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"Grenade!" he screamed at the same time as Claire, and stumbled backward into Keller, sprawling across the small kitchen floor.

The grenade exploded several feet from the kitchen entrance, cratering the floor and dislodging drywall, instantly filling the hallway with smoke and fine dust. Small pieces of the grenade's metallic outer shell peppered the entire hallway, with the majority of the lethal pieces splintering wood, shredding light fixtures and ripping out chunks of drywall. One fragment destroyed the fingerprint security device leading into the communications room, eliminating access to the building's biggest potential liability.

Berg crawled desperately over Keller to get back into position in the doorway, which had been shattered by the direct blast. He could see damage from several fragments embedded in the stainless steel refrigerator standing next to the doorway, and realized that his jumbled panic to get back into the kitchen was justified. Some of the fragments had traveled through two sets of drywall to reach the refrigerator, and would have likely instead found a home in Berg's body if he had stayed.

Just as Berg slammed himself against the loose doorframe and stared down the sights of his weapon, he heard another metallic object strike the floor somewhere in the thick haze ahead of him. He didn't have time to retreat, but luckily for him, the sharp concussion of the "special" didn't send steel fragments through his internal organs. Instead, it showered the entire hallway with more white phosphorous, and blinded him for several seconds. Out of desperation and panic, he blindly fired two quick bursts in the direction of the doorway, which almost hit Claire as she sprinted down the hallway for a better position.

* * *

Daniel mounted the stairs quickly and his eyes caught rapid movement as his weapon's barrel cleared the top of the stairs. He fired a quick burst at a fast moving shadow, and heard a scream, but couldn't concentrate fire on the target. Several small caliber bullets snapped overhead, causing him to take cover behind the top of the staircase. He felt his knee buckle as he crouched, and could tell he would catch fire if he remained here. Taking a massive risk, he sprinted up the stairs and threw himself into the conference room, fully expecting to collide with one of the CIA agents.

He rolled and aimed at the doorway from a position several feet inside the room, but the area was clear. He pulled another fragmentation grenade out of the pouch and edged toward the door frame, noticing an open doorway in the wall behind him. The doorway led to what looked like a bedroom, and would normally be concealed behind a massive dark wooden china cabinet, which was swung aside on hinges. He wondered who else might emerge from this hidden entry. As he reached the doorframe, deafening gunfire erupted from the far hall, punctuated by submachine gun fire nearer to him. The area around the door splintered from the impact of several shotgun shells and 9mm bullets, forcing Daniel back into the room.

He couldn't believe the woman with the shotgun was still fighting. He had definitely hit her from the top of the stairs, and she was working the shotgun like a professional. He couldn't advance with that kind of accurate firepower bearing down on him, and he'd already been in the house for more than a minute. His earpiece remained silent, which was a good sign, but he couldn't imagine the good fortune lasting much longer. He pulled the pin on his last frag, and tossed it at the end of the hallway, where it detonated amidst a bloodcurdling scream. Satisfied that the threat was neutralized, he emerged from the room into the dimly lit, smoke-filled hallway, aiming right down the wall toward the nearest doorframe. He could see something moving in there, and if it moved another inch into the hallway, he'd be in business.

A sudden movement toward the back of the hallway caught his attention, and the words "cover me!" reached his ears. He pulled the MP-9 far enough away from the nearby doorframe to fire at the target sprinting across the obscured passage. He saw the person tumble into an open doorway on the other side of the hallway, not sure if his bullets struck home, when the black MP-5 popped out of the opening less than 10 feet away, rapidly spitting bullets.

Daniel pressed himself against the burning wall and fired a poorly aimed burst at the barely visible target in front of him. He considered moving forward, but the MP-5 rattled a dozen bullets in his direction, forcing him back into the conference room. He knew the shooter didn't want to expose his head far enough to take an accurate shot, but he couldn't risk the chance that this might change. A few seconds later, the shotgun rejoined the fight, pounding the conference room doorway with "double ought" buckshot, and Daniel lost all hope for advancing down the hallway. One of the other agents had taken over the shotgun, and time was running short. He glanced at the opening in the wall, and wondered exactly who had run through there to join the fight. Whoever it was deserved a medal. Posthumously awarded, he hoped.

His earpiece crackled, and he heard Parker's voice.

"Status report."

"Send updated timeline," replied Petrovich.

"Thirty seconds. Police en route. Can you still accomplish the mission?"

Daniel processed all of his options within the span of a millisecond, and realized that he needed more time, unless…he was willing to endure a shower of white phosphorous. He could probably land one of the grenades in the closer opening, and send the submachine gunner running, followed by another grenade toward the shooter at the end of the hallway. When they scrambled to shield themselves, he would have to charge forward and take his chances with the firestorm of burning fragments. His other option was to abandon the mission, and retreat through the passage in the conference room wall. He could be out on the street in less than fifteen seconds. If he could make it to the staircase, he would be out of the house even faster.

The concept of retreat didn't sit well with Petrovich. He had to put an end to this to this tonight. Jessica was waiting, and had already endured enough over the last twenty-four hours. They desperately needed a fresh start, and failing one of Sanderson's missions wouldn't help. Apparently, everyone had succeeded in their role over the past few days, except for him.

"Affirmative," he said, and pulled one of the "special" grenades from his bag.

He had just placed his index finger through the firing pin, when Parker's voice broke through his focus again.

"Change of plans. The general wants you to throw one of the agents your cell phone. Immediately."

"What?"

"Just do it. We're out of time."

"Understood."

He took his cellphone out of a pouch on his nylon vest, edged his head out of the conference room doorway, and examined the scene. The upstairs hallway had taken on a surreal hellish look, with several dozen small fires burning on every surface, including the ceiling. The fires burned a dark orange color through the smoke and drywall dust, illuminating the darkened area with dancing, flickering light. He found it strangely beautiful, but didn't linger to admire it. He tossed the cellphone right into the kitchen doorway opening, hearing it clatter on the floor, followed by the sound of furniture crashing, as Berg scrambled in fear. Strangely, the shotgun did not erupt. Instead, his cellphone rang, and Daniel yelled into the haze.

"Answer the phone! I have enough C-4 here to take out this entire floor. Do it now!"

He heard some shuffling from the kitchen, and the doorway exploded from the force of several shotgun blasts. He pulled out the last "special" grenade, and prepared to execute his final, desperate plan. His watch showed the total elapsed time in the house to be one minute and fifty-two seconds.