"Now we're ready, boys!" Brick shouted. "Let me get us a car."
Chaney figured the retired marshal was carrying enough firepower for two or even three gunfights because Brick had only one rule: "It's better to have 'em and not need 'em than to need 'em and not have 'em. Just remember: ammo is cheap, your life ain't."
Brick fired up a Lincoln that was still mostly intact, and they drove across town. Morning was only hours away. Chaney watched the passenger side mirror for a tag but didn't see anything. Brick noticed his casual glances and commented, "Ain't nobody on us yet. But you've talked with the girl before, right? The brainy one?"
"Twice." Chaney winced as Brick took a corner.
"Once is enough," the retired marshal rumbled. "They could anticipate you doing this. Might lay up for ya. And you know that if it burns down, all you got is that Sig and the .38. Not much for a setup like this." He debated. "When we get there, we'll get a couple of CAR-15's from the trunk. I put 'em in there before we left."
"Doesn't matter," Chaney replied, glancing left, right, searching. He was painfully fatigued. "We'll go in heavy, but we're going in. Because that girl is next; I guarantee it."
"Probably. They've already killed just about everybody else. Might as well do her, too. Sanitize the whole thing. And if they're pros, they ain't gonna leave no smokin' gun. They'll be in, out, gone, and laughing in a bar when the locals call her folks."
Chaney said nothing, but he knew there were some things you just didn't do unless you wanted to provoke a little righteous retribution. And deep down, Chaney wasn't sure if he could stay on the right side of the law if they killed Gina. Whatever was going on, she was clearly innocent.
As the Tipler Institute came in sight, Chaney studied it, brightly illuminated in the harsh white glow of security lights. Even at this late hour there were still cars in the parking lot.
"You see anything?" Chaney asked quietly.
Brick studied the grounds; the building itself covered at least four acres and rested on a large, conservatively landscaped lot. There was ample parking space; no one was visible.
Reaching down, Brick removed a pair of binoculars from beneath the seat. He stared over the grounds, moving the lenses slowly, pausing, moving on. "You got two security guards up front. Uniforms. Looks legit." Another pause. "The place is tight. Ain't sure how we'll get in."
"We'll just flash our creds," Chaney said, removing the Sig to again ensure that a round was chambered. "If that doesn't get us in, we'll call Gina up front. She'll take care of it."
"Sounds like a plan."
"Best I can come up with."
"Just walk right in, huh?"
"Yep."
Considering it, Brick shook his head. "Something don't seem right, kid. How come they got two security guards up front? 'Cause that ain't normal. Usually one guy does the desk, one patrols. Then they shift out. That's the way it's done."
Chaney thought about it, knew Brick was right. That's how it was usually done. And the Tipler Institute, despite their delicate research materials and equipment, wouldn't normally violate such a fundamental and simple rule of security.
"You're right," he muttered, suspicion low but rising. "That's how it's done." He wondered if the morphine had dulled his edge to make good field judgments. "What do you figure?"
"Well," Brick said, hunkered over the steering wheel, "I figure if there's two, there's probably four. Or six. We won't see 'em, but they'll be close. If they're waiting to open up on us, they'll be coming out of the woodwork. This could get…mean."
Chaney frowned. He expected to be upset that he might be walking into an ambush. And, strangely, he didn't care. He figured that he'd already been through so much that another gunfight wasn't enough to arouse his emotions.
He put the Sig back in the belt holster, but didn't snap the hammer guard. It wasn't much of an advantage, but it would allow a speedier draw by a split second. "Let's do it."
Brick cocked his head as he put the Lincoln in gear. "You're the boss."
In five minutes they were walking very, very slowly across the parking lot. Chaney kept his hand casually on his concealed pistol, scanning everything without appearing to. Then they reached the door and Brick put his back to it, staring over the lot. His burly arms were crossed over his barrel chest, and to anyone else he would have appeared perfectly harmless. Only Chaney knew that each of those huge hands were settled tight on Uzis.
The door opened cautiously.
"Yes, sir?" asked the guard.
Chaney didn't ask permission as he shoved the glass door open and motioned the man aside with his credentials. "I'm Chaney, United States Marshals Service!" He pointed at the man with authority. "I want you beside that desk. Now."
"But—"
"Now!"
Complying instantly, the man joined the second guard — mid-thirties with reddish hair. Chaney saw that they both carried Smith and Wesson Model 19 revolvers. The Model 19 was probably one of the finest out-of-the-box weapons available, and was chambered for either .357-Magnum or .38-caliber rounds. A dangerous weapon.
Chaney didn't trust either of them.
"Both of you, take out your guns real slow, lay them on the table. Then take three steps back and don't do anything stupid. We may have a crime in progress and you'll get them back as soon as I verify that the situation is not an emergency."
Brick had taken a position where he could simultaneously watch connecting hallways and the lobby. He had removed the Uzis and held one in each hand as he looked continuously around the perimeter, scanning. Chaney heard the sharp crack of the safeties as Brick flicked them off, preparing to fire at the faintest warning.
In the brightly illuminated entrance, Brick seemed distinctly out of place: a burly prizefighter type holding submachine guns while surrounded by prestigious peace awards which lauded the Institute's global attempts to save endangered species.
"I don't see nothing, kid," Brick said, still searching.
Chaney emptied the revolvers and tossed them onto a couch. "Get Gina Gilbert on the line right now," he said, motioning to the phone with his Sig. He followed with, "Before I lose my patience!"
Instantly the first guard was ringing the laboratory. Chaney had the guard wait a long time, but there was no reply. Brick cast him an ominous glance and Chaney shouted, "Page her, boy! Just get her up here right now! I don't care how you do it!"
The guard, galvanized by the imperious tone, tried a host of lines paging one area of the installation after another. After five minutes Chaney knew they'd have to make the long walk back to the laboratory. He reached over and grabbed the first guard by the shirt. "Come on," he whispered. "We're walking."
"B-B-But…" He pointed to the desk. "I have to watch the—"
"All you have to do is what I tell you." Chaney cut him off, feeling remarkably stronger as the tension spiraled. "We're going to the laboratory and see if we can—"
It was a sudden movement — an out-of-place quickness — that made Chaney hurl the man to the side. As he did, he saw a shotgun coming up in the hand of the red-haired guard, but he knew it was too late. The barrel of the weapon had already cleared the desk.
Brick opened up with both Uzis, tearing through the guard and devastating the wall behind him, the desk, pictures, and computer equipment. Chaney knew what would happen next and didn't hesitate.
Holding the Sig in his right hand he reached across, thrust the barrel under his left arm, and fired as his former prisoner lunged. The round hit dead center, and to make sure Chaney fired three more rounds before shouldering the corpse aside, knowing there would be more.
Almost instantly he glimpsed the door behind Brick open a crack. He spun and fired the bullet, missing the retired marshal by inches. Brick, knowing the point of impact and understanding, also whirled, firing hard and long into the panel, which shut slowly.