Zahm yelled, “Give it up, Ames. You ain’t going to get ’em open.”
“Don’t want to!” Ames shouted back.
Gillespie whispered, “What’s he doing?”
Fisher shook his head. “Don’t know.”
Hansen said over the headset, “Medical clear.” “Move on to weapons.”
“Roger.”
“Noboru?”
“All okay. I can hear them moving around up there but no action. I think they’re trying to call the elevator. Should I—”
“No, leave them. We’ve got Zahm and we’ve got the arsenal. Not exactly the original plan, but it’ll do. Hansen, once you’re done clearing weapons and electronics, backtrack to Noboru and hold. As soon as we wrap up Zahm, we’ll be there.”
“Roger. And Ames?”
“He’s dumb enough to have stayed. We’ll take him, too.”
Leapfrogging, Fisher and Gillespie made their way down the row of benches until they were within a hundred yards of Zahm and his two men. Fisher gestured for Gillespie to take the man on the left. She nodded and set up for the shot. Fisher fired first. His target went down. Zahm spun that way, then heard the second man collapse and turned back.
“Hi, Chuck,” Fisher called.
Zahm turned around. He was holding a 9mm semiautomatic in his right hand.
“Lose it,” Fisher ordered.
Zahm dropped the gun. “Fisher!” he called back with a wide grin.
“You just couldn’t sit still, could you?” Fisher replied. “Couldn’t have stayed in Portugal, enjoyed your villa and your mojitos and your boat.”
“Boring. Too damned boring.”
“Then you’re going to hate prison,” Fisher called.
“You can put me in, but you can’t keep me there.”
From somewhere in the space, Ames yelled, “You’re both wrong!”
Fisher looked at Gillespie. “He’s not in here.”
“What?”
“The echo’s wrong. He’s above us — ballistics, second level. He’s yelling down the exhaust shaft.”
And then Fisher realized what was happening. He keyed the radio, “Ben, say position.”
“Electronics. Just finishing.”
“Move now, back to the ramp. You, Valentina, and Noboru get topside as fast as you can.”
“What’s going on?”
“Do it. Blast your way through whoever’s up there, but don’t slow down.”
“Roger.”
Gillespie asked Fisher, “What’s—”
Ames shouted again: “Okay, Chucky, here it comes….”
Fisher told her, “We’re leaving. Move!”
From the far end of the space they heard a crash. They turned back to see an Anvil case bounce off the middle exhaust funnel and slam into the wall behind it.
Zahm spun around and stared at the case. “Son of a bitch! Ames, I’m gonna—”
A second case fell, this one the size of a closet. It struck the floor upside down and split open. Fisher saw a couple of dozen cylindrical objects skitter across the floor. Another case fell, then another, and then they were raining down the exhaust vent until the mound was taller than the funnels. Over the din, Zahm was shouting unintelligible curses. He stopped suddenly and stared at the debris.
Ames called, “Missed one. Here it comes.”
A brick-sized white object dropped down the vent and disappeared into the pile.
“Ah, bloody hell!” Zahm called.
Gillespie said, “What?”
“Semtex,” Fisher replied. “Run.”
They were sixty feet from the door when the charge went off. A split second later a grenade detonated, then another, then rose a thunderous whoop.
Fisher felt a wave slam into his back. The air was sucked from his lungs. He tumbled end over end and slammed into a wall. He rolled over and looked around.
“Kimberly!”
He heard a groan near the door. She lay on her back, with her torso in the corridor and her legs lying across the threshold. Fisher pushed himself to his knees and stumbled toward her. He looked left. The back wall of the space was gone, along with the concrete blast funnels. Water gushed through the hole and surged across the floor toward them. Fisher reached Gillespie, grabbed her by the collar, and ran, dragging her out the door and down the corridor.
Hansen was on the radio. “What the hell was that?”
“Level four is blasted open,” Fisher replied. “The lake’s coming in. Where are you?”
“Near the top of the first-level ramp. There are about a dozen bad guys here. They’re putting up a fight. The rest went up in the elevator.”
“Hold on, we’re coming. Gillespie’s hurt. Can you spare Valentina?”
“She’s on her way.”
Fisher was halfway down the corridor. The ramp intersection was in sight. He glanced over his shoulder and saw debris and litter swirling through the ballistics door as if blown by a giant fan. The first of the water boiled through at knee height, but within seconds it rose over the top of the jamb and began climbing toward the ceiling.
He heard Gillespie mutter, “God Almighty…”
He looked down at her. Her eyes were open and she was blinking rapidly.
“Can you walk?” Fisher asked.
“The hell with that! I can run!” she shouted.
He released her collar. She rolled over, scrambled to her feet, grabbed Fisher’s outstretched hand, and together they sprinted to the ramp, around the railing, and started up the incline. Behind them, the wave surged into the intersection, crashed over the railing, and slammed into their legs, shoving them sideways. Fisher went down. His nose shattered on the concrete. His vision swirled. He tasted blood. He spit, pushed himself to his knees. Ahead of him, Gillespie had stopped on the ramp. She saw him fall and turned back.
“No! I’m okay… I’m up!” he shouted. “Keep going!”
Valentina came sprinting down the ramp, and Fisher shouted, “Take her!” and together she and Gillespie turned and kept going. Fisher gathered his feet under him, then slipped and skidded back down the ramp. The water crashed over his head, enveloping him. The world went muffled. Then he was sliding again. In the froth he glimpsed a straight line… a piece of steel. The railing! He slapped at it with his hand and missed. Tried again and, this time, managed to hold on. He reached up with his opposite hand, grabbed the next railing, and heaved. His head broke into the air. Behind him, the fourth level was gone, flooded up to the ceiling.
“Sam!”
Fisher looked up. Noboru was leaning over the railing with his hand extended and Hansen holding on to his legs. “Grab on!”
Fisher put his foot on the railing. It slipped off. Pain shot up his leg. He gasped. Something wrong with my left foot, he thought. Broken. He tried again, this time using his knee, and managed to climb halfway from the water. With both arms braced on the railing, Fisher lifted his right leg from the water, pressed it against the top rail. Noboru’s hand was eighteen inches away. Fisher took a breath, coiled his leg beneath him, and pushed off. His palm touched Noboru’s; then he was falling again. He curled his fingertips into claws. Noboru did the same. Fisher jerked to a stop. Noboru’s other hand was waving before his eyes. Fisher latched onto it with his free hand. Hansen began hauling them upward.
Together, they sprawled backward onto the ramp. They’d gained only a temporary advantage, he saw: The water was already rising around the curve.
“You okay?” Hansen asked, helping Fisher to his feet. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Hansen and Noboru charged up the ramp and around the next turn. Fisher hobbled after them. “Sam?” Hansen called.