"There's a photograph," she reported.
"Then I'm going to have to flash it only once and so damn fast no one can see a thing. That's okay, though. If there's a photograph, people assume you wouldn't dare use someone else's id."
"You're kidding."
"Just watch."
They arrived at Elwood Electronic Industries twenty minutes later. As they climbed out of the car, Deborah nodded her head toward the back seat.
"What about him?" she asked.
"He'll sleep for another half hour. By then, we'll be gone."
The receptionist looked up politely. Her smile was warm, but her eyes held the calculating look of a prospective mother-in-law sizing up the engagement ring.
"Who's in charge here?" Lyons demanded in a gruff voice.
"Mr. Brognola, but if you've no appointment..."
"Would you please tell him that John Ironman is here to do the annual building inspection?"
"Do you have identification, Mr. Ironman?"
"Of course I have identification, and I'll show it to Brognola. Now, buzz him."
The receptionist looked as if she was tempted to move around her desk and personally eject John Ironman, but she restrained herself and placed a call instead.
"Mr. Brognola will be right out."
"Thanks."
Hal Brognola appeared in the reception area twenty seconds later. He wore a gray suit.
"Mr. Ironman?"
"I'm here to do the annual building safety inspection," Lyons said. He passed the stolen wallet in front of Brognola's eyes so quickly that no one could have discerned a thing.
The new manager of Elwood Electronic Industries seemed more interested in the inspection than the inspector.
"I'm fairly new here. Just what are you looking for? And will you require any assistance?" Brognola probed, hoping Lyons could slip some clues into the conversation.
"Just looking for anything that might constitute an immediate safety violation. Don't worry, our function is to advise you of unsafe conditions, not to issue a summons or anything. If we find things unsafe we return today or tomorrow and see if you've remedied the situation. We always figure that cooperation is better than attack."
"That seems very logical. What can I do to cooperate?"
"Not much. I certainly don't need three or four shadows following me around. Your people can stick to their own jobs. Miss Devine, my assistant, is the only observer I need."
Brognola nodded, his face bland except for a slight hardening of the muscles around his mouth.
"Then I'll tend to business. Let me know what you find. I'll be in my office in about half an hour. I'll wait until I see you again."
"Okay," Lyons answered.
"By the way," Brognola asked, "how's traffic along the parkway?"
"Not bad. I have one of those Fords that the city provides. I managed to get here without putting a ding in the fender. It's hard to explain that you totaled another car because of some battered GMC pickup that you didn't see."
The acting chief-executive officer of Elwood Electronics shook his head as he left the reception area. "Amazing," he muttered.
"What's so amazing about getting here without an accident?" Deborah wanted to know.
"With you to look at, it's a miracle that I could spare any attention for the road," Lyons told her.
She ignored his flattery. "Weird," she commented. "What do we do now, Mr. Inspector."
Lyons led her out of earshot of the receptionist, before answering. "We inspect. We go through every square foot of the place until we're certain that this scientist is either here or not here. You have her description?"
"Of course. I was given it at the same time you were, remember?"
"Just barely."
"Then let's start inspecting, inspector."
Hal Brognola hurried away from Lyons. He had been uncertain how the big blond would handle the undercover work. No one ever really knew what Lyons would do next. However, there was no doubting the communications, in spite of the witnesses who were watching and listening.
Brognola went over the points in his mind. "Advise you of unsafe conditions" and "return today or tomorrow" could only mean that Lyons had come to scout the place for another attack by HIT, but what were the conditions? Hopefully Lyons could clarify that before he left the building.
"Three or four shadows" when Miss Devine was the only assistant he needed was also clear. Brognola hustled into his office and locked the door behind him. He pulled out a sports bag filled with tools of the trade.
He slipped off his jacket and put on a soft-leather, breakaway shoulder harness. He checked the clip on a Heckler & Koch VP 70Z. The eighteen 9mm parabellums were all waiting for action. He slammed the clip home, making sure it was seated. Then he clamped a stubby sound suppressor over the end of the barrel, tightening small set screws into the thumb grooves on the side and front of the gun barrel.
With the suppressor and the internal spring mechanism that delayed the shell ejection, the automatic weighed almost three pounds. He slipped the deadly German-made gun into the clip under his armpit and then put his jacket back on. The impeccable tailoring hid the presence of the gun very well.
Brognola rummaged in his sports bag until he found a weighted cosh, which he slipped into his left pocket. He unlocked his office door and headed for a side-door exit.
"I'm stepping out for a breath of air. I'll be back in ten minutes," he told his secretary.
It took no time to find the battered GMC pickup on the company lot, but there was no one with it. That gave Brognola the problem of finding the terrorists who were probably spread out watching all the entrances to the building. After a moment's thought he went to his rented Chrysler.
He started the car and drove carefully through the lot until he came to the pickup truck. He stepped his speed up to about twelve miles per hour and steered the heavy car into the front fender of the truck. The impact was exactly right. It curled the fender into the tire so the truck could not be driven until the fender was straightened or removed. The high-impact bumper on the New Yorker absorbed most of the shock. The crumpling of the fender did poke out one headlight, but Brognola noticed no body damage when he got out and looked.
It took only eight seconds for a thin man with a knife scar on his left cheek to make his appearance.
"Why the hell don't you watch where you're driving?" the man demanded in a whiny voice.
"I did," Brognola assured him. "I hit exactly where I aimed. The trouble is that tinny fender didn't crumple as it should. It broke one of my headlights."
"You did what?"
"I saw that disgraceful piece of garbage on a private lot, where it has no right to be. So I decided to disable it. Now it can't be driven away without slicing up the tire. I didn't count on breaking a headlight. I think you're going to pay for that."
"You think I'm going to do what!"
Another man drifted over to check the cause of the disturbance. He was a beefy character, dressed in jeans and cowboy boots. He needed a shave.
"What's the trouble, Kelby?" the newcomer asked.
"This asshole ran into my truck deliberately."
"Well, he's seen you now. We'll have to take care of him."
Brognola felt an uneasy prickle across the back of his scalp. These two would be too easy. That meant there were one or two others out there, and if they knew what they were doing, their guns would be trained on him right now.
Brognola turned and ran, pulling the VP 70Z as he threaded his way between cars, bending almost double to present a smaller target.
Two bullets came from a low angle and bounced off the roof of a car. Brognola caught sight of the only other terrorist from the corner of his eye. He let his knees buckle as if he was hit. As soon as he was below the rooflines of the cars, he turned and waited.