This time, her arrival was met by three workers framing out an office, using aluminum studs and drywall, who looked as mystified by the apparition of a woman as if she’d been a circus bear riding a unicycle. All three stopped what they were doing and stared, their eyes following her as she repeated her search. The heaviest of the men put down his level and frowned slightly at Jet.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking at the space. Considering renting it.”
“Not this floor. It’s already taken. We’re building it out.”
“Ah. I must have hit the wrong button.”
“The next one up is also taken. We’ve got crews working on it. But I think most of the upper floors are still available – nobody has told us to do anything up there yet.”
Jet nodded her thanks after a quick glance at the junction boxes. She was dying to ask whether the men with the cart had been through there. “Say, I met two very helpful men pushing a cart downstairs. Have you seen them? I wanted to thank them.”
The workers gave her a blank stare.
“A cart? No. Sorry,” the heavyset foreman said.
She moved back the elevator. The stainless steel panels glided open on their freshly oiled tracks and she pressed the glowing eighteen button. Once the doors had closed, she tapped her earbud.
“Two down. Nothing. How are you doing?”
“Zip. I ran into some workers, but nobody’s seen anything,” Eric said, murmuring. “I’m at thirteen. This floor looks empty.”
“You’re checking the electric panels?”
“Of course. Be hard to miss a suitcase-sized container there, wouldn’t it?”
“Gotta go,” she said and tapped the earbud off as the steel doors slid aside again. The scene from below was repeated, walls in various stages of finish, an electrician running wiring as other workers laid out the final floor plan, and she used her mistaken floor explanation with similar results. Nobody knew anything about two men with the cart.
Satisfied that the area was clean, she re-entered the elevator and repeated the process on the next three levels, the eighteenth with a skeleton crew working and the final two empty. As she completed her hurried inspection on the twentieth floor, growing increasingly impatient, her phone vibrated. She held it up and waited while the screen pulsed, and then an image popped up – the van picture, digitally enhanced.
Her eyes widened as she studied the photo, then she tapped her earbud again as she entered the elevator.
“I got the van image. It’s the elevator manufacturer’s logo. They’re posing as elevator technicians,” she said.
“Wait. One of the elevators is stopped up at the twenty-eighth floor. Two below the roof,” Eric said as he studied the glowing floor indicators. “I see yours at the twentieth, and the third one is at the lobby. I’ve been using the stairs.”
“That has to be it. The twenty-eighth. We’re running out of time – the bomb has to be up there.”
“I’ll get moving now and meet you in the stairwell at the twenty-seventh, and then we can go in together.”
Jet pushed the button and waited for the doors to slide shut again, her pulse accelerating at the news. Finally, they had the break they’d been looking for. She just hoped that they could find the device before the clock ran out for good.
~ ~ ~
“We have a problem. Company.” Solomon’s voice was distorted over the radio speaker, but Joseph could still make out the tension in it.
“What! How do you know? Who is it?”
“Mossad. I saw that one of the elevators was stopping at each floor and thought it was suspicious, so I activated the intercom to see what I could pick up. They know you’re up there. And I presume they’re Mossad because they were speaking Hebrew.”
“Damn. How the hell–”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do what I can. I’m going to cut the power to all the elevators so they’ll be stranded. How’s it going with the timer?” Solomon asked anxiously. He had taken up a position in the basement elevator room just in case of this sort of eventuality – they’d agreed that between his shoulder and the dog bites, he would be more useful behind a switch than staring over Joseph’s shoulder as he armed the bomb.
“I only need a few more minutes, so their efforts will be in vain. I verified the rest of the circuitry, and it looks good to go. I just need to tweak one of the connections that looked iffy and set the timer, and we’re out of here.”
“Let me know when it’s done and I’ll disable the elevator control panel. Just a little insurance. Hope you don’t mind walking down twenty-eight flights.”
“Down’s the easy part. And I’ll be motivated.”
Chapter 37
The lights shut off inside the elevator and it shuddered to a stop halfway through its rise to the twenty-seventh floor. For an instant it jolted, the whole car seeming to vibrate, and then the car dropped and went into freefall. Jet’s last thought as the elevator plunged was that something had gone horribly wrong, and that she loved Hannah with all her heart.
Her stomach lurched as the car plummeted, hurtling toward the bottom of the shaft an impossible distance below, and then the emergency brakes engaged and it ground to a stop, the sound of metal on metal deafening in the enclosed chamber.
Jet stood motionless for a small eternity, gripping the metal handrail that circled the interior walls, her heart caught in her throat, afraid to move lest she somehow shake the elevator loose and it resume its drop. When it became obvious to her that it had stopped for good, she waited until her eyes became accustomed to the complete darkness and then fumbled her phone from her pocket, pausing before pressing one of the keys to illuminate the screen so she could use it to see. She studied the ceiling and spotted a panel that looked like it would hide an emergency access door, and after memorizing the location, she pocketed the cell and pushed herself up onto the steel railing, bracing her feet against it as her fingers felt for a grip.
