The offices outside hers were mostly empty. Detective work was at a low on Sunday mornings. Helplessness made her physically ill; she was not used to being in a situation where she could do nothing. She fought the desire to go out onto the streets, tear off a manhole cover, and descend into the depths. If these Synbats were as dangerous as Riley had told her — and as confirmed by the bodies of the two cable company men — then she would be making a foolish move. On top of that was the possibility of running into Riley or his men. She had a feeling that they would shoot first and ask questions later.
There was nowhere else for her to go, no one waiting for her at home. She'd gone through her second divorce two years ago and decided not long afterward that she preferred being alone than with someone who added little to her life. Her job was enough — at least for now.
Giannini stood up and strode out of her office, heading up to the police communications center, where at least she could sit and watch, waiting for something to happen.
Merrit, seated in the back corner of the van, was ignored by Colonel Lewis and his men. Not that they had much to do. There was always the possibility that the Chicago PD might call with some news, but so far the Synbats had made only one mistake — killing the cable company crew. No other havoc had been discovered yet, and might not ever be discovered.
Merrit leaned forward and her low voice cut through the heavy silence of the van. "Colonel, what's happening back at the lab?"
Lewis was surprised. "What?"
"What's happening at Biotech?"
Lewis shrugged. "They're checking the computer records to see if they can make any more sense out of what happened Monday night, although from what the girl we found told us, it looks like the escaped prisoners were the cause of the Synbats getting out."
"What about the project records?"
Lewis's voice grew guarded. "They'll be taken care of."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that we spent a whole lot of money on this project and we're not going to throw it all away. It might serve some useful function in the future."
Merrit nodded and sat back in her folding chair, her blank expression masking the thoughts going through her head.
Riley paused as a feeling he hadn't had in more than a year eased into his conscious mind. He was being watched. He didn't know how he knew it, but he had enough experience to trust the feeling. Sixth sense is one or more of the five senses that aren't being used primarily and are picking up something that swirls around in the subconscious. Only a truly alert person has that feeling move to the conscious mind.
Riley held up his hand and the other two men halted, Killian a little slower than he would have liked. Riley held still, his eyes shifting in short arcs through the goggles, searching the dripping concrete and the cables and pipes on the right side of the tunnel. Next he concentrated on his hearing and listened, tuning out the water plopping onto the floor, the slight fidgeting of the two men behind him. What had caused him to become alert?
A minute passed. Another. Still, Riley was motionless. He heard someone — Killian, he supposed — shift position with a rustle of clothing. Five minutes and Riley had not twitched. He knew that Caruso could appreciate the importance of patience. Riley had taken the team out to the Fort Campbell golf course one day and had them lie down among some bushes on the edge of the green. They'd spent the entire morning there, not moving. In that time none of the golfers that passed by had spotted them, despite the fact that they were in clear sight. One man had even gone after an errant ball less than twenty feet away from them and not realized that ten sets of eyeballs had watched him.
This tunnel, though, was no golf course, and Synbats weren't golfers. Riley slowly took a deep breath and exhaled it. If the Synbats were out there, and if they could see in the dark as well as, if not better than, he could, then they could see him and his two men standing here. So what were they waiting for? They had Knutz's and T-bones's M16s, unless, of course, they had used up the ammunition.
No, Riley corrected himself. They wouldn't shoot. Not if their lair was somewhere close by. They had to dispatch any potential threat quietly and not draw attention to themselves.
If he was one of them, what would he do? Riley asked himself. He spun around and dropped to one knee, startling Caruso and Killian. His M16 was at his shoulder and he scanned the top of the cable pipes on the right side behind them. A quick movement caught his eye and he fired, tracers streaking by barely two feet from Caruso's head. The other two men dove for the floor and Riley fired two more three-round bursts.
Red tracers roared from behind and Riley flattened himself as the Synbat that had been in front of him fired. A surprised yell told Riley that one of his men had been hit. He rolled on his stomach and returned the fire with a quick three-round burst. The bullets ricocheted off the concrete and whined into the darkness.
"Caruso?" Riley hissed.
"All right, chief. Killian's hit."
The silence was unsettling. Were the Synbats retreating, advancing, or holding position? "Caruso, you cover back down the way we came. If they come, they'll come along the pipes. I'll cover the other direction. Clear?"
"Yes, sir." There was a short pause. "Killian's bleeding bad, sir."
Riley edged back to the other two. Keeping his head pointed up, scanning the tunnel, he reached down with one hand to the DIA man's body. "Where's he hit?"
"Chest, as far as I can tell."
Killian was lying on his right side. Riley's hand slid into a mangled mess of blood and torn flesh on Killian's back. The high-velocity 5.56mm round must have entered in the front and then tumbled through the body, tearing bone and flesh as it exited. Riley moved his hand up to the neck to check for a pulse. It was barely there. With one hand Riley kept his rifle pointed up the tunnel and with the other he pressed down on the wound, trying to stop the blood. As he did so, he remembered his intense medical training; he was ignoring the entry wound, and blood was ebbing out there also, taking life with it.
To bandage both would require relaxing his security. Could the Synbats see him? Were they watching and waiting? He felt for the pulse again. Nothing. Shit, Riley cursed to himself, putting both hands on his weapon. His eyes searched the darkness — nothing that he could see. He flipped the selector switch on his weapon to semiautomatic and pulled the trigger. The bullet whined ineffectively down the tunnel.
"There," Doc Seay said. "Did you hear it?"
Trovinsky nodded. "Yeah. This way." He turned right and splashed down a tunnel, weapon at the ready.
"Throw out a chem light," Riley ordered.
Caruso complied, cracking the light and throwing it down the tunnel. It lay on the floor, the reflection glowing in his goggles.
"Steady," Doc Seay whispered. "Steady."
He crept forward, Trovinsky on his right, the DIA man pulling up the rear, walking backward.
Another shot echoed out, reverberating down the concrete walls. Closer now.
Caruso's finger twitched on the trigger before he saw the glow in the middle of the forehead of the lead figure in the tunnel.
"Help's here, sir," he whispered to Riley.
"We're here," Riley called out. "We made contact. They might be up on the pipes."
The three figures came closer, weapons at the ready until they arrived. Riley recognized Doc Seay. "Got a wounded man here, Doc. Trovinsky, take Caruso and go down the tunnel another twenty feet. I think the Synbats are gone, but make sure."
"Right, chief."
Doc knelt down next to Killian, and his experienced hands ran over the body. "He's dead, chief."