sniff. “One of my projects overlaps with it.”
So the twit held some value after all. “Excellent. You can give me your colleague’s number later.”
Birk opened his mouth to retort, but Nathan had already shifted his attention to Rodriguez as she examined the body’s right thigh. This wound gaped, a large-caliber bullet impact having torn out a chunk of muscle. Blood stained the pant leg, puddled on the floor.
“She’s deceased?” Josephine asked from behind Nathan, trying to see between him and Albin.
“If she’s dead, let’s go.” Bridges, the practical bastard, voiced Nathan’s thoughts.
“Show some respect, kid,” Murphy admonished.
“What? There’s no sense staying around here. And I’m hardly a child.”
Nathan pushed back past the others into the hallway. Dark footprints and splotches came from down the hall. Drag marks in blood accompanied them, slightly to the right. The footprints, wide and confused, with some facing backward and some sideways, looked indecisive. Or whoever had left them was dragging the weight with effort.
“You enjoy those forensics shows, yes?” Nathan asked Albin, who joined him in the inspection.
“On occasion, sir.”
“As do I.”
“Back up, people!” Rodriguez shoved the crowd back, closing the door behind her. “Nothing to see here. She’s deceased, so stop being damned morbid voyeurs and move. Phone cameras are off limits too.”
“The phone lines—” Nathan began.
“Are also dead. Now move.”
“You heard the woman,” Jordan announced, readjusting the butt of his AR-15 against his shoulder. “Where to, Doc?”
“Back up this hall, keep going straight.” Birk looked like he hadn’t just seen his coworker’s mangled corpse staining his boss’s couch.
“Where does this hall go?” Nathan asked, pointing down the bloody trail.
“Oh, that. No.” Birk blanched, shook his head. “No. I met the gunmen down there.”
Chapter 49
Venture Capitalist
The Strength to Go On – Rise Against
As the group resumed their course, Nathan took a place to the rear-right of Birk.
Even if Birk was telling the truth and he truly did land in this boiling oil by accident, he offered their best clue for unraveling the terrorists’ true goal.
If Birk failed to prove useful in the terrorist enigma, he could still serve a purpose today. The last third of the files from Doorway—ironically the same company whose contract Janine’s father had lost to Arete—that Nathan had skimmed detailed advances in neural regeneration. He’d set them aside for reading later. Neil Crevan’s degenerating nervous system might benefit from them. Whether the old complainer lived or died mattered as much to Nathan as the fate of the morning’s coffee grounds. Perhaps less. But Janine enjoyed annoying her father. If the senior Crevan passed before his time, she’d lose a favorite pastime. Davie also seemed to enjoy time with his grandfather.
Clearing his throat, Birk inched closer to Rodriguez. “About those files I was returning for, Officers.”
“What?” she snapped, attention ahead.
“We need to swing by—”
“You said there were gunmen in your office. We’re swinging away from that.”
“But they’re important!” The whisper verged on a whine.
Jordan glanced back at the researcher. “Escape and evasion are our priorities, Doc. Which way now?”
“Uh, left up here.” Deflated, Birk dropped back half a pace.
Time to make this disaster of a detour worth it. This son of a bitch owed them after causing the loss of a chopper and two pilots.
“Look, Dr. Birk,” Nathan murmured too low for anyone save Albin, who occupied the slot to Birk’s left. “I know we started off on the wrong foot—”
“It was your fist, actually,” Birk whispered, edging away only to find Albin boxing him in.
A delicate touch would serve better for this negotiation. “You’re a researcher for one of the biggest pharmaceutical firms in San Francisco. Your company trusts you with privileged information.”
Eye contact at last. Curiosity’s flame flickered, small but growing. Birk would require encouragement to offer his expertise on the files.
“The attack on Doorway Pharm wasn’t random. These murderers want something here.”
“You don’t say?” Birk shot back a look of feigned shock. “They want to cause terror and chaos.�
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“They were in your office. They’re after something, and they haven’t found it yet. If not, they wouldn’t still be here forcing you onto the roof and destroying our chopper.”
“Take the next right.” Low voice: “Maybe, but Doorway performs medical research. Do you think the gunmen are interested in curing cancer?” Birk scoffed.
“Think.” Nathan wrapped his fingers around a plate-carrier holster strap to keep them from Birk’s throat. “Is there anything—files, drugs, machines—in your office or elsewhere that could interest them?” Anything like the remote?
“Alternatively”—Albin eased closer to Birk—“is there anything Doorway Pharmaceuticals deem of prime importance for removal from the building during a situation such as this?”
Birk wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know what kind of kindergarten you take Doorway for, but this entire complex could be annihilated and the research wouldn’t miss a beat. All our data is continually backed up on off-site servers.” Some of which belonged to Arete Tech.
“I know. My company owns a number of them. The files you want us to ‘swing by’ for are safe.” That could have come out with less derision.
“The stairs are just ahead.” Birk looked him up and down. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t want the terrorists to win.” Birk opened his mouth to blurt another weak defense, but Nathan plowed on. “Also, your expertise is valuable. Later I want your thoughts, not your colleagues’, on a Doorway’s neural regeneration research project. I have a . . . personal interest in it.”
Albin raised a brow but otherwise remained neutral. No matter; he would approve once he knew the specifics.
Birk’s posture straightened as he murmured. “You need me? Isn’t that funny. The big man who was going to drop me—”
“I never said I needed you. We help you retrieve your files in exchange for your knowledge.”
Wiping his mouth with his thumb, Birk gave a half growl of indecision.
Time for the walk-away tactic. Nathan sighed, looked away as the DHS officers cleared the stairwell. “I’ll consult someone else, then. Your supervisors will be happy to suggest the best person, as I’m willing to purchase the information.”