I nod to show I’m satisfied with his report. Then I turn to Josh and gesture with my head for us to step away from the group. He follows me, and we sit on the hood of our car, just out of earshot. I keep my voice low anyway.
“I don’t like it,” I say.
“Which part?” he asks.
“The waiting for the FBI to arrive part. Doesn’t feel right.”
“You think it’s a set-up?”
“Maybe,” I shrug. “But it might just be paranoia.”
“Always go with your gut,” says Josh, reassuringly. “You taught me that.”
I smile.
“You think Wallis is in on this?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nah, my gut says Wallis is with us. I’m just not convinced his boss is.”
I stand and Josh follows.
“It’s not paranoia if the bastards are really after you…” he mutters.
We walk back to the group.
“I think we should go in now,” I announce. “We’ll wait for the back-up from inside.”
“Negative, Adrian,” says Wallis. “We wait for FBI support.”
I shake my head. “We don’t need support right now. We’ll need it once the bad guys turn up. Right now, we’re just wasting time when we could be establishing ourselves inside and preparing for an attack. We need to give these ComForce guys all the notice we can, not stand outside for ten minutes jerking off.”
I study his body language. He’s frustrated with me — or maybe just frustrated in general, which would be understandable. His shoulders are slumped slightly forward, which signifies defeat — I’m assuming he knows I have a valid point and, part of him at least, agrees with it. His jaw muscles are clenching, so he’s likely thinking of the various consequences of action versus patience.
Now to sway his decision.
“Tom, I’m going in anyway, right now,” I say. “It’ll go a lot smoother if you flash your credentials for me, but they’re not essential.”
“Ah… shit,” he mutters, and then he lets out a heavy sigh.
I smile. “Good man! Right, Bob, establish a comms link with Josh. He’s going to run point on the tech side of things from out here. Tori will be with him. You’ll be my tech on the inside. Sheriff, any law enforcement muscle you can lend the situation will be gratefully appreciated. Tom, you can take lead on it. Flash your badge, say whatever you’ve got to say to get them to believe us.”
Everyone mutters their understanding.
Wallis nods. “And why are you there again?” he asks.
I shrug. “In case things go wrong and some people need shooting.”
“Figured…”
I turn to Josh and we bump fists. “Good luck,” he says.
“You too,” I reply. “Keep her safe.”
He nods and I turn to Tori, wrapping one arm around her waist and holding her close. I kiss her forehead. “Do whatever Josh says, okay?”
She squeezes me tightly with both arms and buries her heard in my chest, nodding against it.
We part, and I look up and down the street one last time. I see nothing that raises a red flag, so I cross over, with Raynor, Wallis, and Clark behind me. I walk up to the main doors and pull them open. We step inside, and one of the guards walks over to greet us. Wallis flashes his badge straight away, to minimize any resistance or delays. Seeing the badge, the other two guards come from around the desk and join their colleague, looking curious and excited.
“Fellas, I’m Special Agent Tom Wallis with the FBI Counter-Terrorism Task Force. We have reason to believe there’s an imminent threat to this facility, and we need your assistance.”
The guard on the left, a tall man with a short, unkempt beard and ginger hair, shakes his head. “There must be some mistake,” he says. “We’re just a security firm. What kind of threat is it?”
“Are you aware of what’s stored in this building?” asks Wallis.
The first guard shrugs. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s just an office. We’ve got our Accounting Department on the twelfth floor, and the directors have been in this week for their bi-monthly board meetings, but that’s it really. It’s mostly a Service Center.”
Wallis glances at me questioningly, and I discreetly nod in response, to say I believe him. He’s just a security guard — no reason to entrust him with confidential information about their clients.
“Sir, we happen to know there is extremely sensitive… material… on site belonging to one of your largest clients, and some really bad people intend stealing it. This is a threat to national security, and I’m going to need your help in securing this building. I’ve got a team on the way to set up a perimeter and—”
The guard on the right holds up his hand, interrupting Wallis mid-FBI speech. He’s a smaller, more rotund individual. A career doorman, who I doubt has seen his belt buckle in twenty years.
“Wait a minute,” he says. “You can’t just waltz in here and tell us how to do our jobs. We’re a goddamn security firm! You’re gonna need to speak to our supervisor before you take one more step inside this building. Do you understand?”
Wallis goes to respond but stops himself, perhaps sensing the level of resistance, and realizing that further discussions with this guy will only delay matters even more. He steps to one side and turns to me, with a somewhat begrudging look on his face. I graciously nod and step forward.
“What’s your name?” I ask the guard.
“Dixon,” he replies.
“Okay, Mr. Dixon, let me clear a couple of things up for you. See my friend’s shiny little badge? That outranks any supervisor you’ve got, so their input is irrelevant. My friend also told you this is a matter of national security. Those two words mean no one cares about your procedures. You’ve got, what I’m guessing, is at least one entire floor of this building dedicated to running a computer system for one of your clients. Your client has its own employees working here around the clock. You must have some idea what I’m talking about, if you sit at that front desk all day. What floor are the non-ComForce personnel working on right now?”
He looks me up and down, a little intimidated, but unsure why. I figure him for the most senior of the three, so he’ll want to try and exert some authority over me.
“And just who might you be?” he asks. “I ain’t seen no badge from you.”
“I’m a consultant,” I reply. “I don’t need a badge. I just need the FBI guy to vouch for me. Which he does, by the way. Now, Mr. Dixon, I won’t lie — I’m not big on wasting time, and my patience isn’t what it used to be, so just tell us what floor and we’ll be on our way.”
As he’s about to speak, five black SUVs pull up outside with blue lights silently flashing. Each one has the FBI logo emblazoned along the side in large, white lettering. I look at Wallis, who nods and makes for the door to meet them. I look at Dixon the security guard.
“And these guys definitely aren’t big on wasting time…” I say.
His eyes go wide, probably because he’s never seen anything like this other than on TV shows.
“F-f-floor sixteen,” he says. “Bunch of guys work there twenty-four-seven. They’re not our people, but we check them in and out. N-nice fellas.”
“Thanks, Dixon. You’re a good man.”
I turn to Clark, and he nods before setting off across the lobby. Raynor and I follow him, but we all stop in our tracks as the front doors burst open behind us. We turn and see Wallis hurriedly walking alongside an FBI agent, who I assume is in charge of the men outside. Behind them, four of the agents from outside are marching, kitted out in full riot gear, with their MP5 submachine guns locked, loaded, and aimed forward.