Ridley Pearson - Chain of Evidence

That job was up to Dartelli.

Dart reached the second floor at the same time that the security guards pursuing him charged into the third floor office where he had been working.

He told Ginny the color code on the door that he was facing, and a moment later, when the small indicator light turned from red to green, he opened this door and entered a glassed-in area. Behind the wall of glass and a stainless steel entrance purification chamber, he saw a clean-room lab, with no computer terminal. The idea of breaking into a genetics lab did not thrill Dart; he turned around and hurried out, seeking another office.

The next door down was marked with a blue box, a yellow box, and two red circles. Ginny, believing she was getting the hang of things said, “You’re in.” Dart tried the door. It was locked. The blue-green characters marched across the reader:

ACCESS DENIED-PLEASE CONTACT SECURITY. THANK YOU.

“No good,” he announced.

“Try again,” she advised.

“Same thing.”

“Shit,” she said, “they’ve locked me out. We’re screwed!”

The computer’s security program had identified Ginny’s raid and blocked her access.

Dart stood there in the darkened corridor, his heart pounding in his chest, wondering what to do.

He couldn’t think clearly. It was as if, all at once, his mind went blank.

“E-S, descending by stairs. E-N, descending by stairs,” warned the lookout suddenly. “Eagle-Nova, descending. Eagle-Sam, descending. Do you copy?” The security team pursuing him had split up, coming toward him from both directions, leaving Dart sandwiched. Trapped. By Ginny’s attempting to gain him access, the computer had once again identified his location.

How many guards on the night watch? Dart wondered. One at the front security desk; one at the third-floor security desk; two, possibly four roamers. Four to six, total , he decided. If that number held, he guessed that the team sent to bring him in would be no larger than a pair-leave one man by the car, one to roam the west side of the building, and send two after him.

Dart glanced back at the reader.

ACCESS DENIED-PLEASE CONTACT SECURITY.

“Approaching the second floor,” the lookout reported.

In an attempt to divide and conquer, the pair had split, each taking one of the stairways. No doubt the computers had been used to shut down the elevators, in an attempt to bracket Dart into being caught.

“Lookout, how many in each stairway?” His feet began to carry him toward the south stairs, the closest to him. The plan formulated quickly in his mind: A security guard will carry a master “key,” a card allowing him access to the various rooms.

“One each,” returned the steady voice.

Perfect , Dart thought.

“Arriving second floor,” the lookout warned. Dart was on the second floor.

The door to the fire stairs was ten feet away. Five …

His only hope was surprise. A rent-a-cop in pursuit would be excited and probably poorly trained. He would be thinking that his target was attempting to run away and hide; he would be in a hurry.

A wedge of yellow light arced across the hallway floor as the guard opened the door to the stairs. This wedge spread open like a fan unfolding, illuminating the far wall.

A boot and a dark pant leg stepped through. The guard had gotten ahead of Dart by a fraction of a second. The other guard, at the far end of the hall, could not be far off.

Dart threw himself to the floor, diving for that leg as if it were home plate. He hooked his left arm out and snagged the leg as he slid past, pulling the stunned guard with him. The man went down, looking as if he’d hit a banana peel, all limbs in the air at once. A whoosh of air was expelled from his lungs.

Dart scrambled atop him, grabbed him by the hair, and snapped the man’s head down firmly against the hard floor. The sound of the contact instantly made Dart nauseated. The guard groaned sickeningly.

He’s alive. Thank god, Dart thought as he reached down and ripped the man’s credit-card-size pass from where it was clipped to his pocket. Dart flipped it over, establishing that it did, in fact, carry a magnetic stripe.

He had one shot, he realized. After that, they would block use of this card as well.

“Hold it! Stay where you are!” roared a voice from the far end of the hall.

Dart came to his feet and charged through the door and into the stairway. Down or up? he debated. His legs carried him up.

Behind him, in the hallway, he heard the fast-paced running of the guard coming in hot pursuit.

In his left ear he heard Ginny. “We gotta get this happening, Dart. We’re running out of time. And I mean fast. ”

Dart ran all the way up to the top of the stairs and through to the hall, attempting to slow down his thoughts and concentrate. His adrenaline was his biggest enemy.

Using the guard’s card to enter a room would alert security to his location, and would, in turn, limit his chance to do what had to be done. It gave him an idea.

He slid the stolen card into the first security box he encountered. The light turned green. Dart spun the doorknob, threw the door open, and then quickly pulled it shut. He ran to the next security box, the next door, and followed the same procedure. And the next. One eye trained nervously on the fire stairs through which he had just come, he crossed the hall and used the card on two more offices, blocking the first with a pen to keep it from closing. The security computer would now show six offices accessed.

Backtracking, Dart entered through the door that he had blocked by the pen. He could hear the security man’s footfalls charging up the fire stairs. He had only a few seconds …

With the door open, he shoved his stolen card into the reader and began violently rocking the card back and forth. The sound of the feet stopped, Dart guessing the guard was standing immediately on the other side but was being more cautious than his partner below. Dart continued to wiggle the security card. It cracked along the left edge. With one tremendous effort, Dart tore the card straight across, leaving a significant piece of it down inside the reader, to prevent another card from being inserted.

He pushed the door firmly shut just as he heard the fire stairs door whine open. The guard was on the sixth floor with him.

Dart slipped into the first chair that fronted a terminal. He touched the space bar, and the screen saver cleared.

“Go,” he said to Ginny.

A voice interrupted and instructed, “The tiger’s in the garden.” Terry Proctor had arrived. Dart felt a chill run through him, right into his bowels. It was a huge risk for Proctor to come here in person, illustrating to Dart just how desperate the man was.

Dart pulled out the cellular, hoping for privacy-getting off the police frequency-pushed RECALL and SEND and a moment later, Ginny answered. “We’ve got less than two minutes. Now listen carefully …”

Level by level, Ginny steered Dart through the proper key combinations and necessary passwords. To ensure that Dart was on track, Ginny kept repeating anxiously, “What’s the title line? What’s the title line?” Dart would read the uppermost title and await the next instruction.

Out in the hallway, Dart heard the security guard open a door and then silence. He’ll have to search every office, Dart thought, realizing he had bought himself some time.

He could picture the operation continuing outside. Proctor’s arrival had triggered a third phase, independent of Dart: The lookout confirmed that Proctor had entered; the ERT team, dressed all in black, was presently scaling the walls of the compound, on their way to sealing the building’s exits. Proctor would be trapped.