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He’d barely reached the lobby when the emergency lights flickered, and there was an electrical sizzle in the air. The hairs on his arms stood up, and it felt like static cling had infused his clothes. At the very least, something had happened.
“Cole? You still there? Anyone hear me?” Noah asked, wondering if maybe the door hadn’t shielded his earpiece and it was now fried along with the servers.
“Still here,” Cole immediately replied.
“I’m here,” Rowe answered.
“Ditto,” JB chimed it.
“Looks like security has been completely taken down. I’m blind to the building,” Cole continued. That was to be expected. With the security system taken out, the cameras Cole had hacked into were no longer working. “I’ll be monitoring the police bands for any calls.”
“Heading to the third floor,” Rowe said. He would have ducked inside while Noah was taping down the EMP. He would be on the stairs, going straight for Erik’s office.
“Moving on to the second,” Noah said. He jogged across the lobby to a door marked STAIRS. He paused with the spray-paint in hand and wrote the same word as before across the wall in large letters.
“Moving inside in thirty,” JB said.
Just as Noah was starting to relax a little because everything about their mission was going according to plan, Cole’s voice unexpectedly came back across his earpiece. “Gidget wants me to tell you that she thinks the CIA is monitoring our conversation and would like to know who Rowe talked to in DC.”
That was a damn good question. Cal was not CIA. At least, Noah was pretty sure the old general wasn’t involved with the CIA. But he wouldn’t have been surprised if the wily old man had connections to that government group. And Rowe obviously had connections to the agency, but not once had Noah ever heard a name.
“Tell Gidget not to worry about it,” Rowe growled.
“Hey, Cole?” JB suddenly asked. “Can you ask Gidget if she can tap into the security camera on the exterior of the sheet-metal manufacturing company next to Clayborne or maybe the traffic cam on the main road turning into Clayborne? That might give us a better heads up since the office cams are down.”
There was a moment of silence and then Cole replied, “She’s on it now. We’ll keep a close watch for you guys.”
“Thanks,” JB said, and Noah could hear the relief in his voice.
Very soon they were all going to be inside the building. There was a good chance Erik or one of his men were going to notice that the security system was down at the office. They were very unlikely to call the cops. They were more likely to come charging as one large group with guns blazing. It was not something they wanted to be surprised by.
When Noah reached the second floor, he leaned against the wall, his gun in his right hand while slowly opening the door with his left. When the crack was big enough to peer through, he glanced around the floor, his jaw dropping. He’d been expecting offices and maybe a ragtag grouping of desks. What he got was a boys’ playroom.
Off to one side, there were some mats for sparring and a few punching bags. There were several weight machines and a couple of treadmills. And then it shifted to a couple of pool tables and a giant couch placed in front of one of the biggest TVs he’d ever seen.
He slowly crossed the giant open room, his gun still held at the ready. There were posters of half-naked women on the walls, and there was a lingering smell of stale beer and pizza in the air. It was like he’d walked into a frat house or a private clubhouse. Nowhere did he see a computer or a desk. There was nothing to indicate that this was a place of business.
No, this was where Erik’s friends and mercenary buddies hung out between missions. There was no sign of where they did any training to hone their skills or work on improving their techniques for protecting people. This place wasn’t about protection.
And somehow Chris had been drawn into this.
Noah shook his head and sighed. It had to have been the world’s worst mistake. Erik had probably put out a call for people with military training to fill out their ranks after losing someone while on a mission. Chris naturally put in his application. The guy had a killer résumé after serving most of his life in the Army, and he was always looking for a way to protect and help people. Plus, a security company would have likely put him in contact with people of similar backgrounds. Whoever reviewed Chris’s résumé didn’t look close enough, didn’t look to see where the former Ranger had served. Or they just didn’t think there was anyone who would have recognized David Johnson from his time in the field.
