Jeffery Deaver - Edge

THE ATTACKER WAS kicking and trying desperately to get to my weapon.

At the same time as my vision began to return I caught a whiff of sweat and perfume.

“Amanda!” I whispered. “It’s me, Corte.” I pushed her off me.

The girl backed up, squinting and aiming the pepper spray into my face. In the red light from the exit sign I could see her grim eyes.

She’s got some grit, your daughter. It’d take a lot to get her rattled …

The panic bled from her expression. “Oh… Mr. Corte.” Her cheeks were damp but not from crying; the residual gas from the spray was irritating her, like everybody else here. I pulled the duct tape off her wrists.

Pogue looked our way and gestured us down, then scanned the nearby portions of the office.

The girl collapsed against me, not in panic, though. She was exhausted.

Nearby: the sound of metal hitting the concrete floor.

“Eyes and ears,” Pogue snapped.

I closed my eyes and pulled Amanda close, her face in my chest, covering her ears. When the grenade went off, this time we were prepared.

Except that this grenade was different.

There was a hiss and pop, rather than an explosion. I looked up to see a brilliant white light fill the entire room, shooting stark shadows onto the walls. At the same time the phosphorous burst out in a small dome and ignited the nearby portion of floor, the partitions and the upholstery of the office chairs. The brilliant white light died but the fire continued-and it grew-and we could just make out shadowy forms moving briefly on the far side of the room, then vanishing.

A moment later another grenade landed, closer to us. We scrabbled away before it detonated and another sphere of the sticky incendiary rose. Phosphorous is like napalm. It sticks like glue and will burn through clothing and skin.

“We can’t stay here,” Pogue whispered, looking right and left. Eyes scanning constantly. “Okay, here’s what we do. We can’t all run a defense going back out the main corridor, so I’m going to keep them pinned. You and the girl go out the front. When help comes tell ’em where I am.”

Pogue’s approach was the only logical one. I said, “Freddy’s on his way. Shouldn’t be long.”

Another grenade flew toward us and we were just able to get out of the way in time. It detonated, starting a third fire.

I considered a possible strategy. I whispered, “One minute.”

I eased Amanda down under a desk and gestured for Pogue to cover her. He acknowledged this. I made my way a little closer to where I believed the latest grenade had come from. I knew the flash-bang grenades would have stunned the others’ hearing too and I was betting that Loving might not recognize my voice.

I took a deep breath and shouted, “Henry, he’s behind you! Ten feet.”

Loving didn’t fall for it, in fact he instantly anticipated the strategy and called, “No! Everybody down.” But one of his colleagues had risen from cover and spun around, lifting his gun.

A perfect target. I fired a group of three. Two in the chest, one in the head. He dropped hard.

Pogue acknowledged this with a nod. Two down.

I ducked to cover, as the other associate of Loving’s fired blindly in my direction. I bent down. “You ready, Amanda?”

“I’m totally ready.”

Pogue moved twenty feet away from us, to a spot where he’d draw their fire. He unscrewed the silencer and let go with five or six rounds throughout the room. The Beretta roared.

Crouching, Amanda and I dodged sputtering, white-hot fires and pushed through the exit door on the second-floor hallway. I was afraid that the door was locked from this side too but it wasn’t and I kicked it open.

A machine pistol started firing, along with another flash-bang, then another. Loving understood that Amanda and I had escaped and the two remaining hostiles were doing all they could to take Pogue out and get past him.

Then the girl and I were in the stairwell and speeding down the steps. We made it to the corridor on the main floor and started down the endless hallway toward the exit ahead of us. I was dizzy from scanning the doorways, scanning the corridor behind, scanning the corridor ahead. Mostly looking behind, though, which was the direction Loving or his surviving partner would come from.

More explosions and automatic weapon fire but growing more muted as we hurried for the exit.

Then I heard a hollow cry of pain.

It was Pogue’s voice. There was no doubt. It continued for a moment or two as, I supposed, the phosphorous burned through his jacket and slacks to the skin. Finally there was a single shot and the screams and gunfire stopped.

I wondered if he’d ended his own life.

A horrific thought but I couldn’t dwell on it. This meant Loving and the other man would be after us at any moment. We pressed forward. The doorways were bothering me. They were recessed slightly and as we came to each one, I had no way of knowing if a door was ajar. I believed the guard outside that there were four people with the girl but it would have been possible that the primary along with other minders had arrived and, hearing the shots, were hiding here, behind one of the doors.

I decided, though, that it really didn’t matter. We had to move forward fast.

But now Amanda was starting to lose it. With her adrenaline fading, hysteria was flowing in like a riptide. She was crying, breathing hard and stumbling.

“Come on, Amanda. Are you with me?” I gripped her arm.

She took a deep breath. The tears ceased. “Yeah. I’m with you.”

Looking behind…

Nothing.

I could detect the horrific smell of burning flesh and I tried not to think about Pogue.

Ten feet from the front door. Five feet.

A glance behind. The corridor was still empty. Maybe Pogue had taken out Loving and the remaining hostile.

I pushed through the door fast, inhaling the sweet damp air. My strategy was to shoot the tires out of the other cars and SUVs here, then get to mine. And drive fast. I’d call Freddy from the road. Coordinate the assault here. Amanda clung to my arm with one hand and clutched her pepper spray in the other. I saw a Metropolitan Police Department label on the side.

My phone buzzed with a text. It was Freddy, reporting that the troops would be here in twenty minutes or so.

I paused in front of the building and glanced back down the corridor again. It was still empty. Then I turned toward the vehicles. I lifted my Glock toward the tires, whispering, “Cover your ears.”

Before I could shoot, though, I heard a noise behind me. I turned fast but saw nothing. The corridor was still empty.

I realized then that the noise was coming from above us.

I looked up to see Henry Loving launch himself from the roof. He crashed down onto Amanda and me, sending us sprawling on the concrete apron. I landed hard with a stunning, painful jolt in my spine. Air spurted from my lungs, and the Glock tumbled out of reach through the dirt and weeds.

HIS CLOTHING SCORCHED-SOME skin too-Loving rolled off me onto the sidewalk that led to the facility’s parking lot. He’d lost his weapon inside and his face was bleeding, though the wound didn’t seem bad. He winced as he gripped his side, where his cousin had stitched him up from my gunshot at Carter’s lake house.

As he struggled to get to the gun, I grabbed his leg and jacket.

I realized he’d used a fire door on the other side of the hill and had sprinted here through the grass and foliage of the camouflaged roof.

Amanda crawled forward toward him, brandishing her pepper spray. I started to tell her not to but it was too late. She cried out in rage and pushed it close to his face.