“Let go of her,” Maggie snaps. “And cut that tie off her wrists. Now.”
When they don’t, Maggie storms over and pulls at Less Beefy’s arm. The arm doesn’t move, but Less Beefy does look over at Steve.
“I got this,” Steve tells the two guards.
Both men reluctantly let Nadia go, though she remains zip-tied.
“She broke into your computer,” More Beefy says.
Steve holds up his phone. “Yeah, I know. I got the report.”
“We’ve contacted Malik,” Less Beefy says. “He wants to handle this personally.”
Steve swallows. “I’ll watch them.”
“I think we should stay.”
“I got this. Go upstairs and wait for Malik.”
More Beefy doesn’t like that. He looks at Less Beefy. “You stay right here. No one gets on or off that elevator.”
Less Beefy nods.
“I’ll head back up and wait for Malik.”
More Beefy steps in, and the elevator doors close. Less Beefy gives them all hard eyes.
“I’m going to take them to the EFG room,” Steve tells Less Beefy.
Less Beefy responds with more hard eyes. Maggie wants to roll hers, but there’s no reason to make this situation any worse.
When they are back inside, Steve closes the door and says, “Tell me everything. Fast.”
“Who’s Malik?” Maggie asks.
“Head of security. Ex-military. He’s going to want to know why Nadia was trying to break into my computer — and he’s not going to ask nicely.” He opens a desk drawer, rummages through it. To Nadia, he says, “How the hell did you get my password anyway? Never mind, I don’t care.”
Steve pulls out a large pair of scissors. He moves toward Nadia. She sticks out her wrists. Her hands are turning blue. The zip tie is too tight. Steve carefully eases the tip of the scissors through the gap and cuts the plastic.
Nadia rubs her wrists. “Thank you.”
“I don’t get it,” Maggie says. “Nadia is a patient who sneaked a look at her doctor’s computer. Why would they go so crazy?”
“Are you serious? She didn’t just sneak a look. She tried to sign in as Trace Packer. Trace Packer, for crying out loud. Oh man, I’m totally screwed.”
“Why?”
“They suspected me of helping him the last time.”
“Helping Trace?”
“Yes.”
“Helping him how?”
“Why did you come back?” he asks Maggie.
“Steve, please, listen to me. Trace is missing.”
“I know. They’ve been looking for him.”
“Who?”
“Everyone. Look, when I first got hired, WorldCures still had an office here, but, I mean, with Marc dead and you out of the picture, there wasn’t much to it. But Trace Packer still showed up every once in a while. You know this, right?”
“Pretend I do.”
“Trace and I hung out a little. We weren’t friends or anything, but when it all went down, well, people thought I was involved, because of my connection to you.”
“I’m not following. What went down?”
“One night, I’m lying in bed, dead asleep, and suddenly Malik is there. In my locked apartment. Sitting on the edge of my bed. He starts asking me if I know where Trace Packer is. I say no. He doesn’t believe me. So then he starts with the interrogation. He says stuff like ‘You went to medical school with Maggie McCabe, right? When did you last talk to her?’ Like that. I found out later that Trace broke in here after hours. He stole, I don’t know, something to do with WorldCures research — and then he flew out to Washington.”
Washington. Nadia and Maggie share a glance.
“When was this?”
“Five, six months ago. Hold up. You live, what, an hour or two from Dulles. Did Trace go to you, Maggie?” Steve snaps his fingers. “Of course he did. That would make perfect sense. Oh shit, this is bad. This is really bad.”
“He didn’t come to me. Steve, listen to me. Trace is missing. That’s why Nadia and I are here. Yes, he flew to Dulles five months ago. But I never saw him. In fact, as far as we can tell, no one has seen him since.”
“If that’s true—”
“It is.”
“—then maybe they found Trace.”
“No,” Nadia says. “Trace is smart, resourceful. He’d have found a way.”
Nadia’s words sound hollow with false hope. Maggie’s mind starts racing. She remembers the bill for the Wells Fargo safe deposit boxes she opened in Trace’s apartment.
Whoa. Slow down a second. Maybe that’s it.
Maybe whatever Trace had snatched from this building before leaving Dubai is now in those boxes.
That’s why Trace had to come back to the United States. Not to see Maggie. But to make sure he kept control of their innovations. So, okay, Trace goes into Apollo Longevity at night. He nabs the THUMPR7 and accompanying machinery. He heads to Dubai airport, flies back to the United States, and then...
What?
Steve’s phone buzzes again. An incoming call. He puts the phone to his ear and says, “What’s up?” His face loses color. “Wait, what, right now?” Pause. “Hold on a second.” He looks over at them. “What have you gotten me into, Maggie?”
Maggie offers up an elaborate shrug. “No clue, Steve.”
Steve heads to a monitor on the desk. He leans over, still standing, and types into it. As he does, he keeps glancing at the door behind him. “Someone is at reception asking for you by name.” He finishes and turns to her. “Do you know who he is?”
He flips the monitor so Maggie can see the live CCTV footage he’s brought up. The camera is focused on a man with a...
Big Mustache.
The cop from last night. He is in plainclothes but flanked by two men in olive-green police uniforms with matching berets.
Steve says, “Well?”
“I saw someone stabbed on the dance floor last night. He’s the cop who showed up.”
“Are you serious?”
“No, Steve, I’m making it up.”
“No time for sarcasm, Maggie.”
“Always time, Steve. Anyway, he didn’t believe me.”
“Well, he believes you now. I recognize him. He’s tight with Malik.”
“Maggie.” Nadia taps her on the shoulder. “Take a look at this.”
Maggie turns. Nadia shows her the screen on her phone. It’s the headline from a new article:
“We have to get out of here,” Nadia says.
Steve takes the lead. Maggie stands on Steve’s left, Nadia behind him so that Steve blocks Less Beefy’s view of her hands. She keeps them together at the wrists so as to sell that she’s still zip-tied. Less Beefy gives them tough-guy vibes by the elevator. Steve smiles and says, “Hey, I need a favor.”
There is no hesitation.
That’s the key. Maggie learned this in military training. There are many things that make a great fighter — size, skill, athleticism, quickness, adaptability, experience, heart — but one thing can often overcome all that.
Surprise.
Maggie smiles. Casual as can be. She doesn’t call out. She doesn’t offer up or even hint at a warning. She doesn’t tense up or slow down or rear back or any of that. She just keeps walking, arms swinging, almost breezy.
Less Beefy isn’t worried. He’s a big man. She’s a small woman.
No threat to him at all.
The whole thing takes less than five seconds.
Maggie picks up speed as she gets closer, her smile grows into something almost flirty. It throws him off, distracts him, and then, before Less Beefy can react, Maggie attacks.
The Web Strike — also called the Y Strike — uses the web between your index finger and thumb. Coming from below, Maggie bends her knees, powers up pistonlike with her legs, and drives the “Y” with as much force as she can muster into his trachea.