The plastic panel shifted to the side, and when she groped above it she felt the cold metal of a handle. She twisted it and the mechanism unlatched, allowing her to push the hatch open, and then her hands moved to the edges of the aperture, searching for a hold.
The elevator shuddered, slipping a few inches, and she lost her footing and fell, hitting the floor hard. Cursing, she willed herself up and repeated her ascent, this time finding a suitable grip. She pulled herself up until her torso was through the hatch, then shifted her hands and eased her legs out.
Once she was standing on the elevator roof, she gazed up to where dim light was entering at the top of the shaft through ventilation slits. Jet forced herself to take a moment and close her eyes, and when she opened them again she could make out more detail – including the motor that opened the two doors for the level just above her. She reached up and pressed against the pair of panels, and they slid open relatively easily – when the power was off, the electric opener disengaged, so there was only token resistance. She remembered from a prior mission when she’d deliberately cut the power to an elevator in South Africa so she could gain access to a target via the shaft. Jet wedged her arm into the space and pushed the doors wider, then climbed through the gap onto the marble floor, never happier to be on solid footing.
That level was empty, and after a cursory confirming look she ran to the emergency stairwell on the far side of the building. She wrenched it open and heard the echo of footsteps ascending above her. When she tapped her earbud, the noise abruptly stopped.
“I’m in the stairwell below you. Twenty-first floor,” Jet whispered.
“Why? You need exercise?” Eric asked, keeping his voice low.
“Hardly. Problem with the elevator. They may be on to us. The power’s off. Hard to believe that was an accident. I’ll be right up. How close are you?”
“Twenty-fifth.”
Jet stopped talking and took the stairs two at a time, her robe billowing behind her as she practically flew up the steps. When she made it to Eric a fine sheen o
f perspiration glistened on her cheeks behind the veil. Standing on the landing with him, she pulled the headdress off and hurriedly stuffed it into one of her cargo pant pockets beneath her robe, then gazed up at the remaining flights.
“Same plan as before. Except that they’re expecting us, so go in low and fast,” she warned in a whisper.
“You want to lead, or should I?”
“Doesn’t matter. Whichever you like.”
“I’ll go first,” Eric said.
“Better pick up the pace. We’re running late. Let’s hope they haven’t decided to make the end of the world a little early. That could ruin everyone’s day.”
Eric nodded, turned, and resumed his climb, Jet only a few steps behind him, both of their weapons now out in the open, rounds chambered, ready to engage. When they arrived at the twenty-eighth floor landing they were preparing to breach the door when silenced gunfire from above shattered the stillness in the confined space, the staccato popping of a sound-suppressed automatic weapon unmistakable.
Ricochets gouged chunks from the concrete above their heads as the shooter rained slugs down on their position, and an errant round tore the top of Eric’s skull off, drenching the wall behind him with a spray of blood and bone fragments. Jet was already throwing herself to the side as his body dropped like a sack of cement on the steps in front of her. Dodging lower, she reached out with her free hand and tried to stop his slide down the stairs even as she brought her weapon up and returned fire at the muzzle flashes two stories above. Ten shots spat from her pistol as she pulled the trigger as rapidly as she could, hoping to hit the gunman with a stray, and then Eric’s body jerked as more slugs pounded into him, his bulk shielding her from a hail of certain death.
Her awareness narrowed to where there was nothing but her and the shooter as she answered the gunfire with her remaining rounds, and then ejected the spent magazine in a fluid motion and slapped a fresh one into place. Another eight shots coughed from her pistol, and the last elicited a pained grunt from above, followed by the faint creak of hinges and a loud slam. The stairwell fell suddenly silent, and Jet rose cautiously from her position, ears alert for any hint of another onslaught. When she was sure the shooting was over, she leaned forward to feel in Eric’s jacket for his spare magazine. She retrieved his gun and mounted the steps, holding both weapons in front of her, ready to empty them at the first sound or movement.
Jet reached the top floor in seconds and studied the two metal doors – one leading to the penthouse, the other to the roof. She slowed her breathing as she searched for any tell-tale signs of which the shooter had gone through, and then her eye drifted to the corner of the penthouse entrance, where a small crimson droplet glistened on the floor directly below the handle.
Now sure her quarry was on the other side of the penthouse door, Jet debated her options – if she tried to follow him, she’d almost certainly be greeted by a barrage she wouldn’t survive. But the bomb was ticking away and she was running out of breathing room, and as unpleasant as the idea of certain death was, she didn’t see a lot of options.
~ ~ ~
“I’m hit,” Joseph hissed into his radio, breathing heavily as he staggered across the floor to a wooden crate by the massive glass exterior wall.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough. Gut.”
“Shit. I’m coming up.”
“No. Get out of there. It’s too late for anyone to stop it now. But you aren’t going to survive if you’re not at least a couple of miles away. Kill the guards and create as much confusion as you can, then move. I’m not going to make it down thirty stories of stairs with a bullet in my stomach.”
“You can if I power on the elevators again.”
Joseph shook his head, fuzzy from the pain. “Fine. But they’re still up here, following me. I need to deal with them before I can bail out of here.”
