by Marcus Sakey
The lobby was at once attractive and bleak, a place meant to impress without creating the desire to linger. A janitor hunched over a floor buffer, polishing away the day’s scuffs. Broad hallways branched off to elevators. Behind an information desk, a security guard in a navy suit straightened as they entered.
“Can I help you folks?”
“Department of Analysis and Response,” Quinn said, and held up his badge. “Where’s your security office?”
“Sir? I—”
“We don’t have time to explain. Move.”
“Yes, sir. Right this way.” He slid off the chair, a little stiff but obviously fit. “What’s this in regard to?”
“It’s in regard to none of your business, son,” Cooper said.
The man didn’t like that, but didn’t question it, either. Former military, Cooper could read in his posture, and used to following orders. Good. A building that hired soldiers and cops should have the security they needed.
The guard pulled a badge on a retracting clip, used it to open a low barrier, and held it in place while they all walked through. They strode past a bank of shining elevators, down a narrow hall that ended in a door that read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A closed-circuit camera was mounted above it, pointed down. The guard knocked twice, then used his badge to open the door without waiting for a response. “This is our command center—”
Cooper chopped him at the base of the neck and stepped over his body as it fell. Took in the room without stopping, twenty feet square, two men in chairs in front of a glowing projection screen. He got to the first as he rose, punched him in the throat, then grabbed his lapels and hurled him into the other, the two colliding and tangling, an office chair rolling sideways at the impact, banging into a trash can, paper spilling. Cooper followed, dodged through the mess of arms and legs, and delivered a quick left jab and right cross to the other guard’s chin. The man’s head snapped back, cracked into the tile floor, and his eyes fluttered as his body went limp.
“Freeze!”
The third guard had been by a row of file cabinets at the back, out of his line of sight. Eating dinner, apparently, half a sandwich abandoned atop wax paper. The man had a Taser out and held in steady hands, aimed at Cooper, finger inside the trigger.
Quinn is standing behind me. I can dodge the electrodes, but he can’t. A Taser is nonlethal and doesn’t guarantee loss of consciousness, but it will scramble him, take him off his game.
And without him, this is over.
Cooper straightened slowly. Kept his hands up. “Listen—”
The guard twisted the Taser, pointed it at his own stomach, and pulled the trigger. Electrodes leaped from the barrel and jammed into his white dress shirt. There was a loud crackling and a flash of sparks. He went rigid, every muscle straining at once, and then toppled like a mannequin.
Suddenly revealed behind him, Shannon smiled. “Oops.”
Amazing.
She winked at him, then dropped, took cuffs from the guard’s belt, and locked him up. Cooper secured the others the same way. “Sedatives?”
“In the bag. Ten cc.”
Cooper dug through and found a small black satchel with a hypodermic. He removed the cap, tapped out the bubble, then injected each of the guards in turn. By the time he’d straightened, Quinn was already in front of the projection screen, his fingers dancing through the air. “All right, all right.”
“What have you got?”
“I got art, boss. I’m now the supreme commander of a nice suite of cameras and remote override on the door locks.” The projection was four feet across, a glowing display hanging in midair. As Quinn moved and gestured, the screen responded, displaying video from various cameras: hallways, elevators, the lobby, all of it high definition and bright as a mirror. Satisfied, Quinn opened his laptop and propped it on the table. Dug in his gear bag and pulled out a small case. Inside, cradled in foam, was a row of tiny earpieces. He handed one to each of them. “Testing.”
Cooper gave his partner the thumbs-up. Shannon said, “You boys do have good toys.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has entered the building,” Quinn said. On the screen, two men Cooper didn’t recognize stepped into the lobby. They wore jump boots instead of dress shoes, and they moved in graceful sync, checking the room, each knowing where the other would be looking. Each had a hand inside his suit jacket.
The next people through the door were his family.
Natalie was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, probably the same outfit she’d been wearing when Dickinson came for her. She looked lovelier than he remembered, but her face was pale and her shoulders tight.
Their children stood on either side of her, each holding one of her hands.
The world slipped and wobbled. Cooper felt a sick-sweet nausea, a blend of emotions competing at full force. It was the first time he’d seen them since the night everything changed, and he was shocked at how much they had grown. Todd was a full inch taller and ten pounds heavier, and Kate’s face was losing the round softness of baby fat.
Six months, gone. The firsts that would have happened in that period, the laughter, the questions and fears and the ever-disappearing hours of them napping in his lap. The loss was palpable, tugged at him with physical weight.
Worse was the terror. To see them here, in the care of monsters, and to know that it was his fault. If anything happened to either of them, Jesus Christ, the world would crack, the sky would shatter, the sun would wink out, leaving nothing but a howl of wind across the emptiness.
As if to focus that fear, two more men stepped in behind them. Roger Dickinson, wary and alert, his quarterback good looks hiding a ruthless devotion that would make anything permissible. And Drew Peters, trim and neat as ever, cool gray as a winter morning. He carried a metal-backed briefcase that looked heavy.
I’ll take care of your family.
