by Rachel Caine
She was thinking about it on the way back up the stairs, but the extra weight in her arms made her slower. She stopped to readjust the weight on the third floor landing, and as she did, she heard the ground floor door open, and hard-soled shoes coming up. Men's shoes, from the sound of it. Two or three pairs of them.
"— both there. Be ready. She's a tough little bitch, and McCarthy's a stone-cold killer. He'll fight to protect her. I don't want any shooting if we can help it."
"If it comes to that—"
"If it comes to that, kill McCarthy, but don't kill her. We need her. Understand?"
Voices carried. Lucia ran almost soundlessly up another flight, eased open the fire door and sprinted for the elevator. There was an intercom button next to the Up and Down; she slapped her palm on it, juggling the package clumsily. "Security! Security, pickup!"
"Security, yes ma'am."
"Get up to the sixth floor. There are three men on then-way to my apartment and—"
"Ms. Garza? This is Marsh, ma'am. Those men are police officers. They came in just after you picked up the package—they had a warrant. Nothing I could do."
"Shit," she whispered, and slapped the call button for the elevator. "Marsh, listen to me. Those men are not police officers."
"I checked their badges—"
"Marsh!" She cut him off coldly, furiously. "I need you to go along with me here. Please. You have information that they're imposters, and you're just doing your job when you lock the damn fire door on the sixth floor!"
"Ma'am…" He debated for a second, then another. "I suppose they could have been fake credentials. We have to take all reasonable precautions."
They'd be to the fourth floor by now. Maybe the fifth, if they were in a hurry. "Marsh? Are you locking them out?"
No answer.
The elevator arrived. She lunged into it and hit the sixth floor button convulsively, willing it to go faster.
The intercom inside of the elevator came alive. "Ms. Garza?"
"Yes, Marsh!" Dammit, she hadn't even brought her gun. Hadn't come prepared at all for trouble. This is what happiness brings you. Disaster. She had let herself be comforted, and that was death to caution.
"We appear to have had a circuit fault on the sixth floor fire door. It's locked down. The cops are making their way up to seven."
"And that one will be locked when they get there?"
"Probably. Fault in the system, ma'am. But I can't promise you more than ten minutes, max. That's the most I can do."
"That's good enough." The doors opened on the sixth floor. "Thank you."
She made it to her apartment, unlocked the door, and caught McCarthy in the act of putting on his shirt. He looked up, startled, and she saw him take in the expression on her face.
He reached for his shoulder holster and strapped it on. "Trouble?"
"Ken Stewart's coming with some kind of warrant. No idea what it is, but it doesn't matter. Eidolan's nervous. He's here to slow us down," she said. "Take this." She handed him the package and grabbed the first thing she could find in the closet—a black canvas backpack, sturdy enough. The alarm started a shrill warning beep by the time she shoved the EMP device inside and zipped the bag.
"You going to shut the alarm off?"
"No. The more confusion, the better." She grabbed her gun, holster and purse, and moved past him to the closet at the back. "Come on." She shouldered the backpack.
"Where?"
"Back door."
It wasn't, exactly, but what building engineers didn't know wouldn't kill them. Though it might give them a good fit of pique… She shoved aside the coats in the closet and pressed hard on the wall behind, which swung open with a sharp pop of magnets coming loose.
It had been opened before. She saw sets of tracks in the pale dust. Gregory Ivanovich. He'd known that she would have built in an escape hatch. And he'd used it against her.
"What the hell…?" McCarthy marveled.
"Shut it behind you." She ducked into the crawl space. Short and dusty, it led into wiring tunnels, which dumped into a service shaft for the air handlers, with a long straight ladder down a central column. She started downward.
Somewhere above, in her apartment, she heard the alarm start to wail. Good. That meant confusion, more cops, possibly even a fire truck or two. The building's clientele this rich, and most of them important. The rich also came with an automatic upgrade of press coverage. With any luck, it would turn into a zoo outside.
She didn't trust luck. She jumped the last five rungs of the ladder, landed flat-footed in a crouch and had her gun in a two-handed grip as she advanced to the door.
