Weaver never hesitated, but kept punching the keys. “I’m about there…just a couple more keystrokes to seal off the server and we’ll be ready to rock and roll.”
He shut down access to the mainframe and removed the memory sticks that now contained all the formulas on the antigravity device they were extracting. A few more moves and the screen went blank.
“Done,” he said, standing up abruptly while carefully tucking the memory sticks into a protective case. “We’re gone.”
Kilmer was careful to remove all the equipment they had brought into the office, and just as careful to drop some evidence that would further implicate Marshall. He placed a couple of strands of Marshall’s hair near the computer terminal then tossed a crumpled-up piece of scrap paper under the desk. The paper was from a notepad with Marshall’s company name, Levitation Solutions, across the top. It contained a note and phone number in Marshall’s handwriting. He paused, giving one last glance to assure they had not missed anything, and, convinced they were ready, nodded for Weaver to open the door.
Weaver slowly opened the outer office door that emptied into the hallway of the Quantum Building. Immediately to his left was the elevator, but they turned in the opposite direction to access the stairwell only fifty feet to the right.
Both men moved smoothly into the stairwell and began ascending the steps. Their footsteps upon the steel treads were silenced by their rubberized boots. Suddenly Kilmer stopped and held his hand up. They both froze. It took only a second to realize they were not alone. Trudging slowly down the stairway from the floor above was someone else. A researcher. The man was lost in thought and appeared to be reading a lab report as he walked.
Realizing the man wasn’t a security guard, Kilmer motioned to Weaver to follow his lead. He knew the scientist would have no time to react if they approached him in as normal a fashion as possible.
“Did ya catch the Lakers last night?” Kilmer asked in an upbeat tone as he rounded the stairs on the sixth-floor landing. “I swear Phil Jackson’s cunnin’ as shithouse rat,” he said loudly.
“No, I missed the game. Bridgett and I were invited by one of her friends for dinner. Boring evening…what a guy’s gotta do to keep peace in the family,” Weaver replied, catching on as they approached the startled scientist.
The man looked up from his document at Kilmer and Weaver as they rounded the landing that he was slowly approaching. The look of confusion on his face quickly gave way to suspicion.
“Hey…what are you people doing in here?” he demanded, stopping upon the stairwell. “Where’re your badges? I’ll have to call security and…”
Kilmer was on him in a flash. A swift and powerful karate chop to the side of the neck temporarily incapacitated the scientist as he slumped to the floor. Weaver had moved behind the man to help brace his fall. He would be unconscious for at least five minutes, giving them enough time to consider their options.
“What the fuck do we do now?” Weaver asked angrily, lowering the scientist onto the stairwell. “What’s the use of all the incriminating evidence we just planted if this bozo can tell the cops he saw two commandos leaving the building?”
“Cut the crap. Give me a sec to noodle this through,” seethed Kilmer. “By Jingos, we’ve got options here…but we need to move careful.” He quickly ran through the list of alternatives:
“The quickest would be to off the miserable bloke-that would remove an eyewitness; but then we’d have a body. If we left ’im behind…this would finger Marshall in a murder. Holloway’d bust a gut. More worries short term would be to let the pester live, in which case the cops’ll think Marshall had an accomplice. Not bad…but he’s supposed to be alone. Cripes, we’ve got the rough end of the pineapple here,” he mused, looking unsure. “Really, the only solution’s to keep ‘im breathing. We’ll break into ‘is office so it looks like the blighter caught us red handed, but the two events are unrelated.
“Git ‘is badge,” Kilmer hastily demanded. He began searching the man for any information on where he worked in the building. “We’ll let the wanker live.”
“Wouldn’t it be more practical to kill the guy, take the body with us, and dispose of it somewhere off-site?” Weaver asked as they ransacked the unconscious scientist’s pants and lab coat. “I’m not convinced another B amp;E is our best move. That’ll set off the alarm and bring security right to us. Even if we can get into this son-of-a-bitch’s office…what in the devil’s name do we look for? And what can we possibly steal to make it look real?”
“It’ll come out in the wash, Dallas,” Kilmer replied with a sneer. “We don’t have time for yackin’. He’s got a nuclear badge, so he’s bein’ monitored for rads. The way we’re dressed, he’ll figure we were tryin’ to nab uranium. All we do is make it look like we were fingerin’ some. Or, better yet…we make it look like we’re doing recon for a later hit. Howzat?”
Kilmer grabbed the man from underneath the armpits. “Come on, gimmie a grip. We’ll drag ‘im back to his office. With ‘is badge, we’ll be able to git into ‘is lab. From there it’s no sweat. ”
Weaver moved reluctantly. He was scowling from this unforeseen development. Nothing ever seemed to rattle Kilmer. The more precarious or dangerous the situation, the calmer and more deliberate he became. There never seemed an occasion past or present that could shock him into incapacity. While this was unnerving at times, at this particular moment Weaver was relieved there appeared to be an immediate plan to follow other than his, which would have been to throw the unfortunate soul off the roof.
Both men awkwardly hoisted the medium-sized man and draped an arm around each of their shoulders to bear his dead weight. They were thankful he didn’t seem to weigh more than about 180 pounds or dragging him to the third floor would have been much more difficult. They proceeded to the third level and could hear the man’s feet bumping on each successive step as they dragged him down the stairwell. His head was slumped heavily forward with his chin resting unnaturally on his chest. His breath had a fetid smell as though he had just consumed some particularly rank Limburger cheese. This combined to make a particularly difficult task all the more unsavory.
“Drop ’im here a sec,” Kilmer said when they reached the third-floor landing. “Stay here. I’ll sort out a safe route. Keep radio silence.”
Kilmer opened the door to the hallway and took a sly peek down both sides of the wide corridor, scouting for guards. The stairway was equidistant between each half of the building, so it was imperative to choose the correct direction to begin his search for the scientist’s lab. Guessing that this floor was likely oriented identically to the fifth, he promptly deduced that room 313 would be in the opposite direction from where they had infiltrated room 539 above. He proceeded into the hallway and moved to his left, relieved that his deduction was correct-the numbers were indeed descending as he swept down the hallway.
Kilmer quickly reached lab 313 and noted that this unit appeared to occupy the entire remaining corner of the building. Above the door was a placard with the word “CAUTION” emblazoned in bright red letters. There was also the obligatory insignia indicating the presence of radioactivity. A second, smaller sign warned that everyone entering the lab was required to wear a radioactive detection badge.
He took the researcher’s security badge and swiped it through the card scanner at the left of the doorway. The scanner emitted an annoying buzz, indicating that the entry procedure had not been accepted. Kilmer immediately recognized the reason he was not permitted entry. “Ya mug!” he hissed.
In conjunction with the security card, the user was required to place a thumbprint on the scanner to verify entry to the premises. At this point, Kilmer knew his work was done; to proceed further, he would be forced to retrieve the scientist and use his fingerprint to access the lab.