He furtively peered around the corner … just in time to see an armed man – a semi-automatic pistol holstered at his waist – exit the lift. One of Uhlemann’s foot soldiers, he had a mean street look about him. Clearly someone who could comport himself in a firefight or a fist fight. Oblivious to the fact that he was being watched, the armed man strode towards the stairwell. Opening the door, he disappeared from sight.
Where the bloody hell was he going?
Since the armed thug had just come from the third floor, completely bypassing the second, Cædmon surmised that he was headed to the maintenance level, one storey below. Finnegan McGuire’s current location.
Baffled by the unexpected turn of events, Cædmon slid the Ruger into its holster. Unclipping a phone from his waistband, he quickly typed a text message to McGuire and hit the ‘send’ button. Warning issued, he stepped away from the pillar.
Only to hurriedly retreat when the lift unexpectedly returned to the third floor. Presumably to pick up another passenger.
Shite! The research facility was fast turning into Victoria Station.
Holding the pistol in a two-handed grip, Cædmon waited. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. For a fleeting instant it felt as though the earth turned faster on its axis.
The chime pinged again. A few seconds later, like a theatre curtain, the lift doors slid open, a Goliath of a man emerging on to the stage.
The bald-headed brute from the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel!
Plastering himself to the pillar, he watched the black-suited Myrmidon stride across the mezzanine to the employee lounge. The instant the bald brute disappeared into the break room, Cædmon hastily made his way to the stairwell.
Circumspect, he opened the door and assessed the dim interior. When no malevolent shape emerged from the shadows, he stepped inside. He then stealthily climbed the steps, hugging the outer wall so that he could better view the shaft above.
Reaching the second floor, Cædmon paused, wondering if he should deviate from the mission op.
Decision made, he continued to the third floor.
80
0545 hours
Cracking the door on the stairwell, Finn scanned the shadowy hallway. Not a soul in sight.
Dumb bastards.
The reason why there weren’t any sentries posted in the laboratory was because the Seven didn’t think that he and Aisquith had a snowball’s chance of breaching the security system. Big mistake, underestimating the enemy. It will always come back to haunt you.
Making like a ghost warrior, Finn hoofed down the hall. According to the architectural blueprint, the maintenance engineering room was located sixty feet from the stairwell, entry on the right. His mission was straightforward: destroy the laboratory’s infrastructure and functional capability without compromising the structural integrity of the building above. With his training in explosives, Finn was confident that he could demolish the mechanical system without bringing down the house.
In theory, it would be similar to what happened in ’93 when the car bomb went off in the basement of the World Trade Center. The blast did a helluva lot of damage underground, but didn’t disturb a thing top side. Which, in retrospect, proved a bad thing, inciting the terrorists to change tactics. Terrorists, like Uhlemann and his Nazi fuckers, were a primeval force of evil.
Arriving at the maintenance engineering room, Finn opened the door and peered inside the dark recess. No unfriendlies. I love it when the op goes according to plan.
He stepped across the threshold, closed the door and turned on the light switch. His ocular nerve was instantly blasted with a blinding burst of light. It felt like he’d just gone snow blind.
‘I don’t care if fluorescent lights are more energy efficient,’ he muttered. ‘There ought to be a law against ’em.’
Still squinting, he scoped out the room. Basic concrete block construction with a poured cement floor. Everything, including the walls, was painted a blah shade of grey, khaki or black. Strictly utilitarian. Unlike the slick Euro design of the research facility. Upstairs, downstairs. World of difference.
At a glance, Finn could see that the room housed a state-of-the-art system with an array of pipes, ducts, tubes, coils, conduit boxes, boilers and compressors. Building anatomy no different to human anatomy, these were the internal organs that made the pretty office space upstairs functional. The heart, bladder, liver and kidneys.
He walked over to a large industrial panel box bolted into the wall. Opening the metal door, he smiled at seeing the configured cables, connectors and signal modules. Sweet. It was the building automation system. An integrated assembly that controlled the electric, heating and air-conditioning. The joint’s cerebral cortex.
The six homemade pipe bombs would more than do the trick.
I got a feeling this is going to be a clean job instead of a suicide mission, Finn thought with a measure of relief as he removed the towelling-wrapped bundle from his Go Bag.
‘God, I hope so.’
There were things that he needed to tell Kate. Should have told her back at the hotel. But didn’t. Probably because he didn’t have a lot of experience with the man–woman thing. At least, not the emotional part of it. The physical part, oh yeah. Put a blush to your face.
Walking over to a nearby work bench, he removed his supplies from the Go Bag. He felt a strange tightening in his gut. He didn’t know if he loved Kate Bauer. Hell, he barely knew her. But she was different from any other woman he’d ever known. Serene, smart, sexy. And incredibly fragile. He had no idea whether she’d be interested in a man like him. For the long haul, that is. Find out soon enough. Hopefully.
Not there to sightsee, Finn rummaged through his Go Bag, retrieving a plastic zip-lock bag that contained two lighters. One he stuck into his T-shirt breast pocket; the second one – the emergency back-up lighter – he stuffed into his boot. That done, he surveyed the room, determining where to set the pipe bombs to achieve maximum effect. The plan was to set the six bombs then wait until he had confirmation from Aisquith that Kate had been safely removed from the premises before he detonated. The gasoline-soaked fuses would ensure a slow burn and that, in turn, should give him enough lag time to clear out. Wouldn’t want to get his ass blown to Kingdom Come.
Logistics figured out, he very carefully picked up two pipe bombs. Ready to rock and roll.
As if on cue, his phone softly vibrated against his waist.
Finn set the bombs back on the table and checked the LCD screen. Incoming from Aisquith. He assumed the Brit was letting him know that he’d found Kate. He flipped the phone open.
Fuck!
Message read, Finn flipped the clam phone shut and clipped it on his waistband. According to Aisquith, there was an armed unfriendly headed in his direction.
He re-wrapped the six pipe bombs in the towel, taking care even as he hurriedly cleared the work table. He did not want it carved on his tombstone that he was a dumb-fuck bomb maker who died from bad dumb luck.
No sooner had he slipped the bundled pipe bombs into his Go Bag and unsheathed his KA-BAR knife than he heard footsteps just outside the door.
He ducked behind a rotund hot-water boiler, stashing his Go Bag in the corner.
The doorknob turned. Finn stilled his breath. Completely hidden out of sight, he had the advantage. And the beauty of an edged weapon? It would not run out of bullets or jam on him. If you knew how to hit the sweet spot, a knife could be just as lethal as a loaded gun.
The door swung open. Finn peered between the boiler and a set of copper pipes. A big bruiser with a solid build entered the room. He had the confident stride of a man who had some serious military training. Uhlemann’s muscle, obviously.