Jeff Abbott - Trust Me

‘You want to know what Eric did with your money?’ Luke said. ‘I know exactly where he stashed it. You kill us, you’ll never ever find it.’ They had nothing left but a bluff. Luke’s fear rose in a tide inside his heart. But he would not let it control him.

Drummond gestured again at the stairs. No way, Luke thought, no way. But they had no choice.

‘Luke. Aren’t you tired of running?’ Mouser said.

Luke held up a hand to Drummond, five fingers spread and then pointed at the escape route to the rooftop garden. He opened his hands again to five. Then four fingers. A countdown.

Luke wanted to shoot Mouser. He could feel the hate, the rage swelling in his chest.

Three. Two.

‘Luke, don’t you want to see your stepdad again? You two got lots to discuss,’ Mouser said.

‘No,’ Luke said. ‘You talk to him. You’re both traitors.’

One finger, upraised, holding. Drummond mouthed: you just run. There was no arguing with him. Luke couldn’t look back.

Go, Drummond mouthed. He had the knife in one hand, the gun in the other.

‘You’re the one who’s a traitor,’ Mouser said in a snarl and Luke bolted for the stairs. He expected the rip of bullets. He ducked low, hiking fast up the stairs and he heard gunfire, a cry of fury from Mouser and a scream from Snow.

The roof. He ran through the door and Drummond was seconds behind him, his shoulder bloodied. Luke slammed the door closed and engaged the bolt. Weird that there was a lock on the outside of the door – it meant that this really was Drummond’s escape route. ‘We have nowhere to go.’

‘Wrong. Down.’ Drummond gritted his teeth against the pain.

‘It’s suicide.’

Bullets began to pan hard against the metal of the door around the lock.

Drummond grabbed Luke, shoved him away from the door. Over the pounding of blows against the reinforced door Luke could hear, hundreds of feet below, the hum of traffic, the whisper of endless shuffles of feet against the pavement.

‘Never let yourself get cornered,’ Drummond said.

‘We are cornered.’

Drummond kicked the layer of gravel away near the slightly raised box of metal that looked like a maintenance access point. It was secured by a digital keypad lock. ‘We have only a window of fifteen seconds.’

‘What the hell are we doing?’

‘If they have gunmen below, you are going to have to shoot. You can be scared, but don’t think about it. It’s time to be your father’s son.’

The hatchway opened and Drummond gestured to Luke to crawl inside. Behind them the roof door began to creak free from its hinges. ‘Be quiet. Not a sound.’

Luke wriggled into the darkness. The narrow crawlway led into the elevator housing. Below him, eight feet or so, he could see the top of the elevator car. With a hatch.

Drummond must’ve intended to go through the elevator and attack Snow and Mouser from behind. They’d surprise them with bullets in the back. But as soon as Mouser and Snow broke through the door and saw the roof was empty – in a matter of seconds – then Mouser would figure they’d re-entered the building. And then he would alert the other gunmen inside.

Drummond closed the access hatch behind him and raised a grimy finger to his lips. In the dim light given off by the controls and from the glow of the elevator cabin below, Luke thought Drummond looked like a tired old lion. Blood soaked his shoulder.

They’d shot him. Luke had to get him to a doctor.

Wincing with pain, Drummond punched in a key command on the elevator’s roof and the soft click sounded of a lock released. He punched other buttons, presumably disabling the weapons scanner so it wouldn’t refuse to lower the car. They slid open the hatch to the elevator, but only an inch. Luke started to shift the hatch open more and Drummond stopped him with a firm grip on his arm. Drummond pointed.

In the narrow gap, looking down into the elevator, Luke saw a handheld computer dangling from a card feeder at the bottom of the elevator keys. Luke guessed Snow and Mouser had used a digital lock pick to bypass the security in the elevator.

He heard the roof door at the top of the stairs smash open, Mouser warning Snow to stay back.

Luke slid the rest of the hatch open, eased himself down into the elevator. If they heard him…

Snow and Mouser were soon going to see the roof was empty and figure out they were back inside. Within seconds, they would charge back into the building and head for the elevator.

Luke pressed the ground floor button.

Nothing happened. The doors stayed open; the elevator did not move.

In the distance, he could hear Mouser calling an all-clear to Snow.

He jabbed at the button again. Nothing. He slid the electronic passkey from the card reader. Tested the button. Nothing. An elevator that wouldn’t move.

They’d reset the code for the elevator. To keep Drummond and Luke trapped. There was no escape route.

Luke studied the card reader. He spent way too much time on computers cobbling together the Night Road research; couldn’t he figure out this one? If the passcard had broken the original code – he slid the passkey back into the card reader. The PDA, tied to the card by a thin strip of plastic, blinked to life. A series of numbers raced across the screen.

He heard the sound of footsteps returning down the stairs. Fevered breathing.

Combinations of numbers flashed across the readout.

Luke put himself flat against the door, out of sight from the hallway. They couldn’t see him, and he couldn’t see them. He heard voices barely ten feet away.

‘Not over the roof, goddamn it, no broken windows, nothing to lower themselves,’ Mouser said, as if speaking to someone not there. ‘So they’re back in, Sweet Bird.’

The elevator gave a soft, traitorous ping and the doors began to slide, slowly, closed.

He heard running footsteps and then the end of a gun jammed into the closing door. The door began, like an obliging devil, to open.

The only thought that seared into Luke’s head was that hesitation meant death. He seized the gun’s barrel before it could pivot the rest of the way toward him.

Snow stumbled into the elevator. She swung toward him, trying to wrench back control of the gun and aim it into his stomach. Over her bloodied shoulder, in the gunfire-sprayed hallways, Mouser ran toward them, full sprint, gun up.

Snow was crazy-strong and she sank her teeth into Luke’s wrist, still trying to turn the gun into his flesh. She crouched between Luke and Mouser.

Mouser, running full-tilt down the hall, gun raised, screamed at Snow: ‘ Move out of the way!’

Luke kicked the buttons as he fought with Snow, hitting the door-close button. The doors whooshed shut and the car began to descend.

Luke tangled with Snow, her mouth smeared with his blood. He saw her gun swing free of his grip. She pivoted the gun toward him. No place to retreat. He pushed her away, yanking the gun back from her, stumbling, falling into a corner of the elevator.

Then a sudden stop, a screech of metal against metal. Snow collapsed onto him, her hands clawing for the gun, and he barely felt the soft phut of the gun’s discharge.

She doubled over, spat blood onto his foot. He couldn’t tell if it was his or hers. Her eyes widened as she sank to her knees.

Drummond dropped through the opening and went to one knee.

Luke could see the fear in her eyes and her hand went to her shot chest, fist clenched, as though she could hold her life in with her fingers.

She spat in his face as he leaned close and she died.

‘I… I…’ Luke could hardly speak.

‘She would have killed you and laughed about it later,’ Drummond said. ‘Let it go. Let’s see what floor we’re on.’