Facing the three scenarios, that last one was — at best—33 percent likely to happen.
Sean didn’t like the odds, but he had no choice. There was no other way in that gave him a better chance of success.
He drew in a long breath and shook his head. Another hard swallow coursed through his throat.
“Become a government agent,” he said to himself. “That will be exciting. And you’ll make a difference in the world.”
I need to stop listening to that voice.
Sean took a few more quick breaths to build up his courage and then swung around so he was sitting on his butt.
“Okay. Now or never, Sean. Just don’t look past the catwalk, and you’ll be fine.”
He gave a quick nod as if to confirm his decision and then pushed backward, placing his hands on the edge of the roof where the tile had ripped free. It wasn’t a very good place to grip, and he’d only be able to hold it for a second.
Have to do it fast, he thought.
Two more breaths. Then he pressed his palms into the roof, lifting his body over them. He hovered for a moment and then extended his legs out over the opening and started lowering them. As his bodyweight got heavier, his fingers started to slip on the roof surface. He squeezed harder to make sure he got his feet as close to the catwalk as possible before letting go. He looked down to make sure they were lined up and then released his grasp.
The drop wasn’t far, but it felt like it lasted ten seconds. When his fingers let go, his body’s momentum kicked forward ever so slightly, causing his feet to go out from under him. He struck the grated metal walkway with his tailbone, and the entire structure shuddered.
The first thought that ran through his mind after the incredible pain from his butt was that his fate would be option two, the catwalk falling to the floor.
He winced as the walkway shook and wiggled. Then the vibrations slowed until it was still again.
Fighting off the pain, Sean rolled onto his side and looked down at the floor. None of the men below had noticed a thing. With all the noise of the trucks, forklifts, and people shouting orders, his loud landing was lost in the chaos.
He struggled to his feet and grabbed onto the railing. The floor below might as well have been a mile away. His tailbone radiated a horrible, throbbing pain, up through his spine and down through his legs. The agonizing sensation actually tore Sean’s concerns away from his fear of heights momentarily. He held the pouch as he limped forward toward the wall. His eyes remained on the men below until he arrived at the adjacent catwalk.
His next concern was anyone who might be sitting in the truck cabs. From his vantage point, he couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean much. The near angle cut off part of the truck’s interior, so getting a view beyond the dashboard was difficult.
For the time being, he was safe. Down on the lower grate could be a different story.
He kept moving toward the closest staircase. With every step, the pain in his lower back dissipated until by the time he reached the stairs it was gone. He drew the pistol from its holster and kept it close to his shoulder, ready to aim and fire should the need arise.
As he descended the steps, he kept an eye on the men with the assault rifles. On the lower landing, he found a stack of old boxes just under the stairs and took temporary refuge behind them. He stayed low and crawled to where he could peek around one of the boxes and get a better view of the trucks.
Just as he’d hoped. They were empty. The drivers must have been running double duty, loading and delivering.
Guess they’ve never heard of a union.
The gunman at the corner of the closest truck twitched and looked back over his shoulder. Something had gotten his attention.
Sean ducked back behind the boxes and evened his breathing. He pivoted around and crept back to the other side of the stack and looked around. The guard was bending over, examining something on the floor. He stood up and held a rusty bolt into the light. His head cocked to the side for a moment before he tossed the piece of scrap out of the way. He returned to his station and continued keeping watch, his head turning one direction and then the other.
A forklift appeared through the main entrance, apparently in a hurry. One of the wooden crates burdened the front loader. Suddenly — out of nowhere— one of the other forklifts appeared on the other side of the last truck in line and nearly cut off the other machine. The driver with the crate brought the forklift to a panicked stop, and one end of the crate slid off the left fork. It hit the ground with a thud.
Everyone in the building, including Sean, grimaced for a second. It must have been no secret what the missile warheads were carrying. The last thing any of the workers wanted to do was set off the device. If the explosion didn’t kill them, the nerve gas would.
Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened. The weapon wasn’t armed. Even so, dropping it or jostling it too much was probably a bad idea.
While the gunmen and workers scurried over to the fallen wooden box, Sean tiptoed over to the next set of stairs and made his way to the floor.
The two drivers were yelling at each other in what Sean assumed to be obscenities. He couldn’t understand the language they were using. Not that it mattered. His job wasn’t to translate angry terrorist speak.
He ran behind a pair of fifty-gallon steel barrels and ducked down for a moment. Then he sprinted to the farthest truck in the line and ran around the front to the driver’s side.
Before he could stop, his shoulder barged into someone standing next to the wheel.
Sean staggered back for a moment and then looked up at the mammoth he’d run into.
The man was smoking a cigarette and turned around slowly. His dark, hollow eyes glared down at Sean like he was nothing more than a fly buzzing around a bull.
The man was close to seven feet tall. His rippling muscles bulged out of the tight V-neck shirt he wore. Sean raised his weapon to shoot, but the giant knocked it away with a sweep of his hand.
Sean watched his gun hit the floor and slide until it stopped next to a plastic barrel.
He turned his attention back to the truck driver just in time. The man reached out with both hands to grab the American. Sean ducked out of the way and rolled to the side. The move saved him from being crushed, but it also put the driver between him and his gun — a fact that the giant didn’t seem to consider.
The big man lurched forward with fists raised. He fired a jab. Sean parried it to the side and then a second, but blocking the heavy-fisted punches was no easy task. The giant leaned back, and Sean knew what was coming next.
A gargantuan boot swung his way, and he turned to the side and tried to jump clear. He almost succeeded, but the big man’s heel struck Sean in the ribs with enough force to send him flying six feet.
There was no time to pay attention to the stabbing pain coming from his ribs. Sean rolled to his feet again and prepared for the next attack.
The huge driver stalked to his prey, again taking a stance like an old-school boxer. Sean knew if he kept playing defense, the giant would eventually break him down, and then it would be over.
Another jab shot by his face, then again. Sean ducked and weaved, swiped his hands at the man’s wrists as the punches missed. Then the driver faked a jab and swung a roundhouse.
Sean realized too late he’d overcommitted his defenses. All he could do was turn his head as the huge fist struck between his cheek and jaw.
It hit with brutal force and sent the American reeling backward. The warehouse started to nosedive in Sean’s vision. He squinted and reached out his hands to grab onto something, anything, that would help him stay on his feet. If the big man pinned him to the ground, he’d be a goner.