No sound beyond. She eased it open a fraction of an inch, but the basement hallway was empty.
"Right." She shut the door and turned to look at McCarthy. "We need to make it to the Hummer. They'll be waiting somewhere along the line. They may even have the garage exits blocked off."
"They could have towed the truck," he reminded her.
"No, I don't think so. Not many towing services could handle it, and they'd have a hard time getting a flatbed truck down where we parked it, or getting the Hummer out if they did. Low ceilings. They'll just guard it. Less trouble."
He nodded. "I'm right behind you."
"I know."
"Try not to shoot anybody."
"Funny," she said grimly, "that's what they said. They want me alive."
That sparked something in his eyes that was hot and hungry. "I take it back," he said. "Shoot somebody. Preferably that rat bastard Stewart, if you see him."
She took a deep breath and swung open the door, then ran, light-footed, to the end of the hall. The parking lot beyond seemed deserted. No sign of surveillance or ambush. The Hummer loomed huge and black at the far corner, apart from the smaller cars and trucks.
She started to move forward, but McCarthy caught her arm and shook his head. He mimed splitting up, him to the right, her to the left. She shook her own head and fished the keys out of her pocket.
"Together," she whispered, making barely a sound. He stared at her face, and nodded.
"Together." It wasn't more than a movement of his lips, but it was a promise.
They broke from cover and ran for it. Nobody stopped them. She hit the alarm remote control and unlocked the doors, threw herself into the driver's side and put the backpack on the floorboard as Ben climbed in the passenger door. The interior looked cool, dark and untouched. "Too easy," he said, and immediately began to look for trouble out the windows. Nothing moved.
"Maybe the alarms upstairs distracted them," she said, and hit the ignition. The SUV started up with a rumble, and she backed it fast out of the space, not particularly worried about crumpled fenders or damaged quarter panels.
'They'll have us blocked in," McCarthy warned. His gun was out.
She nodded and gave him a lupine grin. "Let me worry about that. The army doesn't use these monsters just because of their pretty paint jobs."
"Manny's going to kill you."
"Better him than Ken Stewart, wouldn't you say? And if you're going to shoot, roll down the window."
He shook his head and watched the parking garage whip by as she accelerated the Hummer up the curving ramp toward escape. "Wild woman."
Bet your ass, she thought, and pressed the accelerator to the floor when she saw daylight, and two police cars blocking it. She honked, a loud blare, though they could hardly have missed a huge, black SUV barreling upward, engine roaring. Sure enough, the cops had prudently decided to leave empty cars in her path.
The Hummer hardly even shuddered at the impact. It slewed out into traffic as she whipped the wheel, burned rubber, and it stayed upright only because of the wide wheel base as she steered it down Vine Street.
"You realize that I'll be going to back to prison," McCarthy said, almost casually. "Doing crash tests with squad cars, that's some kind of crime. I know—I used to be a detective."
"Shut up. You're a hostage."
"I'
m a what?"
"Hostage. You can truthfully say that I abducted you."
"I'm driving, after all."
"You know, my life with you might be short, but damn, it's going to be memorable."
She dug one-handed in her purse, came up with her cell phone and flipped it open. Voice-activated a call to Jazz, because she needed most of her attention for keeping the Hummer on the road and watching for any police cars moving to intercept. She had to get this thing off main streets fast, before air surveillance could get to them. Preferably, they needed to change cars. The closest chance would be six blocks away, in a parking garage behind a bank building.
"Yeah?" Jazz sounded sleepy.
"Three detectives showed up at my place this morning, with friends in patrol cars," Lucia said. She hit the speakerphone button and dropped the phone to the seat. "I can't come back to Manny's. We need to move, now, or we won't get another chance."
"Damn!" Jazz was wide awake now. "Don't you go without me."
"I may not have a choice. Jazz, I don't think it's safe for you to leave the bunker."
"Have I ever done what's safe? I'll get Manny in motion on the computer stuff. Wait for me."