“Radio me when you’re done. I’ll hit the electric in three minutes,” Solomon said, and then Joseph turned down the volume and took cover behind the crate, crouching low, blood trickling down his leg onto the floor as he faced the exit, his silenced MTAR-21 trained on the door, waiting for his pursuers to throw it open and walk into their own death.
He was surprised when a female voice called from the stairwell, the words dampened but still audible.
“There’s nowhere to run. It’s over. Surrender and tell us where the bomb is, or you’ll be dead within minutes.”
“I’m already dead. Why don’t you come in here and put me out of my misery?”
“It doesn’t have to end like that.”
“Do your worst. You’re too late. The bomb’s going to go off, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing. I may die, but the world will change permanently. In the scheme of things, my sacrifice will be worthwhile, whereas yours will have been pointless – trying to interfere with something you don’t even understand. So come on. Let’s get this over with. Take your best shot.”
He waited, but she didn’t respond. Which was fine. If the situation were reversed, he would also take his time, waiting for him to weaken before rushing the door. Or better yet, he’d wait for his nerves to work against him, for him to weaken and grow impatient, act impetuously and do something stupid. As long as he was in the penthouse, they had him in a controlled environment, and they could have someone searching for the bomb while they sat, exactly as he was sitting, a gun pointed at the exit door, playing a deadly game of cat and mouse.
But he wasn’t going to react the way they thought. He was willing to die, and every minute they stalled was another minute closer to when none of it would matter anymore. Just to reinforce his response, he fired a burst into the door, his bullets thumping into the steel with belligerent fury.
Let whoever wanted to go to paradise first come through it. He was more than ready for them.
~ ~ ~
Jet pulled herself up the ladder in the dark from the twenty-ninth story, her body tense as she rushed her ascent. She’d darted down to the level below even as the bomber in the penthouse was giving his little speech. Seeing no viable alternative, she’d pried the elevator doors open and then swung herself into the void, ignoring the seemingly endless abyss beneath her, focusing instead on the objective above.
A few moments later she reached the penthouse level. Bracing herself against the ladder, she pulled the nearest of the two outer elevator doors with a powerful tug. When the panel slid soundlessly open, she threw herself through the gap, landing in a roll on the marble tiles as she whipped both pistols from her robe and leveled them at the surprised figure by the window. For a split second she registered his shocked expression, his body fully exposed from that angle, and then he was bringing his weapon around and she was shooting, the two weapons bucking rhythmically as she emptied them.
His torso jerked like a marionette as he staggered backward against the now-shattered glass wall, and then he was falling, weightless, his last conscious impression the patchwork of listless clouds drifting across the placid blue sky as he dropped at nearly two hundred feet per second toward the concrete’s cold embrace.
Jet stood and walked to the yawning chasm in the glass and looked down, taking in the bloody lump on the concrete sidewalk surrounded by glittering shards, and then pirouetted and raced for the stairwell door, an eye on her watch as she ran.
Behind her, the elevator panel blinked twice, and then one of the floor indicator lights moved from twenty-eight to twenty-seven. The radio by the crate lay silent, but even if the volume had been turned up there was nobody to hear Solomon’s alert that the power was back on, followed by a strident demand for an update.
~ ~ ~
Downstairs in the elevator room, Solomon tried again, murmuring into the radio one final time. When he didn’t get any response, he assumed the worst and shut off the electrical power to the elevator controller console. With a final look at the silent radio, he moved to the far wall where a fire extinguisher and an axe rested in a red metal case, and p
ulled the wooden handle free. Gripping the chopper with both hands, he returned to the console and delivered a powerful blow to the control cabinet beside it, destroying the electronics inside and eliminating any ability to operate the elevators remotely. He knew the emergency backup power hadn’t been connected yet, so he didn’t need to worry about the computer returning the cars to the ground floor – they would remain where they’d stopped, frozen in place for the duration. Anyone trying to move the elevators would be out of luck.
His last act before leaving was to hack apart the thick cables below the power switch, cleaving them with two swings of the heavy steel blade. Stepping back, he studied his handiwork with satisfaction, then dropped the axe and made for the exit, his final errand to kill the security guards before making his escape.
Chapter 38
Jet tapped her earbud as she wheeled into the stairwell from the penthouse, taking the steps at a run. The bomb had to still be on the twenty-eighth floor – that’s where the bomber had been working and where the elevator had been stalled. She cursed as she sidestepped Eric’s body on the bloody stairs and threw the exit door open. When no gunfire greeted her she hurried into the room in a crouch, her reloaded weapons sweeping the area; the partially constructed office walls offered plentiful places for an accomplice to be hiding or for the bomb to be stashed.
Wary of a trick but sensing no threat, she did a methodical grid search of the offices, confirming that she was alone.
And that there was no bomb.
Which was impossible. It had to be there.
Her eyes roved over the space before settling on the bank of elevators. The last one on the right had been stopped at that floor. The indicator lights were dark, but she crouched down and placed a hand on either door and pushed outward, and as before the polished steel panels inched apart, allowing her to slide the left one open. She peered into the darkness and saw the car stopped a story and a half below.
JET V - Legacy Page 23
