Brad Thor - The Athena Project

The woman had been correct from the beginning, she did have him in a vise. “His name is Thomas Sanders,” he said, “but he is not an easy man to track.”

“You know where he is, though, right?”

Kojic shook his head.

“Where did you have the equipment delivered to?”

“I didn’t arrange for that. Sanders sent his own people to pick it up.”

“Then you really don’t have anything of value for us, Mr. Kojic. I think we’ll see how much the KLA wants you.”

The man shook his head again, much more vigorously this time. “I do have something of value,” he insisted. “I know how Sanders does his banking; how he moves his money around. I also know a little about his email traffic and how he set up the electronic dead drops we used.”

Casey didn’t trust him. “I don’t buy it,” she said. “I want to see the information first. If it’s legitimate, then we’ll discuss what we can do for you. Where is it?”

“On my laptop. “In the study.”

“Fine,” said Casey. “I assume it’s password protected. Give it to me.”

Kojic leaned over until his fingers protruded from behind his back and then wiggled one. “It’s biometric.”

“Of course. Just like everything else in here,” she said as she picked up the syringe.

“Wait,” replied Kojic. “I’m cooperating. What is that for?”

“To make sure you continue to cooperate.”

Ericsson pulled back the robe and restrained him as Casey injected him with several milligrams of Valium. They hadn’t given him enough to knock him out, just enough to make him happily compliant.

Their plan was to change into the evening wear they had brought, call down to the garage valet as a giggling girlfriend, and request his car be brought around, then steer him into the elevator, down to the garage, and out of the building in his own car.

Before they did that, though, Casey wanted to make sure Kojic was telling them the truth. “Let’s get him over to his computer before he gets too goofy,” she said.

With each of the women helping lift from under his arms, they got him to his feet and walked him out of the bathroom. His legs were already a bit wobbly. Casey was concerned that she might have given him too much. A man his size should have been able to better handle the dose she had administered.

“How much did you give him?” asked Ericsson, as she felt herself having to support more and more of his body weight.

“The usual adult dose,” she replied as they half-carried him into his study. On the TV mounted in the bookcase, the soccer game was still playing.

“Where should we put him?” asked Ericsson. “At his desk?”

Casey shook her head. “Let’s put him on the couch.”

They navigated around a large glass coffee table and dropped him. His fat ass landed perfectly in the dented cushion. Put his feet up, the remote in one hand and a beer in the other and this was probably what it looked like every night at Château Kojic.

Casey walked around to the desk and scanned it before opening any drawers. Right above where his legs would have been she found a panic button. It was a good thing they hadn’t sat him there.

In the center drawer, she found and removed his laptop. Opening it, she saw that it did in fact have a fingerprint scanner. Pressing the power button, she picked it up and carried it over to him.

Kojic’s head was lolling on the back of the couch and looked like an orange on a jack-in-the-box spring. Valium was a tricky drug. You could estimate how much you thought someone would need, but then be completely surprised. Its effectiveness was not related to a subject’s size.

When the computer prompt popped up on the screen requesting Kojic to swipe his finger on the print reader, they leaned him over to get at his bound hands. With Ericsson balancing the laptop, Casey grabbed his right index finer and tried to swipe it. Nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing.

Fingerprint readers were often problematic even when a person was trying to swipe his own finger. Throw a huge, drugged-up Serb with his hands tied behind his back into the mix and it was no surprise they were having trouble.

Casey removed her folding knife, snapped the blade into position, and cut away Kojic’s restraints.

Jerking his right arm out in front of him, she dropped his hand onto his thigh and then grabbed his index finger. She scanned it across the reader and his fingerprint was accepted.

But while Casey and Ericsson were busy with his right hand, they had not been paying attention to what his left hand was doing.

Kojic brought a lamp crashing into the side of Casey’s head just as he used his other hand to slap the laptop up into Ericsson’s jaw.

Reaching next to the couch, he hit a secondary panic alarm and struggled to stand.

“A panic button has just been activated,” said Rhodes over the radio. “What’s going on in there?”

“Deactivate it,” said Casey as Ericsson tried to grab Kojic.

“I can’t,” she replied.

Casey was about to tell her to at least shut down the elevators when Branko lunged at her.

She was still stunned from being struck with the lamp and that impaired her reaction time. The best she could do was lash out with a quick kick to his knee.

The strike caused him to lose his balance and stumble to the side. Before either Casey or Ericsson could catch him, he went face-first into the glass coffee table.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion as the glass erupted in thousands of gleaming shards.

“Damn it,” Casey yelled. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

Ericsson bent down to feel for a pulse, but there was none. Kojic had struck his head on one of the table’s wrought-iron legs. His open, lifeless eyes stared off underneath the couch while a pool of blood began to form on the carpet underneath him.

“Security is on its way up,” said Rhodes. “You need to get out of there. Now.”

It took Casey a moment to snap to.

“Gretch, we’ve got to go,” said Ericsson.

Casey nodded. “Get the laptop,” she replied as she left the room. “I’ll get the tool case so I can get his finger.”

As their elevator raced toward the top floor, Megan Rhodes read out atmospheric data for them. Their exit was going to be even more dangerous than their entrance.

Hitting the access stairs, they burst through the door and ran up two flights. Retrieving their harnesses, they prepped as quickly as possible. Tightening their helmets, they gave their reserve chutes one last check and then gave each other the thumbs-up.

“Security just arrived,” said Megan. “They are one floor below you headed your way.”

Casey and Ericsson ran out onto the roof and went in two different directions. They ran as fast as their legs would propel them, and when they reached the edge of the roof, they leaped out and off into the night.

DENVER

Ben Matthews checked to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation and said, “She’s got someone following me? Since when?”

Dean Pence tore the top off another pack of sugar and dumped the contents into his coffee. “Since she gave you the phones to plant.”

Ben couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen anyone. But if Pence said he was being followed, then he was definitely being followed. “So now we know she’s not operating alone.”

“I told you she’d screw up.”

“How many people does she have on me?” asked Matthews.

“At least two that I’ve been able to ID so far.”

“Damn it. I should have seen them.”