She hung up. Lucia shook her head and whipped the Hummer into a hard right turn, slowed her speed and then made an immediate left into the parking garage.
"What are we doing?"
"Switching cars."
Ben sighed. "Car theft. I'm almost sure that's a crime."
"It's my own car. I have three of them, parked in central locations around the city, all accessible from mass transportation."
"Look," he said slowly, "don't take this the wrong way, but who hides cars all over the city and has a secret escape hatch in her apartment, just in case?"
She took the ramp up. Second level. The Hummer barely made it—this was an old structure with low ceilings. "I'm a professional, Ben. And that's really all you need to know until I can get you into a warm bed, serve you some wine and tell you the story of my life."
"Promise?"
"Yes," she said softly. "I promise."
She pulled the Hummer into two spaces—it wouldn't fit in just one—next to a dull green minivan. "Out. Grab whatever you think we'll need from the back. Flak vests, definitely. Rocket launchers optional."
She took her purse and the backpack holding the EMP. She had the minivan started when McCarthy slid inside. He had a Kevlar vest. "FBI issue," he noted.
"Without the FBI printing. Yes. I think Manny has some friends in federal procurement. Did you get one for me?"
"Basic black," he said. "Goes with everything. Jazz is meeting us?"
"Says she is."
"I got extra."
"Of everything?"
"Pretty much."
They hit sunlight, and she steered the minivan toward the freeway.
"I forgot to ask," he said. "Where is Eidolon's great big headquarters of evil, anyway?"
"Las Vegas," she said.
He smiled.
"Yes," she agreed. "After we save the world, we can take in a show."
"We take Simms, we could gamble." Ben glanced out the window, checking for tails. "What about a Vegas wedding?"
"That can't be a proposal."
"Why not?"
"Let's see—I hardly know you, we're on our way to a suicidally crazy mission, and I'm pregnant from immaculate conception. You'd be insane to propose to me now."
"Haven't you noticed that I'm not necessarily sane?"
She stopped for a light, the last one, and looked over at him for a long few seconds.
"I have," she admitted. "It's one of your better qualities."
"Vegas wedding," he said, and leaned his head back against the plush upholstery as she accelerated the van through the green light and made the on ramp. "I'm going to sleep now."
It was going to be a twenty-hour drive, at least. Lucia settled in, and wondered how Jazz was expecting to meet her.
She just knew, though, that somehow, Jazz would.
Jazz showed up at a diner outside of Fremont Junction in Utah, and immediately took a turn behind the wheel. "Simms," she said, which eliminated the need for any other explanations. Lucia, who'd already switched off with McCarthy once, gladly gave up driving and stretched out on the bench seat behind. McCarthy stayed in the passenger seat, talking in low tones with Jazz, and Lucia slipped off into a deep, exhausted sleep for a few hours, until the van stopped for gas again in Cedar City. She was driving once more when they crossed a narrow strip of Arizona desert, black and hypnotic at night, and then into Nevada.
The sun rose as they approached Las Vegas, and all three of them were wide awake for it.
"Straight there," Jazz said, as she stripped off her flannel shirt and pulled a bulletproof vest over her long-sleeved T-shirt. She snugged it tight, then donned the flannel shirt again. "No stops, right? Simms said it himself. The more we keep in motion, the harder it is for them to predict where we're going to be."
"I hope he's right," Lucia said grimly. "This isn't home turf for either of us."
"We'll be okay." Jazz grinned at her, the devil in her eyes. "We're the scary ones, remember?"
"Boy," McCarthy said without looking up as he cinched his own vest tight, "you're really not wrong on that one."
They cruised down the strip, because it was there and besides, it was on the way, and Jazz made verbal note of all the things she wanted to do later, when things were over. It was nervous talk. No matter how it came out, Lucia doubted they'd be hanging around to catch Cirque du Soleil.
Jazz got on the phone. "Manny? Your guy ready to rock?"
"Two guys," he said on speakerphone. "On your word. Jazz? Got a call from Agent Rawlins. They're letting Susannah Davis go today."