“Okay,” Quinn said, hands swirling in the air. The screen broke into quadrants showing external views. “No sign of other teams. And I’m monitoring DAR transmissions…” He looked at the laptop. “Got no notable action within half a mile. Looks like Peters didn’t want to risk spooking you.”
Cooper didn’t respond, just stared. The two in front were good, he could tell. No surprise, but the fact that he didn’t recognize them meant that Peters was using assets who weren’t part of the conventional Equitable Services structure. Probably part of his private team, the men he uses to clean up messes. They’ll know what you can do and be ready for it.
Two more men followed. One took up a position by the door; the other started toward the empty information desk. The advance guards headed for the elevator. Natalie stopped, turned over her shoulder to look at Peters. Said something.
“What’s she saying?”
“Sorry, boss. No audio.”
On the monitor, Peters shook his head. Dickinson stepped forward and put his hand on Natalie’s arm. His fingers curled tight. Cooper fought an urge to punch the wall. The group began moving again, heading toward the elevator.
The janitor shut off the floor buffer and straightened. By his posture, it was clear he was asking them what they were doing. Without releasing Natalie, Roger Dickinson turned, pulled a gun from inside his suit, pointed it casually, and shot the janitor in the head.
At this distance, through the door, the bullet sounded like a firecracker.
On the screen, blood and gray matter spattered across the clean marble floors. The janitor crumpled.
Cooper was almost to the door before he realized he’d started moving. But Shannon was in front, wrapping her arms around him and planting a shoulder in his chest. “Nick, no!”
“Get out of my—”
“No. He’s dead, and if you go out there, so are your children.”
Cooper put a hand against her shoulder and—
Two men in front, ready. They’ll be the first. Slide on the floor and fire, they won’t be expecting it, you can take both.
Then stand up, run to the corner, take
aim on…
Dickinson, a gun in his hand, standing beside your family?
Peters, behind them?
Two additional shooters in widely spaced positions?
—let it slip down her arm. He took a deep breath. Facing them now was suicide. Hell, that was probably even part of the point: Dickinson knew he was nearby, wanted to goad him into a stupid move.
“Cooper?” Quinn asked dryly. “We good?”
“Yeah.” He shook himself free of Shannon, but gently, and she let him. “Yeah. What’s happening?”
“Rear guard is moving on the body. Everyone else is heading for the elevator.”
“All right.” He took another breath, turned back to Quinn. His partner had cycled the images to follow the group’s motion. The time code read 9:46. “You’ve got full control?”
“Just as God intended.”
“Good. You can call the ball from here. Do you have a layout of the office?”
Quinn turned to the laptop, pulled open an architectural drawing, and made a few motions. “Hingepoint Productions. A graphic design firm. Their tagline is ‘technology folds into art.’ Cute, huh?”
Shannon said, “You can get a floor plan of any place? Just like that?”
“That’s why we’re Equitable Services, sweetheart.”
Cooper leaned in. The diagram was simple enough, showed an open-plan office, rows of cubicles, the basic layout. “Can you pull it up on the cameras?”
“No. Building security covers common areas only. But I was able to remotely unlock the door.”
“Okay. Shannon, you go up the stairs, I’ll take the elevator. They’re expecting me to be alone. They’ll be keyed up and focused on me. Should make it easy for you to do your thing.”
“They’re heading up.” Quinn typed in the air, and the whole screen filled with the inside of an elevator. The two shooters in front, then Natalie and his children, with Peters and Dickinson in back. One of the shooters pressed the button for the tenth floor.
There was no predicting the janitor. But everything else is going as you hoped. With Quinn watching from here and Shannon walking through walls, you can turn a losing situation into a winner. Let them get into the office and take position. You go in, draw their attention. Shannon gets behind, turns the tables. You finish it.
Drew Peters, you die tonight.
The elevator rose, the numbers changing. Second floor. Third. Fourth.
One of the shooters leaned forward and pressed a button.
The elevator stopped on the fifth floor.
“What are they—”
The two shooters stepped out. One turned and gestured to Natalie. She shook her head. The shooter drew a pistol. Pointed it.
At Todd.
There was probably only a hundred feet of distance between Cooper and his son, but it may as well have been a continent. Five floors of concrete and steel.
Natalie stepped between the man and their son. And then, as Cooper watched, she wound up and slapped him. Then she turned, took their children’s hands, and led them off the elevator and into the hall.
Drew Peters pressed the button to close the elevator doors.
Cooper’s brain was razor blades and electricity. Everything whirling and cutting, crackling and snapping. Distantly, he could hear Quinn saying what he already knew, that they were splitting up.
Peters has a plan of his own.
“Can you shut down the elevator?”
“I’ll try, but I don’t…” The floor numbers continued changing. Sixth floor, seventh floor, eighth floor…
Cooper wanted to scream, wanted to explode, wanted to flex his muscles and shatter the world. His family so close, and him helpless.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do it, not before they…”
Ninth floor.
“Stop trying. Follow the others. Where are they going?”
Quinn gestured frantically, cycling through cameras so fast Cooper could barely process them, elevator, lobby, parking garage, rooftop, landing on an image of a hallway. The shooters moved away, one in front, one behind, his family in the middle. They walked to the end of the hall, turned the corner.
