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“Let’s go before the cavalry arrives,” Sam rasped over the rush of water.
“Wait, I’m checking my ammunition. . . . I’ve got nine shots left. Ready when you are.”
“When I go, put three more shots through the doorway, then follow me. Stay directly behind me, got it?”
“Yep.”
“Go!”
Sam got up and charged. As he passed the end of the table, he reached out with his right hand and snagged one of the rolling stools. Ten feet from the door, he pushed it ahead of him, then gave it a kick. At that moment a figure appeared in the doorway. The stool, already tipping over and spinning, crashed into the man’s legs. Arms flailing, he stumbled backward into the still smoking computer monitor. Sam was through the door in three more paces. He reversed the MP5 across his body and slammed it squarely into the center of the man’s face. With a sickening crunch his nose shattered. He went limp and slid off the table, legs still entangled in the stool.
Sam picked up the fallen man’s MP5 and handed it to Remi.
“What now?” she asked, flipping her sopping hair away from her face.
“Nothing complicated. We run for our lives.”
They went through the first door, into the alcove, then through the card-reader door and into the corridor beyond, where the trapped water had risen to ankle depth. The overhead fluorescent lights had gone dark.
Remi asked, “You have a plan, right?”
“Wouldn’t call it a plan. A sketch, maybe.”
“Good enough for me.”
He turned to her and took her free hand in his own. “Are you ready for this? You may have to do something you don’t want to do.”
Remi smiled. Water ran down her cheeks and over her lips in rivulets. “Like shoot someone? No worries; they started it.”
“That’s my girl. Okay, we go on three. Stay low and head left for cover. If it moves, shoot it.”
“Gladly.”
Sam grabbed the knob. “One . . . two . . .”
CHAPTER 41
. . . Three!”
Crouched down, Sam threw open the door.
Except for moonlight filtering through the ceiling, the conservatory was dark and, separated as it was from the lab area, not raining. Water from the corridor gushed out and began spreading across the floor.
Sam and Remi waited, watching. Silence. Nothing moved.
Remi whispered, “Where are they—”
A flash-bang thunked into the wall beside the door and landed at their feet. Sam kicked it away with his heel and slammed the door shut. From the other side came a bang; white light flashed through the cracks.
Sam opened the door an inch and was this time greeted by the sound of pounding footsteps and the sight of flashlights jostling their way toward them across the conservatory.
“Mind if I borrow that?” Sam asked and took Remi’s MP5. “When I start shooting, you head right. Take out a window and go for the patio.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to bring down the house. Go!”
Sam pushed the door open, angled both MP5s at the ceiling, and opened fire. Hunched over, Remi charged toward the patio, the barrel of her Glock flashing orange and bucking in her hand.