"What? They were supposed to keep her in protective custody!"
"She stopped cooperating. He said either we pick her up, or they show her the door and she can call a cab. What do you want me to do?"
Jazz chewed her lip and raised her eyebrows. Lucia said, "Can Pansy pick her up? Bring her to the bunker until we get back?"
Manny didn't like it; that much was obvious from his tone. "Yeah. Okay. Not for more than a day, though. She doesn 't stay here."
"Fine. Thank you, Manny. Go with Pansy, okay?"
"Of course. Hey, I got the Hummer back. Cops are looking for you, but I guess you already knew that. Thanks for the damage."
"Yeah, sorry."
"I just ordered a red one. And it cost me ten grand to get the upgrades transferred over. You're paying for it."
He hung up.
Jazz sighed. "Unbelievable. You've seen the office, right? Ten grand to him is what he finds vacuuming the carpet."
"He's getting a red one? I didn't think it could possibly stick out any more."
"Well, let's face it, we don't love the damn thing for its ability to blend in…"
They both fell silent as Lucia made the last turn, and Jazz silently checked addresses. She pointed to a ten-story building at the end of the street. It wasn't pretty, wasn't ugly, wasn't much of anything. A nondescript structure, a victim of industrial-park architectural school. Glass and granite, concrete and steel. It looked strong, but not imposing.
"Parking," Lucia said. "On the street?"
"We all going to have our vests covered?" asked Jazz.
For answer, McCarthy put his shirt on over his and buttoned it. It looked tight, but would pass a quick visual inspection. Lucia had a problem for a second, because she didn't want the sweat-and-blister-inducing Kevlar against her bare skin, but by the time she'd pulled into a space, Jazz had found an extra T-shirt in her duffel bag. Lucia donned it, then the heavy armor. McCarthy tightened the straps for her, although she didn't need the help, and Jazz handed her a blue-and-white-checked outer shirt. She buttoned it as far as her collarbone and picked up the backpack.
"Ready," she said.
Jazz slid back the door under the blazing morning sun. "I hope to hell it's Casual Friday in there."
She opened the phone and speed-dialed Manny. "We're going."
Ben, as they'd worked out on the drive, took up a post sitting in the lobby. He didn't look out of place, especially when he sat down with a copy of Business Week and relaxed with a foam cup next to him.
It was surprisingly easy infiltrating the headquarters of Eidolon. Part of that was due to corporate mentality—there was security, and it involved key cards, but loitering at the elevators; talking idly until a group of workers showed up, netted a ride upstairs. Jazz and Lucia just drafted on the first one's key card through the big glass doors into the work area.
Jazz knew the floor plans backward and forward, evidently. She unhesitatingly turned left, then right at a junction, then left.
They ended up at the bathrooms. Lucia blinked, startled, but Jazz just lifted a shoulder. "Look, I've been on the road for what feels like a week, and if we're going to do this, the last thing I need is a full bladder, if you know what I mean."
Lucia choked down a laugh and followed her.
Business done, they took a quick stroll around the slowly filling work cubicles. It was a busy place—apparently, evil's stock was up this week—and every person they saw might know them, or at least their photographs. But this floor seemed to hold worker bees, not executives, and be devoted to systems and finance.
There was an empty cubicle against the far wall. The server room—which they couldn't possibly get into—was on the other side. Lucia set the heavy backpack down with a breathless sigh of relief. "You're sure there isn't shielding on the room?" she asked.
"Not in the plans," Jazz said.
"We can't get this wrong."
"The server room's locked off, with special access. Our chances of getting in there—"
"Go pull the fire alarm."
"What?"
"Go pull the fire alarm. All electronic doors have to unlock in the event of a fire alarm. It's code."
Jazz stared at her for a few seconds, then took out her cell phone and speed-dialed Manny once more. "Get ready. Two minutes." She hung up without waiting for his reply. "Right. Give me your stuff."
Lucia handed over her purse and phone.
"I'll evacuate with the herd. You find me," Jazz said.
