Miller wanted to kick himself for being such a jerk. He'd let this guy play them like hooked fish. He'd counted on one of them adjusting the knob to fine-tune the reception.
He grabbed the table, lifted it, and hurled it across the room.
As the table landed, the building shook with a muffled boom. Miller stared at it a few seconds before realizing the boom had come from below.
The sound of Gold buying it?
"Fuck!"
He pointed to the doorway, motioned Hursey to follow, then started for the stairwell. He wasn't going to rush. No telling what else was rigged. He faintly heard Hursey's footsteps through the hum in his head and realized his ears were recovering.
"Damn!"
First thing Jack had done upon returning to his car was to check the third-level view. It looked empty except for an unidentifiable body in the center of the floor. He could tell from its size that it wasn't Miller, but nothing more.
But on the second floor—trouble. The explosion above must have jostled the camera out of position. It still worked but instead of its fish-eye lens taking in the O's office and the stair door, it had angled so that he saw only the O's desk.
His first-floor view was still okay and now showed Miller and Hursey, pistols held before them, warily entering from the stairwell. They approached the remnants of the monitoring console and the smoking remains of whoever had activated it. Jack figured that was the newcomer he hadn't recognized.
He watched Miller and Hursey approach the body.
Scared, Miller? Terrified? Hope so. But don't think you've seen it all. Still a few surprises left.
He pulled out two cell phones—one labeled LEFT and the other RIGHT—and accessed a preprogrammed number on each. With his fingers poised over the SEND buttons, he watched and waited.
Hursey had to pee something fierce. He was ready to wet his pants, but bit his upper lip and held it back.
Don't let me end up like Gold and Jolliff… please-please-please.
Jolliff… gone. He couldn't believe it. They'd been buds since boot camp. But missing him would have to wait till later. Right now priority number one was getting his ass out of here in one piece.
He followed Miller to Gold's body. Not much left of him, just an unidentifiable, human-shaped mass of bloody, steaming, burnt flesh.
Miller said something about another shaped charge, but Hursey couldn't follow him. He hadn't seen Jolliff this close up. Now, looking at Gold, not only did his bladder become more insistent, but he wanted to hurl as well.
This was a dream… a bad dream… and he'd wake from it soon.
"We're getting out of here."
Miller's voice again—faint, but the words recognizable.
Hursey could only nod. He looked at Miller and saw that he was pale and sweaty, even in this cold. Miller… scared… confused. Never thought he'd see the day.
The big guy pointed to the front door and said, "Ease over there and don't touch anything—I mean anything—along the way."
Hursey didn't have to be told twice. He was closer so he led the way. He started tiptoeing and stopped himself. That wasn't going to do any damn good.
Finally, the door. He hesitated before grabbing the knob, afraid for a second that it might be booby-trapped like the others. But no… they'd come in through it, right?
Still… his heart was banging away a thousand miles an hour as he closed his fingers around the knob… and very slowly turned… and oh so gently pulled—
It didn't move. He pushed and shoved but it wouldn't budge.
"It's locked!"
Miller pushed him aside and tried it himself with equal success. He cursed and pulled out a set of keys.
"Gold must have locked it."
Yeah. Poor Gold. Locked the door to stay safe, never knowing the real danger was right in front of him.
Hursey watched Miller shove a key into the top lock and twist. It wouldn't turn. Miller shot him a concerned look and tried again with another key. Same result. He noticed Miller's hand trembling as he wiggled the third and last key into the lock.
No luck.
Miller turned to him, his face white. "He changed the locks."
"No way." Hursey took a closer look at their scratched surfaces. "Those are the same locks. I swear it!"
"Try your keys."
He dropped them as he fumbled them from his pocket. He tried them all in all three locks.
"I don't get it."
Miller's expression was grim. "They've been rekeyed."
Hursey reached for his cell phone. "I'm calling for help."
Miller grabbed his arm. "Yeah? Who? The cops? The fire department?"
Hursey saw what he meant.
"How about the MV? A couple of them could come down here and—"
"And nothing. They couldn't get here till tomorrow afternoon. You want to sit in this mousetrap till then?"
"Then what do we do?" Hursey hated the queer quaver in his voice, but he couldn't help it. "How do we get outta here? Even if we had a crowbar—and we don't—we couldn't get through that door."
"Don't need one. We unscrew the locks and take them out—just like he did."
Hursey studied the locks' faces and saw each was fastened to the door by two Phillips-head screws. So simple. Why hadn't he noticed? But then he remembered—
"I hope you've got a screwdriver on you, because we moved all the tool boxes out."
Miller glared at him. Why? For wet-blanketing his idea?
"No. No screwdriver. But I've got this."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. He opened it and went to work with the four-inch blade. In less than a minute it became clear that a knife—at least this one—wasn't the answer: the point couldn't get enough traction in the screw's cross-hair grooves to turn it.
Miller slammed his fist against the door.
"The son of a bitch must have used a power screwdriver." He folded his knife and looked around. "Okay, start looking for something, anything that'll loosen those screws. But don't—repeat: don't—go pulling open any doors or drawers."
"Then how are we going to—?"
"Just find what you can without getting yourself killed. Check the second floor. I'll take the third."
Hursey made his way upstairs, looking for trip wires across the steps. They'd already tramped up and down this route, so he doubted he'd find one, but he wasn't taking any chances.
He searched through the O's office and then the living quarters. The dresser drawers were all closed and he wasn't about to try them, but the closets were open—and empty but for a bunch of coat hangers.
When he returned to the first level, Miller was already there, scouring the area around the ruined console. Hursey wandered into the bunk area. The beds were stripped, just as they'd left them, and the lockers were open and emp—
He stopped and stared. All open except one.
He took a step closer. The door wasn't completely closed. Something jutting from the bottom was holding it open. When he saw what it was he took a quick step back.
"Miller! Want to take a look at this?"
When he entered Hursey gestured to the closed locker door.
Miller shook his head and almost smiled. "Now that's insulting. He must think we're idiots."
"Maybe, but look what's sticking out the bottom."
Miller looked, squinted, and said, "The bastard."
Together they approached the locker. Miller squatted and stared at the business end of the protruding Phillips-head screwdriver.
"This is like being in a fucking video game." He looked up at Hursey. "I used to be a pretty good RPGer. Let's see if we can find some string or twine, or anything we can use to open this from a safe distance."
"We've already been through the place. You see any string? I didn't. I—" He remembered that closet. "Wait a minute. There's a bunch of wire coat hangers upstairs. If we hook them together…"