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Nick cursed. His goddamn elevated core body temperature could blow it for all of them. “I’m going for the door,” he said.
He crawled forward, icy-cold condensation drizzling down from the inside over his face. He peered at the door through his binocs…shit.
A red light was glowing on top of a large black palm lock device.
“We need one of the guards,” he hissed into the comm. “Palm lock.”
“I’ll bring mine,” Davy said. “He’s scrawnier than yours.”
An irregular camo’ed lump glided towards him along the building. It was Davy, with the guard slung over his shoulder under the cloak.
“Davy, you’re heating up too,” Tam said. “And Nick looks like a neon sign.”
“Almost there,” Davy said calmly.
Nick and Davy converged on the door. Nick groped for the guy’s limp hand, and splayed it against the pad. The light clicked green. The door sighed open. Another guy was on the other side, eyes bugged out.
Pfffsssssss—another squirt of gas. The guy went down. They leaped over him.Bam.Connor stumbled back. Davy’s arm swung up.
Thhtp.A dart spat into the shooter’s throat. A guy peered around the doorway of the control room, took aim—
Thhtp.Nick nailed him in the shoulder with another drugged dart.
Nick rolled over to Connor, who had dropped to the floor. “You OK, man?” he demanded. “Tell me you’re not shot.”
“Nah,” Connor gasped out. “Took it in the vest. Knocked out my wind, though. Broke some ribs.”
Alex Aaro and Seth, on the far ends of the fan of cloaked creepers, slithered in like a couple of camo’ed ghosts.
They shoved off their hoods. “Did we miss the fun? Aw, shit.” Seth sounded miffed.
Davy came out of the glassed-in control room, wiping his brow with his forearms. “The room’s secured,” he said. “Tam can tell us who’s coming from the outside.”
Nick peered out the door into a long, empty corridor.
He turned to the others. “You guys stand guard. I’m going in.”
“You don’t need us all to hold the guardroom,” Aaro said. “We’re with you.”
“Whatever,” Nick muttered. “Just let’smove.”
They took off down the corridor at a dead run, boots thudding.
The smellof Zhoglo’s cigarettes made Becca nauseous. Though it could be argued that she would be nauseous anyway. Considering.
At first glance, the scene looked almost convivial. A man and a woman, on lounge chairs on a huge deck perched over a cliff. The view was a vast, spectacular panorama of Seattle cityscape, moonlit water and jagged mountain ranges, still topped with snow. A fragrant breeze swept over the deck, a chorus of crickets chirped. Owls hooted.
A bottle of wine sat on the table between their chairs. The ruby liquid rolled around in the goblet of the man as he savored the aroma.
Then, an observer might notice bizarre discrepancies. For instance, the semi-automatic rifle in the hands of the man behind them. The tape over the woman’s mouth. The cuffs on her wrists, attached to a dog chain, which was wrapped around one of the four-by-fours that supported the huge deck. More duct tape was wrapped around her chest, binding her to the chair. Zhoglo had been amused by the chain, and had elected to leave it attached to her wrist.
Zhoglo ground out the butt of his cigarette. “To be honest, I was hoping he would kill you,” he said, in a chatty tone. “For betraying him. My idea was that once he knew his error, his punishment would be his own guilt. Very dramatic.” He sipped the wine, swishing it in his mouth with pursed lips. “But this scenario has its charm. I understand Solokov’s specialty is quick death. So quick the victim does not even know that he is going to die. Pah. Anticlimactic.” He leaned forward and flicked her cheek with his finger, chuckling when she flinched. “And that, my dear, is not what I have in mind for you.”
Becca was almost grateful for the duct tape, since it canceled out any necessity for a reply.
“Would you like some wine? It’s quite good. Kristoff, remove my guest’s gag. I grow weary of talking to myself.”
Kristoff picked at the tape and ripped it off. The pain jerked a squeak out of her throat. She coughed as she dragged in air.
