Her heart pounded so loud that she could hear it in her head. A cold feeling of doom edged into her bloodstream. All the other excuses she’d been preparing for the children withered on her lips when the four cars pulled up in front of the building. As they looked down on the cars, people started to get out. Official looking people in raincoats.
“Who are they?” Zack asked.
Barbara’s knees were weak. She lowered herself onto the window seat next to the twins. They were walking toward the main entrance of the building.
“Strangers,” Kaitlyn answered her brother. “They have nothing to do with us.”
As the intercom buzzed from the front door, Barbara stared at the twins, wishing the little girl had been right.
Chapter 19
At the sound of a key sliding into the lock, Amy jumped off the box.
She scrambled to pick up a wire cutter and her needle-nose pliers — anything sharp — and slipped them in her pocket. Quickly, she pushed the boxes of paper hard against the rest of the stuff she and McCann had piled against the door. She knew that none of this would stop anyone who really wanted to come in, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Now she jumped back up on the box and threw her shoulder against the door, too.
Her stomach jumped with fear when she heard a click on the other side. Someone tried to push open the door. It opened a fraction of an inch, but Amy slammed it shut again.
She doubted she could hold them off for long. She glanced at the hole in the outboard wall, where McCann had disappeared. She considered making a dash for it and trying to slither through the opening.
But Amy didn’t think she could make it. She also didn’t know if McCann had worked his way down to the torpedo room yet. She had to buy him time, try to hold them off as long as she could.
The next shove against the door was strong enough to bounce her away from it. The door opened a couple of inches this time, but Amy hung on and threw all her weight back against it, shutting it one more time. She heard someone curse in the passageway outside. The only chair in the office was within her reach, and Amy grabbed for it, looking for someway to use it to wedge the door.
“Commander McCann,” a muffled voice called through the door.
She didn’t know friend from enemy. She set her body hard against the door.
“It’s Dunbar, Skipper.” The voice became lower in volume, more confidential. “There are only eight of them aboard, sir. Brody and Rivera and I were able to break free. They had us tied up in the torpedo room.”
Amy stood her ground, not trusting anything that was being said. She told herself the only way she’d move away from this door would be when she heard McCann’s own voice.
“Skipper, are you in there?” the man asked. “Time is running out. We need your help if we’re gonna do anything to take back the sub.”
Amy put a hand in her pocket and took out the pliers. Pressing her heels into the deck, she pushed her back against the door.
Her eyes fell on the cables dangling from the ceiling. Did they think she was stupid? It was no coincidence that right after she started doing some real damage to the wiring, they’d showed up at the door.
Her gaze swept across the rest of the room, searching for anything that she could use to fend them off. A printer at her feet, the paneling they’d peeled off the far wall to her right. None of it would be any help.
The next blow on the door was harder than any of the earlier attempts. Amy wasn’t prepared for it. She cried out as she was thrown forward and into the file cabinet to her right. Before she could regain her balance, the door was shoved open, pushing into her legs all the trash she and McCann had gathered up. Someone kicked the chair at her and it struck her in the shoulder as she ducked away. When Amy whirled to face her attacker, the first thing she saw was the barrel of the gun pointing at her.
“What the fuck is that?” the one holding the gun blurted.
There were two men, both dressed in seaman’s coveralls. The first one was in the room. The second hovered in the doorway. At least, the distraction caused by the hole in the wall had extended her life for a few more seconds.
“Let Mako know McCann is loose,” the first man ordered. The second one immediately backed down the passageway out of her line of vision.
The gun lifted to her head, the barrel actually touching her forehead. Amy didn’t know where she found the strength or the courage, but it was kill or be killed. She shoved the gun to the side and threw herself against the man holding it, stabbing at his stomach with her needle-nose pliers.
The attacker grunted, not in pain, but in annoyance. The damage she caused must have been minuscule. His layers of clothing, the coveralls, acted like a shield. She’d only managed to throw him off balance for a moment, and he stumbled backward over the trash.
Cursing, he pointed the gun at her head again before regaining his feet. She kicked at his groin this time, with less effect than her previous effort, and she threw the pliers at his face.
Before the attacker had a chance to recover, a wrench swung down through the doorway, connecting with a sickening thud on the man’s skull.
The intruder sank down into the debris before turning face down onto the floor with a loud thump. Amy looked up in relief to see McCann standing in the doorway with an oversize wrench in one hand.
“There are two of them,” she whispered quickly.
He nodded, reaching down and collecting the weapon before slipping back out of the room. He came back a moment later, dragging the body of the other man. He piled one on top of the other and reached for some plastic cable ties.
Amy crouched down, trying to help him bind their hands and ankles. But he was too fast, efficient. Or maybe she too slow because she was in shock. She remembered that sometimes that happened to people. She dismissed the thought, though, because shock meant numbness, and she was hardly numb. A range of emotions raced through her. Relief fought with waves of anger and fear.
“One of these two said his name was Dunbar,” she said accusingly. “I think your crew was involved with this.”
“Not all of them,” he responded in a sharp tone, standing up. He gestured with his head for her to follow him.
“Don’t I need a gun?” she said at his back. He’d collected both of the pistols.
“Do you know how to use one?” He looked up and down the empty passageway.
“No, but there’s always a first time.”
His snort told her that now wasn’t going to be that time. As she started after McCann, her boot caught on one of the men’s legs. The leg of his coveralls had ridden up, and she saw a knife in a sheath he had strapped to his ankle. It was a vicious-looking thing. Amy reached down and grabbed it, slipping it into her belt. She gave a final look back at both of them. They didn’t look to be dead. In fact, the one who’d been holding the gun to her head was starting to stir again.
She couldn’t just leave him. He could be yelling for help at any minute. She’d never hurt anyone before. She hadn’t even done a good job of fighting him when he’d been ready to shoot her in cold blood. She thought, growing angrier, that her efforts had been little more than a joke. Totally ineffective.
Frowning, she picked up the printer off the floor, held it above his head, mumbled an apology, and dropped it with a crash.
Her attacker stopped stirring. She bent over to see that he was still breathing. He was.
McCann’s head appeared in the doorway. He looked at the two motionless men, at the printer, then back at her.
“Follow me,” he ordered.