Moving with speed, Zane crossed and opened the door. Looking down, he saw the dim outline of not one but two bodies. Two birds with one glass. If his sensor count had been right, that meant only one or two gunmen were left.
He heard movement above, then a light drew his eyes downward. A red dot wiggled at his feet, eventually working its way to his chest. Zane dove to his left instinctively. A hail of bullets rained down from the third-floor landing, shredding the banisters and the drywall.
Zane hit the floor and rolled onto his back. He was now able to discern the position of the gunmen by the flash of their weapons. Lifting his Glock, he fired twice. There was a scream then a loud clank as a rifle landed in the foyer below.
The surviving gunman fired several shots. Zane crawled over to a large supporting column and squeezed off two return volleys. He fished one of the flashbangs out of his pocket, pulled the pin, and launched it toward the third floor. As soon as it went off, he fired at the man illuminated by the light. The intruder let out a groan of pain then staggered down the landing and into a room.
When Zane stood, a sharp pain shot up his leg and into his groin. Feeling around, he found a wound just above one of his knees. Apparently he’d been grazed by one of the bullets. The pain was intense, but retreating wasn’t an option.
Limping over to the stairs, he ascended slowly. Upon arriving at the top, he tossed his old magazine aside and snapped in a new one.
Zane moved down the landing, keeping tight against the wall to reduce his profile. When he arrived at the doorway, he leaned forward and glanced inside. A bit of ambient light came through the blinds, allowing him to see the entire room.
Where did he go?
Zane stepped inside with pistol raised. It was then that he saw the man, propped up against a dresser. As far as Zane could tell, he wasn’t holding his weapon.
That’s strange.
Zane approached cautiously, his finger in position to pull the trigger if necessary. He could now see that blood oozed from a wound on the man’s chest. He’d need quick medical attention if he were going to survive.
As Zane drew near, the man lifted one of his hands and put something in his mouth.
“No!” Zane shouted.
He dove and tried to grab the man’s hand, but it was too late. The man’s throat was moving, sending the pill on its way.
He probably had less than a minute. Zane pulled the man’s night vision goggles off. Staring back at him was an Asian male in his late twenties or early thirties. Zane shook his shoulders. “Who are you?”
He said nothing, so Zane shook him again, this time more roughly. “Who do you work for?”
The man leaned forward as though he were going to speak, but then spit in Zane’s face.
Zane ignored the act. “Who did you come here for? Tell me.”
The man began to cough. Seconds later, a river of foam spilled from his mouth and his head tilted forward. Zane pushed his head back again, but this time there was only a blank stare.
Whatever secrets the man had held, they were gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
Adam Cline deftly maneuvered the obsidian-colored Jeep Cherokee through the early-evening traffic of Arlington, Virginia. He was doing the best he could to strike a delicate balance between giving his passenger a comfortable ride and still making it to their destination on time. He had only been with Delphi for six months, but one thing he’d learned already was that Dr. Alexander Ross despised tardiness.
He cursed under his breath as another light turned red. After coming to a stop, he glanced into the rearview mirror at his passenger. The man stared out the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts. His long brown hair, which fell to the shoulders of a stylish gray button-down, framed a face that one might expect to find on any number of magazines in a grocery store rack. He was anything but a typical operative, Adam thought.
Strangely, the normally friendly man had scarcely moved or spoken since climbing in at Reagan National. Was it jet lag? That was certainly possible, although his pose seemed more pensive, as though something were troubling him.
The light turned green, and Adam mashed the accelerator to the floor.
“Don’t worry about Ross,” said the man in the backseat.
Adam blushed then looked into the rearview mirror again. “Excuse me?”
The man returned his gaze. “The Oracle… don’t worry about him. Just get us there in one piece and you’ll be fine.”
“Sorry.” Adam glanced at his watch. It was 6:55. “It’s just that Dr. Ross wanted me to have you there by—”
“Seven o’clock. I know. Once I get there, all will be forgotten. Trust me, sometimes I think I know the man better than he knows himself.” After a brief pause, he continued. “You’re right, he doesn’t like people being late. It’s in his DNA. But right now there is too much going on to worry about what time I step through those doors. Let’s just get there safely.”
Ten minutes later, Adam braked and turned right just before a tall mirrored office building. He followed the service road around to the rear and pulled up in front of a red awning that ran from the building to the parking lot.
The passenger pulled the strap of a duffel bag over his shoulder. “You coming in?”
Adam turned around. “No, sir. Dr. Ross wanted me to take your things to the hotel and check you in.”
“Sounds good.” The man held up an ID card. “By the way, Ross didn’t revoke my privileges, did he?”
“No, sir. You should still be good.”
Adam watched as the tall operative limped down the sidewalk and into the building.
Zane Watson was home.
When the elevator door slid open, Zane realized nothing had changed in the months since he’d last stepped foot in Delphi headquarters. Directly in front of him was a sleekly modern reception desk, with a stone waterfall gurgling soothingly just behind. In the center of the stone was a bronze plate that read Delphi Group.
As he stepped out of the elevator, a smartly dressed woman in her early thirties looked up from a stack of papers on her desk. She had auburn hair that was pulled up and tied in the back and a face that was both pretty and disarming.
She grinned as Zane moved toward her. “Wow, love the new do!” she said with a wry smile. “You know, I can recommend a good stylist right here in Arlington. She’s great with long hair like ours.”
Zane placed both hands on her desk. “I haven’t stepped foot in here for months and the first thing out of your mouth is a sarcastic remark about my locks?”
“Sarcastic? Who’s being sarcastic? Would love to talk product sometime!”
Zane shook his head slowly. “How are you, Kristine?”
“I’m doing great, Zane.” She stood, came around the desk, and gave him a long hug. “We’ve missed you.” She pulled back a bit and looked down. “How’s the leg?”
“Hurts like the devil, but I think I’m going to make it. So you’re doing well?”
She nodded. “I’m great.”
Zane noticed a little tick in her expression, a hint that there might be a little more there. “You’re not still dating that clown from Maryland, are you?”
“Clarke? Ummm, no.”
Zane raised an eyebrow. “What did I tell you about that guy?”
“He wasn’t that bad.”
“Do you want me to go back through all my predictions to see how many came true?”
Kristine held up a hand. “Please, no.” She laughed. “Now that you mention it, he was pretty bad.”
Zane squeezed her shoulder. “I guess spotting scum is a subset of my professional skills.”