Berry didn’t wait.
He’d already moved in and followed his first strike with a savage kick to the man’s kidneys, followed by a punch to the side of his head.
“That’s for threatening my family, dickhead,” he added as he knocked the man out with a final hammer-fist to the man’s neck.
He grabbed the gun off the ground and crossed the room to where Khoury was extricating himself from the mattress.
They’d used the holes opened up by the lead goon’s gunshots to tear open the cover of the mattress, then they’d pulled out some of its innards — springs, foam and cotton — enough for Khoury to be able to fit himself into the mattress, just like the character in his script had done to the car seat of the bad guy’s Porsche before stuffing the man into it and sitting on him. Like a puppet master, his character had manipulated the bad guy’s arm to clear the fingerprint scan, while the overhead scanner only saw the thermal image of one body since he was sitting on top of him.
The two writers had then taken the bits they’d removed and spread them under the other mattress, flattening them evenly so it was barely noticeably higher off the ground.
Then Khoury had waited for Berry’s signal.
“I thought you were never going to make your move,” Berry said.
“I couldn’t hear you,” Khoury replied, brushing his ears. “I’ve still got cotton in there.” He looked across at the downed goon, then took in the gun in Berry’s hand. “Malone would be proud.”
“I guess that Krav Maga training I did for research paid off.” He gestured towards the door. “Let’s get the hell out here before the others get back.”
They scooted out of the room and into a long, dark corridor that led to a staircase, Berry leading the way in a slightly crouched stance and on high alert. They were passing a door to their right when the goon leader and his other underling appeared, coming down the stairs.
Shots exploded around them, as the goons started firing.
“Shit,” Khoury said as they both hugged the wall, looking for cover. “What are you waiting for, shoot back.”
“You do realize I’ve never fired a gun in my life,” Berry yelled.
“Just point the damn thing and pull the trigger.”
Berry did just that.
Two, three, four times.
The two goons scrambled back up the stairs as bullets bit into the walls around them just as shouts came from the room next to where the authors were huddled.
“Hey, who’s out there? Get us out of here.”
Berry looked at Khoury in confusion, then leaned closer to the door and said, “Who are you?”
“FBI agents,” the voice said. “You American?”
“Through and through,” Berry replied. “Stand clear.”
He stepped back and fired a shot into the door lock, destroying it, then kicked the door in.
“You’re getting real handy with that thing,” Khoury said.
Malone and Reilly emerged from the darkness. Their hands were still zip-locked, but they were no longer behind their backs. Adrenaline was running high all around.
Malone asked, “What’s going on?”
“The guys who grabbed us,” Khoury said, “one of them’s knocked out back there. The other two are up there.”
“Let’s go,” Reilly said. “Stay behind us.” Then he told Berry, “Give me the gun.”
Berry handed it over.
They moved quickly but quietly, down the hall and up the stairs — Reilly, Malone, Khoury, and Berry. They crept up the stairs, Malone’s gun leading the way, and emerged into what looked like the ground floor of an empty warehouse. But a door that looked like the main entrance hung wide open.
Reilly shouted, “Come on,” and he and Malone rushed out into the daylight.
Khoury looked at Berry, shrugged, then said, “What the hell. We’ve written about this kind of thing often enough. Might as well live it for once.”
“Go,” Berry said.
The two writers charged after them.
12
Malone and Reilly burst out of the warehouse in time to see the two goons getting into a black people carrier that was parked across in the complex’s small forecourt, its nose facing the lot’s low perimeter wall. Beyond were some trees and what looked like train tracks.
“I’m not losing them again,” Reilly said.
“I’m not getting grabbed again,” Malone added as he aimed at the goon he had a better bead on, the underling who’d gone to fetch his boss. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”
The lead goon was barely inside the vehicle when its engine rumbled to life.
“Stop,” Malone repeated, but the man didn’t stop climbing in. Instead, he swung around, a gun in hand, and fired.
Rounds punched into the walls and cars around the agents, who dived for cover behind a nearby vehicle.
Malone peered out and fired back.
The rear windshield of the Ford Galaxy burst into smithereens, as did one of its rear lights, just as it lurched back, heading straight at them. Its engine whined as it cut across the parking lot, Malone and Reilly diving out of the way a split second before it plowed into the car they were using for cover and crushed it against the warehouse’s wall. The engine screamed again as the driver slammed it into gear and it accelerated away, down the lot before swerving left and disappearing behind the side of the warehouse complex.
Malone and Reilly emerged and rushed through the parking lot after it, looking for a car they could use. The cars were all locked, and no one else was around.
“We’re going to lose them again,” Reilly hissed. “We need to hotwire one of these cars.”
“Hang on a sec. The two guys who got us out of there,” Malone said, checking behind him. “Where are they?”
Reilly turned and scanned the warehouse’s entrance.
There was no sign of them.
As soon as the gunfire erupted, Khoury and Berry stopped and pulled back into the warehouse.
“There,” Khoury pointed.
There was another door at the back of the space. It looked like an exit. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“I thought you wanted to live the adventure,” Berry said.
“Yeah, maybe one with a little less bullets flying around. Especially when we can’t shoot back.”
They sprinted across the large space and tried the door, which was unlocked. They went through and emerged outside, behind the warehouse — just as the black Galaxy rushed past them.
“It’s them,” Berry blurted.
“They’re getting away. Where are those agents?”
“Maybe they got them.”
Khoury looked at Berry. Hard resolve bounced back between them. “Screw that. Come on.”
About thirty yards away from them, the Galaxy swerved to the right and burst out of the lot, narrowly missing a black Audi Q5 that screeched to a halt as it was turning into the warehouse complex.
Khoury sprinted towards it, with Berry hot on his heels.
They reached the Audi before it was moving again, its driver, a thin, balding man wearing wire spectacles and a suit, momentarily jolted by the close call.
“We need your car,” Khoury said, breathless.
“What? No,” the driver said, totally confused.
“We’re federal agents,” Berry informed him with as much authority as he could muster. “We’re going to need your vehicle, right now.” Major emphasis on the last two words.
The man wasn’t impressed. “No, I’m sorry, I just got this car, it’s on a lease.”
“Fine,” Khoury said as he reached in, yanked the door lever and swung it open.
Before the man could object, Khoury had unclipped his seat belt, pulled him out, and was climbing into the driver’s seat. Berry also sprinted around the car and clambered in to ride shotgun.