The resulting flame shot forward, engulfing the cooler in flames. Smith could see the fire, but not much else as his vision contracted even more. He worked his way around the panels, running the flame along every access wire. The smell of burnt rubber and wire filled the air along with a toxic brew of melting plastic from the cooler. He angled the column of flame onto the panels and the fire whooshed along the flat surface and fell off the edge. The edges of the ducts on the roof began to burn, and he felt the metal growing hot under his feet. He heard shoes pounding up the stairwell, and he turned in the direction of the noise, keeping the flame on. He shot it at the doorway.
The heavy canisters hampered his movement. His vision was contracting down to one small pinpoint before flaring wide again. When it contracted, the column of flame was just a small orange line.
The solar panels were burning at various wire access points, and the roof was heating up to a frightening degree. He kept dodging and pivoting, keeping his soles from burning while trying to make himself a tougher target to hit in case someone attempted to shoot through the roof. He ran to the stairs and angled the flame down them before turning and descending. The Uzi was in his other hand. He leaped down the stairs two at a time, missing the last few and staggering into the room. A body lay on the floor next to the picture frame. When he got close, he saw that it was Khalil. Blood pumped from a bullet hole in his chest.
Smith looked into the office and saw Harcourt, a gun in his hand, zipping up the bullion bags. Nolan still worked at the computer and tears ran down her face. Dattar, his face red with his fury, kept her there, screaming into her ear. What he said was unintelligible, but Smith had little doubt that it had to do with the erasing letters.
Smith shrugged the Uzi strap off his shoulder and aimed at the glass and at an angle that would hit Harcourt. He pressed the trigger. The resulting shots shattered the glass and a hit sent Harcourt spinning against the wall. He dropped out of Smith’s line of vision as bits of glass rained into the room. Dattar straightened and Nolan slammed the chair backward, catching him in the stomach and pinning him against the desk. Smith aimed and fired several bullets into Dattar. Nolan screamed over and over and covered her ears with her hands. Smith knocked out the remaining glass in the frame, grabbed the side wall and jumped up to sit in the opening, twisting to swing his leg over and dropping into the room. Harcourt was gone, but a smear of blood streaked the floor from where he had dropped, indicating that he had managed to crawl out of the room. Manderi was missing. The bags of gold remained on the desk.
“Get behind me,” Smith said. Nolan staggered up and limped as she walked toward him. She still cried. Smith could see her trying to regain control of her sobs. “Where’s Manderi?”
“He went with Khalil to check out the gunshot.”
So he killed Khalil and was still in the building, Smith thought. He wouldn’t leave without eliminating all the witnesses. Nor would Harcourt.
“Did Bilal tell you if there were escape routes in this building?”
“Only the doors. The windows are glass blocks. He had a secret escape, but he never told me its location.”
“We can’t leave through the hall. Manderi could cover that too easily, and we’ll have no room to maneuver. We’re going to crawl through that opening and go up to the roof on an access stairway. The building is only one story, so you’ll have to either find a fire escape or jump down.” He moved to the opening, angling his legs over. Nolan followed. He kept the flamethrower aimed at the door, providing her cover. He jutted his chin in the direction of the stairs.
“Take my phone. When you get to the top of the stairs, access my last text message and reply to say that you’re going to the roof and not to shoot. When you do, run like hell. Find a safe place to hole up for a while. Get a message to me when you can.”
“Aren’t you coming with me? I’m not leaving if you don’t,” Nolan said.
“I’ll come after you.” He delivered the half truth with as much sincerity as he could, but he could tell that she wasn’t buying it. He leaned closer to her. “Go.” He watched her climb the stairs, but before she made it to the top, his vision contracted. He didn’t see her disappear.
He headed back toward the open door, inching along until he could see down the hall. If Manderi and Harcourt were there, he couldn’t see them, but he had an excellent idea about what they might do. He took a deep breath and darted to the door, hiding behind the open panel. His vision was down to a pinpoint and from the tight feeling in the center of his eye he could tell it wouldn’t expand again. He paused, listening. After a few seconds he heard an expected sound. A small cough. Harcourt, he presumed. It was a rare man who could maintain complete silence after getting shot.
He heard the stealthy footsteps coming down the hall. A form flitted past the open door. Smith saw Manderi’s shoulder appear in the corner of the broken two-way-window frame.
“Hurry,” Harcourt said. Smith couldn’t see the other man, but he recognized his voice. They’d done exactly what Smith thought they would. They’d gone back for the gold.
Smith rose, moved to stand in the doorway, pointed the flamethrower in the direction of the open safe, and pulled on the fuel trigger. The flames easily covered the twelve feet to the container and engulfed the inside of it. The ordnance exploded.
The resulting fireball knocked Smith off his feet and slammed him across the hall and against the opposite wall. He shrugged out of the backpack in a panic, fearful that the fuel on his back would be the next to explode. He rose and ran down the hall in the direction of the front door. A second explosion rocked the building and pushed him to his knees. He thought he heard a man’s screams, but the roar of the fire blotted out most sounds.
He moved forward, keeping one hand on the wall as a guide because he had no vision. Smoke choked him. He heard gunshots, and a bullet hit the wall next to his head, but he didn’t flinch or stop his flight.
The third explosion took out the rest of the hall, and he felt the suction pull on him as the blast created a vacuum. He reached the front door and tumbled out of it. The cold night air hit his face and he sucked in a breath of fresh air. Something sharp pierced the side of his shoe and sunk into his foot, but he barely noticed the pain. He ran forward, tripped over a curb, and slammed his knee into what he supposed was a parked car.
“Smith?” Smith heard Brand’s voice and felt a hand on his elbow guiding him. “You’re at an open car door. Watch your head.” Brand put his hand on top of Smith’s skull to help him clear the door panel. He crawled into the vehicle and sat back. The car door slammed, and Brand knocked on the car’s side. Someone put the car in motion.
“Air conditioning. My skin is on fire,” Smith said. His voice came out as a croak. “I can’t see.”
“The mustard gas?” It was Beckmann’s voice. “Hold on, I’m heading to a hospital.”
“You steal this car?” Smith said.
Smith heard Beckmann’s low laugh. “It’s the FBI’s. Even I’m not crazy enough to hot-wire a department vehicle.”
“Forget the hospital. Get me to an Army doctor with experience in mustard gas injuries and when he’s done get me home.”