Greg Bear - Quantico

He turned to face the rail looking out over the parking lot. In front of the motel, a plump woman in a brown maid’s uniform ran across the street as fast as her stocky legs could carry her.

Getting the hell out.

Now was the time to jump to conclusions. Someone had taken the maid’s pass key and deadbolt shim. They had brought their own bolt cutters for the chain.

This was real.

Gingham=pioneer spirit.

Christ, it’s them. They found us.

William shut his door to a crack. Before his conscious mind could catch up, he had his slate in hand and had punched the button for agent assistance. Then he took his SIG from under the pillow. It vibrated in recognition of his keycode.

The automated Bureau phone voice came back; his location was pinpointed and local police or other agents would be there as soon as possible. ‘If you are able, leave your message.’

‘One agent hostage, one active, this location. Request any and all backup.’ He closed the unit and slung it on his belt. From here on, the slate would track his movements and relay whatever he was hearing to the Seattle first response center.

He put his ear to the wall. Through the plaster, just barely, he caught: ‘Strip her. She’s wired.’

Male, angry and not too old.

Then, ‘How do you know she’s a fed?’ A young woman or teenager. Paper crackled.

William’s Lynx made a little wheep. Rebecca was now off his team grid.

‘ Check her purse. ’

‘ I don’t see a purse. ’

‘ Then check her jacket! ’

William opened the door again and flattened himself against the wall to the right. He knew better than to announce himself. They would cut or shoot her and then try to shoot him. If they had gone this far, they weren’t too concerned about their own lives.

They had been followed from the farm, perhaps from the town. Do they even know I’m here?

From next door he heard a muffled grunt. Then the male’s voice, louder: ‘He went to get pizza, right? You kill my daddy and then you run off to eat pizza and fornicate, right?’

The girl’s voice: ‘ Keep it down, Jeremiah. ’

‘ Get her badge! I want to make her eat it! ’

They had opened the door to the wrong room first and found it empty. Then they had broken into Rebecca’s room.

William sucked in a deep breath, letting it go with a quick and nearly silent ohhmmmmmm. He had learned that from a homicide detective.

‘ I’m going to slice you open like a squealing pig. We’re going to watch while you bleed to death.’

If he kicked at the door and went in now they’d kill her instantly. Backup would not arrive in time. He had just a few minutes, if that, while they toyed with her.

William looked at the maid’s cart.

The young man with dirty blond hair and the finest little blue eyes-the girl had called him Jeremiah-tossed Rebecca’s gun aside once he saw it would not fire for him. The girl kicked it under the television cabinet.

Rebecca sat hunched over on the side of the bed, her folded hands between her legs. They had ripped the buttons on her blouse and pulled it down from her shoulders, restricting her arm movements and pulling away her Lynx sensors. She had not been free to hit her panic button before it was on the floor. Her coat and creds were in the closet. She had removed her belt and packs before lying down and they were on the bathroom counter. The young man and the girl had not yet gone into the bathroom.

For the moment it was best not to talk. They wanted her alive long enough to have their fun and express themselves.

Jeremiah sat beside Rebecca, reaching around with his right hand and poking the tip of the gray blade against the right side of her throat. She could feel a drop of blood sliding like a warm slug to her clavicle.

The girl stepped closer, sideways, as if afraid, then leaned over. She gasped as Rebecca met her eyes, then reached out and slapped her. Rebecca turned her face to one side. Dressmaker’s dummy. Let them think she was in shock. Not too far wrong. She must have been sleeping like a log. Her mouth tasted dry and sour. She could see the blood drop ooze its way down her breast. It spread out in the lace of her bra.

The girl reached into the folds of her dress and brought out a Smith & Wesson 9mm. She pointed it at Rebecca’s head.

The young man shook his hair aside and moved the knife down. His left hand held her left arm at the elbow. His head was about six inches behind and to her left. He leaned awkwardly on the bed. He would go off balance with less than a nudge. If he fell, the knife would slice her throat but probably not cut anything vital.

Still, she hated being cut-any kind of cut.

And then the girl would put a slug in her brain.

‘You raided private property,’ Jeremiah said. ‘You shot our daddy. You sent in the whole damned army and just shot him like a dog. Gutless cowards. You have no idea what we were getting ready for, what we had all planned out, no idea, do you?’

‘I’m listening,’ Rebecca said. ‘Tell me.’

‘Tell you what , bitch?’

‘Tell me what happened. I wasn’t there.’

‘You’re a damned liar!’

Spit flew again. She wanted to wipe her eye but didn’t dare. The young man’s spit from a minute ago was sitting on the corner of her lid, still damp. ‘What’s your sister’s name?’ Rebecca asked. She could barely talk. The knife made a shallow slice as her throat moved. She grimaced. ‘Ow.’

The boy backed the knife off half an inch. Good sign, for now.

‘She’s not my sister. She’s my stepmother. Daddy had four wives.’

‘Oh.’

Rebecca smelled oranges. Thousands of oranges.

‘We’re getting out of here. We have money, safe houses, they’ll never find us. You’ll never tell. You don’t know it yet but you’re already dead.’

Jeremiah had rebalanced himself, a young man’s natural caution, had pulled the knife back another inch and scootched himself forward on the bed. Not a well-trained move.

Also good.

‘Right,’ Rebecca said.

‘Where’d the other one go?’ the girl asked. ‘We saw two of you check in.’

‘He left,’ Rebecca said. ‘He went back.’

‘Back where?’

‘To Seattle. I’m off-duty.’

The girl awkwardly gripped the 9mm in both hands. She didn’t seem to know how to use it. Her eyes were dark brown and with her thin face and sallow skin she wasn’t very pretty. Rebecca saw, through the long dress, that the girl was at least six months pregnant. She looked more worried than angry but the slap had stung. And her finger was making little jerks on the trigger.

‘How long before you’re due?’ Rebecca asked, and then cringed inwardly. No need to remind her of her condition or her lost husband.

‘You slut ,’ the girl said. ‘We were all doing God’s work.’

‘Shut up,’ Jeremiah said. ‘Let’s just cut her and get the hell out of here. We’ll wait in the other room.’

Again the knife touched Rebecca’s throat and drew blood. She could feel the young man’s arm tighten. She looked up at the window. Bright flickering yellow warmed the rectangle of inner curtains.

‘Something’s on fire,’ she said.

William heaped four rolls of toilet paper on the railing with tails dragging on the deck. He then squirted them all with streamers of orange-smelling fluid from the bottle of Goo-Gone he had found in the cleaning tray on the cart. Unwinding more toilet paper around the bottom of the railing, he made sure to leave a space in front of the door. He did not want them to shrink back into the room. He wanted them to open the door, look at the fire, and then try to escape-without hurting Rebecca.