Chris Mooney - World Without End

Behind the strip mall was a wooded area, its shaded edge holding trash barrels and four redwood picnic tables. All he had to do was walk through the woods, make his way around to the back of Praxis, climb up the embankment, and then he would be able to see the company's main and side entrances. He could watch and report his findings to Bouchard, who should be back at Delburn by now. It beat sitting around and waiting.

He shoved the phone back into its leather case and, Palm Pilot in hand, got out of the Pathfinder and ran behind the strip mall. He tore through the dense growth, ducking under tree limbs, branches snapping back. To his immediate left and rising at what looked like a ninety-degree angle was a steep embankment. He ran up it, struggling, his legs burning, and then five minutes later, his hard work was rewarded.

In the spaces between the trees, Conway could see the side of the building, the late-morning sun reflecting off the blue-mirrored glass so brightly it made him squint. Dizzy, his face hot and his breath coming in sharp, painful bursts, Conway stumbled around until he found the spot that offered him the best view of the building and then squatted down and surveyed the situation.

The main road from the highway wrapped around the side of the building, past the delivery entrance and then opened up into the spacious parking lot full of cars. The battered Ford Bronco from the skydiving school was parked at the bottom of the concrete stairs that led to the mailroom, its door held open by a brick. Past the Bronco was a fire truck and another van, this one gray. The vehicles were parked parallel to each other, blocking the main road to prevent anyone from entering or exiting the parking lot. The gray van's driver's-side door was open, waiting for the driver to return.

The front entrance and lobby was made of clear glass. Past the front door was a security guard station. Beyond that were two sets of elevators. No firemen or bomb technicians lingered around, and, he noticed, the security gates had not been deployed. If Randy had triggered the alarm, those gates would have covered each of the company's two exits.

Conway removed the Palm Pilot from his back pocket and checked the screen. The window displaying the download status was still frozen the software was no longer being downloaded into the suit but if Angel Eyes had Randy, he would use him to bring the server back online. Once that happened, a few more minutes worth of work and Angel Eyes and his men would be done and gone.

Conway leaned the Palm upright against the tree so he could see the screen. His phone vibrated against his hip. He removed it from the case and pressed it against his sweaty ear.

"Steve, Keith Harring, Hazard Team leader for Unit Six." The voice was deep and gritty, as if he had sand lodged in his throat.

"We were finally able to get through to Delburn. Bouchard filled us in. You get through to Scott?"

"I did."

"Give me your status."

"The lab server is still offline."

"And Scott?"

"I haven't been able to reach him. Where are you?"

"En route to your location. We just left."

Just left? Conway felt his body sag. He had hoped Hazard had already moved in.

As if sensing the question, Harring said, "Our communications were being jammed. When we saw what went down at the airport, we knew the gig had gone FUBAR, so we tried another way out not easy since the place looks like a war zone."

"What about Bouchard?"

"We lost contact. Hold on."

Harring's voice moved away and spoke to someone else, the words inaudible over the sound of car horns blaring and the rapid click-click-click of fingers working a keyboard. The airport was max twenty minutes away. Once the lab server came back online, a few more minutes and Angel Eyes would be downloading the software and would be gone well before Hazard arrived.

Harring was back now: "The satellite's locked on your heat signature The field you're sitting in is clear. You're the only guy out back.

Now listen to me and listen carefully.

"I've got the building's floor and design schematics loaded onto our system. I'm working with a three-dimensional model that allows us to see where they're traveling inside. The satellite will pick up heat signatures and motion. The first floor is clear, and so is the second and third. On the fourth, I'm showing three bodies, all alive, standing outside a door. One is sitting, the other three standing."

"The lab's on the fourth floor," Conway said.

"If they're inside the lab, you won't be able to pick up their heat signatures or voices or any transmissions. The entire place is shielded. The others must be in there with Dixon."

"I thought they couldn't get inside the lab without wearing special encoded badges that the lab's security would go off."

"They could have used Randy to disable the security."

"But not Dixon."

"Dix doesn't have the security clearance."

"Okay, good, that buys us some time. The security room is clear. My guess is that they're saving that for last. Get the suit out first, and then have their guys go inside the security room and remove the surveillance tapes. No way they're going to leave that evidence wait, we've got action." Harring's voice was tight now, excited.

"I'm showing two men standing outside the lab door. They're kicking the guy sitting on the floor, and one of them has a weapon, looks like a submachine gun, he's pointing it at this guy's head."

"Randy," Conway said and felt a heaviness fill his heart. They've got him.

"Randy know you're here?"

"He knows I'm alive."

"So these guys are going to try to make him talk."

"Randy won't talk."

"He might if they blow out one of his kneecaps. He's young, Steve. A newbie. He's scared, and if he starts babbling, he'll blow any chance we've got of salvaging this operation."

Below his eyes, Conway saw movement. He looked down at the Palm's screen and saw what was happening.

"The server's back online," he said.

"They're downloading the remaining files."

"How long until they're "

"They're seventy percent done. Ten minutes, maybe five, I don't know, it's too close."

"We won't make it in time."

Two years of hard work, the countless man hours and sleepless nights, the deaths of IWAC team members, Pasha, and now Dixon and Randy were about to be slaughtered.

Harring said, "You have to shut down the server."

"They have Randy. They would have used him to shut off my permissions."

"But they think you're dead, right?"

"They would have shut off my access. It's the smart thing to do."

"But you don't know that. You armed?"

"I've got my Palm Pilot."

"And it has the Air Taser system, right?"

"Yeah."

"I can work with that. Steve, I can watch you on my screen here, watch your back and tell you where to go. The delivery room is clear. You can enter from the side." No urgency in Harring's voice, just a cold, professional precision that reminded Conway of a seasoned coach who was confidently telling the younger player that the bases were loaded, and all he had to do was step up to the plate, hit a line drive, and the game was over.

"You want me to be a running target until you get there," Con-way said.

"They won't be able to touch you, I promise."

Time was running down on the Palm Pilot.

It is in the midst of these split-second decisions that character is forged. You don't have time to prepare. You must quickly draw on your inner resources and training, act and hope for the best.

Conway shoved the Palm Pilot into his back pocket and stood up.

"I'll make contact with you once I'm inside."

Twenty-Two.

Conway ran up the concrete steps and past the opened door and plunged into the cold semidarkness of the delivery room.