And were gone.
“Get them back!”
“That’s the only camera we have on the fifth floor.” Quinn’s voice grim. “Cooper, I’m sorry. Looks like one camera in the elevator lobby of each floor, but that’s all. Security for the common areas only. The offices would want privacy.”
“How many offices on that floor?”
“Umm…ten suites.”
Ten suites. Each with multiple places to hide.
“Let’s go.” Shannon’s voice sounded pinched. “We can get to the fifth floor, work together. They won’t be expecting both of us.”
The elevator reached the tenth floor. Drew Peters and Roger Dickinson stepped off. They appeared in another monitor, the elevator lobby for that floor, and started walking. Peters transferred the briefcase to his other hand.
Cooper looked at the clock: 9:47. “No.”
“What?” Quinn and Shannon together.
“I’ve got two minutes to get to that office. If I don’t show up for the meeting, if I’m even a minute late, Peters will know something is happening. Best-case scenario, he’ll call his team and they’ll all abort. Worst case, he’ll kill my family and take his chances calling down an army on this building.”
“So…what do we do?”
“I need you to go after them.” He turned to her. “You have to save my family.”
Her eyes were wide. Scared, he realized, an expression he hadn’t seen on her before. “Nick, I—”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Please.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Meet Peters. I’ll buy you the time you need.” Something dark and heavy slipped inside of him. “Get my family out of here.”
He wanted to say more, to both of them, but there wasn’t time. He just headed for the door. Shannon followed a moment later.
They moved swiftly down the hall to the elevator corridor and paused just before it.
In his ear, Quinn said, “One man by the elevator. The other is in the lobby behind the desk, pretending to be security.”
Shannon said, “Is the elevator guard looking this way?”
“No.”
She slid around the corner.
Cooper stood still, his body raging. The clock in his head counted down. His thoughts whirled, Natalie and Kate and Todd and men with guns and Drew Peters and President Walker.
This ends tonight. One way or the other.
“Shannon is in position. Go in two, one, now.”
Cooper stepped around the edge of the corner. Shannon had shifted in where the guard wasn’t looking, on the far side, and as Cooper started forward she coughed and pressed the call button. The guard whirled, one hand flying to his coat, and Cooper could read his thoughts, see him wondering how the hell this girl had gotten here without his noticing. Shannon smiled, just an office worker waiting for the elevator. The guard studied her, first relaxing and then stiffening when he heard Cooper’s footsteps. He started to turn.
Too late.
Cooper grabbed his head in both hands and wrenched savagely, put all the anger into it, and the man’s neck snapped and his body went limp and dead.
The elevator dinged. Cooper dragged the body on, pulling by the man’s lolling head. Shannon pushed the buttons for five and ten.
“You two are scary together,” Quinn said in both their ears. “Looks like the lobby guard didn’t hear a thing. Good hunting.”
The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise. Shannon said, “Nick, look—”
He cut her off. “You can do this.”
“I just—”
“Listen,” he said and then kissed her. She was briefly startled but returned the kiss, the elevator pinging off floors as their tongues danced. A kiss for luck and a cry for help and as clear a statement as he could think to make, and then the elevator stopped
. He put one hand on her cheek. “I trust you.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Buy me the time.”
“Whatever it costs.”
Shannon stepped off the elevator and turned right. Cooper pressed the door-close button, come on, come on, and then the elevator was in motion again.
Nothing to do now but wait for the future to arrive.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
The doors slid open. Cooper took a deep breath and walked through them.
The hallway was corporate chic, gray carpet with a subtle pattern, beige walls, recessed lighting, a backlit glass display board listing the company names. Quinn said, “Turn right, third office on your left.”
Cooper started down the hall. “Any sign of backup?”
“Negative. Local DAR frequencies are quiet, and the only phone I’ve monitored out of the building is on the third floor. A woman explaining to her husband that she’ll be home late.”
The office doors were heavy glass with bright metal handles, business names etched in the glass. He passed a lobbyist’s office and a real estate firm, rounded the corner, saw the third. Hingepoint Productions, the first word spelled out lowercase and boxed in a design. A faint double chime pinged as he stepped through the door.
Quinn had said this was a graphic design firm, and the décor looked it. The near walls were painted a risky shade of orange that worked, and in place of paintings, skateboard decks were bolted to the wall, each a miniature work of art, robots and monsters, graffiti and skylines.
The floor plan had shown cubicles, but now he saw they were half-cubes, coming up maybe four feet. The ceiling was exposed, conduit and air-conditioning hanging from the girders. Quinn said, “I’ve unlocked all offices on the fifth floor. Shannon has checked the first—no luck. She’s moving on.”
Cooper moved down the aisle and stepped into the office proper. He could see clear across it in all directions. The studio took up a corner of the building, the exterior walls glass from floor to ceiling. With the overhead lights on, they were dark mirrors, bouncing the space back upon itself. In the precise center of the office was a long conference table surrounded by chairs.
Beside it stood Drew Peters and Roger Dickinson.
Cooper strolled forward. Calm and steady. Taking his time; the longer he could stall, the longer Shannon would have.
