Chris Mooney - World Without End

The Palm was dead. Conway yanked out the barbs, wrapped the wire around the Palm and then shoved the unit into his back pocket.

He stood up, grabbed the man's baseball hat and then dragged him into one of the offices. The guy had greasy black hair and pale skin young, early twenties, too young to be doing this. He knelt down and first removed the weapon, a Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachine gun the preferred weapon for close quarters combat and used by the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team and terrorist groups. A sup-presser was threaded over the barrel and a tactical light was mounted under the forward handguard. The HK, he noticed, had been set to semiautomatic mode.

One shot and this guy would have turned you into hamburger.

"He's down," Conway said. He fastened the machine gun's strap over his shoulder and then started going through the guy's front pockets.

Nothing. Conway rolled him over and tried the back pockets. The words "Bomb Squad" were printed on the back of the T-shirt. Conway checked the guy's waistband and ankles for a hidden weapon and came up empty.

The radio clipped to the man's belt crackled and came to life. The voice spoke in Russian. Conway had studied the language and knew exactly what the Russian man had said: Demetri, did you find Comuay?

"They know I'm in here," Conway said to Harring.

"Where's target one?"

"Still in the mailroom no, wait, he just ran outside. He's heading toward the van."

They're getting ready to move.

An alarm sounded. Not the fire alarm, no, this one was steady and very distinct: ding-ding, ding-ding.

"What's going on?" Harring's voice was barely audible.

"They've activated the lab's security system," Conway said.

"They're locking me inside the building."

Right now metal gates similar to the ones city store owners pulled down across their small shops at night to prevent burglaries and vandalism were descending all over the lobby and the delivery entrance. Any window or area on the first floor that could provide an exit would now be gated. Running was useless. Conway was trapped.

Conway thought of the man who had just run outside and wondered, Why are they deploying the security system now? They're locking themselves inside the building.

Because they know you're here. They've got you trapped, and now they're coming to take care of you. You walked right into it.

Unless those gates came back up, the Hazard Team would have no way of entering the building and Conway would have no way of escaping. He stood up and shut the door, quieting the sound of the alarm.

Harring said, "We've got movement."

Conway brought the HK up and pointed it at the door, a new, wired energy surging through his body.

"Six people running out the lab doors and they're all brandishing weapons," Harring said.

"Where's Randy?"

A click over his receiver as Harring swallowed and then said, "Shit.

One of them is dragging Randy back inside the lab."

To kill him, Conway thought. Angel Eyes is going to kill Randy and Dixon. Right. The man didn't leave witnesses.

The lab was on the fourth floor, max five minutes away.

You have time, you can still save them.

"I'm going to the lab," Conway said.

"What's the best route?"

"The stairwells are clear. Secure the lab, and we'll take the outside perimeter. I'll watch your back. Steve?"

"Yeah."

"Once we arrive, I'll need to redirect my focus to the Hazard Team. I won't be able to watch them and you simultaneously."

"I'll take care of Dixon and Randy."

"Good luck."

Conway opened the door and sprinted through the maze of corridors, the alarm blaring everywhere, the sound like something ripped from a disaster movie, a sinking ship about to go down along with Dixon and Randy, two minutes and counting.

Conway shut the fourth door behind him and crouched against the wall on his right, the alarm drilling inside his head. The hallway continued straight for maybe fifteen feet, broke for the fourth-floor lobby elevators and then continued beyond that to the final corridor that would lead him straight to the lab. Facing him was a railing. Beyond it and far below was the main lobby. A towering wall of mirrored blue glass stretched all the way to the roof.

The alarm stopped. Conway's ears were ringing.

"He's not on the first floor," someone said in a thick Russian accent, the booming voice rising from the lobby. Conway wanted to peek over the railing and see the faces of the men and commit them to memory. He took a step forward and then stopped. No. Too risky.

"You check the security room?" a second voice asked.

Paul, it's the cameraman, Paul.

"He wasn't in there," the Russian said.

"He's got to be inside the building."

"Find Conway, he's here, hiding."

"The alarm probably scared him off, and he ran back outside," Paul said.

"What do you think he's going to do, come charging in here and try to take us down? Relax, Niki, our job is done. Dana's getting the scene set up in the lab. And I got word on Delburn."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's been liquidated."

Conway felt his body sag with defeat. Outside the window and floating in the hard blue sky, he could see the UT watchtower leering at him.

The security gates started to rise, clank-clank-clank. Beyond it, Conway heard the faint, screech of tires. They were getting ready to run.

Which meant Randy and possibly Dixon had only a few minutes, maybe even a few seconds, to live.

"Harrison should be here," Niki the Russian said.

"He's probably inside the security room pulling the tapes inside as we speak," Paul said.

"Our ride's here. Time to boogie."

Over the headset, Harring said, "We're setting up. Secure the lab.

Once we've secured the perimeter, I'll call you back."

Conway skulked across the carpet, and when he was in the clear, he stood up and ran down the final hallway of twists and turns, his sweaty finger sliding across the trigger, ready to shoot. A minute later he stood outside the first door that would lead him into the lab's offices and, then, finally, the lab itself. He brought the weapon up, turned the corner, and moved inside the lab's office of cubicles.

Darkness. No windows existed inside these rooms, and the overhead lights were turned off. Where was the switch? He felt the wall.

Nothing. He had moved through these rooms hundreds of times, and he knew the layout by heart but couldn't remember seeing light switches.

The HK had a tactical light mounted under the stock. Too risky. One of Angel Eyes's men might see the beam of light. Conway stumbled toward the lab, making progress… he turned the corner.

The hallway was a tube, long and dark and filled with a steady hum, and at the far end were the pair of steel doors, both open.

The doors should have been shut and locked. It confirmed Con-way's suspicion: Angel Eyes had modified the lab's security system.

An inside job, Steve, be careful. Who the fuck knows what else they've done in there.

A dull amber glow from the lab's overhead lighting washed into the corridor. Conway moved down the corridor and saw the ramp of cream-colored tile that led to a staging area. This contained three workstations packed with several desktop computers used for testing various software before it was installed on the company's LAN, Praxis's central nervous system of networked computers. Conway moved past the doors and then placed one foot on the tile ramp, testing his weight.

The tiles were removable, the floor underneath hollow to allow the nerd herd easy access to the sprawling nest of wires that hooked up all the servers and telecommunications equipment. Walking across the tiles even in sneakers would echo your footsteps. With his hand on the railing for support, Conway kept low and moved carefully up the ramp.