And then he heard a shuffling behind him. He spun, recognizing that someone or something was approaching. He saw movement in the swirling snow, and just as he prepared to pull the trigger, there was a zapping sound. A projectile hit his abdomen, sending an electrical wave through his body and knocking him to the ground. His body contorted in spasms for a moment before his muscles locked up completely. And then, as he lay there unable to move, a shadow appeared above him. The shadow moved, and Boris felt a hard blow delivered to the side of his head.
Zane, having jumped out from behind the car at the sound of the Taser, arrived just as Skinner landed a blow across the Russian’s head. The man was out cold, and likely would be for quite some time.
Having made sure the partner hadn’t followed him out, they wasted no time in binding the man’s hands and feet with flex-cuffs. They also cut the conductive wire that connected the electrode projectile to the Taser gun. Once the man was secure, they dragged him behind the car.
Skinner pulled out his monocular and pointed it at the door. “The other tango is still there. You say you know how to get him out here?”
“I think so,” Zane replied.
“You think so? You don’t sound as sure as you did before.”
“This will be a little tougher, so we’ll have to see.”
Zane reached inside the man’s coat and pulled something out of one of the pockets. He turned on his flashlight, which was dimmed by a red filter, and confirmed that it was the Russian’s radio.
Zane lifted a finger to his lips, indicating Skinner should remain silent. He depressed the button on the side, but instead of talking, he used a gloved finger to lightly brush across the mouthpiece.
After a short pause, a man — presumably the one inside — responded in Russian.
Zane then repeated the process, depressing the talk button and sliding a finger across the mouthpiece, and once again the man on the other end barked out something in Russian.
“Now let’s see if he takes the bait,” said Zane, standing up and turning off the radio completely. He pulled out his own monocular, and using the car as a brace, he focused it on the entrance. The other Russian was holding the radio in front of his mouth, probably an indication that he was still trying to reach his partner. A minute later, he put the radio away and walked right up to the glass, cupping his hands around the sides of his face in order to see better.
“He’s debating,” said Skinner.
“Yes he is,” Zane replied. “If my guess is right, and these guys are cowboys, he’ll likely come out here before calling anyone else in.”
As they watched the man, he suddenly pulled back, and Zane wondered if he might retreat into the building to find help. But several seconds later, the man pushed through the doors and walked in their direction.
“Here he comes,” Zane said. “Let’s get in place.”
Skinner moved back to where he had been positioned before, behind a tree in a concrete median a few feet away. Zane set up behind the Renault, making sure his feet and legs were shielded by the rear tire. He lifted his head slightly so that he could watch the man approach.
“Boris?” asked the voice when the man had covered about half of the distance to the car. “Boris?” he asked again, this time a little louder.
There was a click, and the man turned on his flashlight. Zane’s heart pounded. Even though the light might actually reduce the man’s ability to see at a distance due to the fogging effect of the snow, he might still be able to see Skinner if he happened to point it in his direction.
“Boris?” the man asked again, waving the light back and forth.
Zane stopped watching and ducked down, on the off chance the bouncing beam might find him.
Suddenly, there was a shuffling noise followed by a zapping sound. Zane sprinted around the rear of the car. The man had been knocked down but still seemed to have some residual strength. As he raised his rifle toward Skinner, Zane dove, pushing the rifle as he rolled across the man’s body. One shot popped harmlessly into the air.
Zane came to rest a few feet away, but Skinner was already on the Russian, flipping him over and pressing a knee into his back. The man tried to fight back, but Skinner was too strong.
When Zane returned, they bound the man’s wrists and ankles. After a quick search of the Russian’s coat, Zane found his radio, turned it off, and then flung it out into the storm.
“Let’s move them inside.” Zane grabbed one Russian around the chest, Skinner did likewise with the other, and they dragged them across the snow.
When they arrived at the door, they noticed that the man who came out last had propped it open with a cell phone. Zane picked it up and launched it out into the snow as well.
“Where do you want these guys?” Skinner asked.
“Over here.” Zane pulled his man into a room along the right side of the corridor and set the body down. He felt around until he found the light switch. After flicking it on, he saw that the room was some sort of lab, with an assortment of desks, tables, and computer monitors scattered throughout. Zane carried his man to the far end of the room and laid him on the floor behind a large desk. Skinner did likewise, while Zane proceeded to search through one of the drawers.
“Here we are,” the operative said, holding up a roll of masking tape. “Not great but should do the trick.”
After snugly taping the mouths of both men, the operatives stole back out to hallway.
“Are we going to bring the radios up?” Skinner asked.
“Yes,” said Zane. “We’re past—”
His sentence was cut off by a buzz. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a vibrating phone. Recognizing the caller was Reid, he answered with a frown, “What’s up? We’re in radio-only mode.”
“Had no choice. We have a huge problem.”
Zane didn’t like the tone of Reid’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“They have CP. We split up at the parking deck, and the next thing I know, she’s being carried out by two goons.”
“Where did they take her?”
“They entered the building on this end. I presume she’s either in the control room or somewhere close by. The Renaissance guards were swarming like bees so there was zero chance I could enter and look for her.”
“Copy that. If they have Carmen, they have her radio. Have you called Brett to—”
“Already done. He should have her unit disabled shortly and will send us a text as soon as we are able to go live again. That’s why I contacted you by phone.”
“Perfect. You sure there is no way to get in on that end?”
“Negative. As I said, there are tangos everywhere.”
“Where exactly are you?”
“In a row of bushes on the north side. Hold on a sec.” Reid paused. “Three more tangos just walked past.”
“Can you get back here? We’re inside the doors on the east end and can let you in.”
“Roger that. The storm is providing cover, so give me five to ten.”
“Copy that. Try to make it in five. When you arrive, make sure the outside is clear and then text.”
Zane put away his phone and stared at Skinner, who had been able to hear the whole conversation.
“What do you think they’ve done with Carmen?” Skinner asked.
“I wish I knew.” Zane rubbed his forehead.
“How much time do you think we have?”
“We can’t count on having much at all, particularly now that they know we’re here.”