When Mercer had outlined his plan to Hat, the professional thief’s opinion was, “You’re fucked if da system’s zoned.” If the brownstone’s security system lacked individual secure zones, then the destroyed front door would have crippled the entire system. But if individual zones could be compromised without affecting other areas of the building, then Mercer’s attempt to breach the back of the offices would trip further alarms.
Mercer didn’t see movement in any of the darkened windows, but knew that a watcher would not give himself away so easily. He had to take a chance. From under a urine-soaked tarpaulin that Hat had placed in the courtyard hours before, Mercer took four lengths of ten-foot pipe, each with rungs protruding at regular intervals. Joined, the sections became a crude forty-foot ladder.
Mercer carried the ladder to the base of the building and set it up with minimal effort, resting the top between the building and a rusted drain pipe. Then he drew his gun, a Browning Hi-Power, a souvenir from Iraq. The 9 mm pistol could not carry as many rounds as the H amp;K he had lost in Washington, but its stopping power was fearsome. The gun and the spare clip were loaded with mercury-filled hollow point bullets that would break up on contact. If a man were hit, nearly anywhere on his body, the shock alone would kill him.
He cocked the pistol and thumbed off the safety. The silencer attached to the barrel made it slow for a quick draw, but he needed both hands for the next few minutes. He reholstered the weapon and climbed the ladder.
On the train ride to New York, Mercer had explained his plan to Tish. At first she had balked at his intentions, but as he spoke, he could see the trust growing in her eyes. He outlined the four weeks of CIA training he had received prior to his insertion into Iraq, and that seemed to alleviate most of her fears. Though his training had focused on weapon tactics, he had learned the basics of breaking and entering and felt confident in his abilities.
At the top of the ladder, just level with the fourth-floor window, Mercer paused and scanned the darkened room. He saw nothing. From a pocket in his black pants, he withdrew a three-quarter carat cubic zirconia engagement ring he’d bought that afternoon while shopping for clothing for Tish. The retailer at the jewelry store had scoffed at Mercer’s poor choice, but he didn’t know that the ring would never be used as a betrothal gift.
At 8.5 on the Mohs’ hardness scale, the zirconia easily etched the glass. Mercer traced one of the panes of the window. The protesting squeal of the cutting glass was loud in his ears. Judging that three times around had weakened the glass sufficiently, Mercer paused for a deep breath. He was about to find out if the system was zoned. If the alarm sounded, neither he nor Tish would have enough time to escape the courtyard before the guards rushed out to investigate. He took another deep breath, his pulse pounding.
“Fuck it,” he said as he gave the weakened pane a slight tap with the heel of his hand.
The tiny filament wires of the security system parted and the glass fell softly to the carpeted floor of the building. An alarm screamed in Mercer’s head, but the building itself remained silent.
He could hear his heart pounding a furious tattoo in the eerie gloom of the courtyard. Then he realized that the noise wasn’t his heart. Searching the square of visible sky above his head, Mercer saw the lights of an approaching police helicopter. The chopper was no more than ten blocks away and already the powerful halogen spotlight mounted in the nose was piercing the dark streets.
He tried to open the window, but countless coats of paint applied to the frame had glued it solidly shut.
“Shit,” Mercer cursed under his breath, and hammered at the underside of the open pane. The small amount of glass left in the windowframe sliced painfully into his hand.
After several hard blows, the window sprang up, slamming into its upper stop. Mercer didn’t worry about noise being heard inside — the sound of the police helicopter would easily drown it out. He wriggled through the window as the downblast of the chopper’s rotors whipped up a maelstrom in the small courtyard. Dust and debris choked the air. The sound was deafening.
“Tish, come on,” Mercer called, trying to be heard above the din.
Tish scrambled up the ladder as the searchlight beam blasted into the courtyard, probing into the darkest corners, seeking its prey.
Mercer grabbed Tish by the wrists when she reached the top of the ladder. The searchlight was systematically spotlighting every window of the OF amp;C building, and it was only seconds before her form would be in the beam. He yanked her into the room. She yelped as her breasts scraped over the hard wooden sill. Mercer lunged up and slammed the window closed just as the searchlight probed into the office. He thought for a moment that the cops above had seen his face, but quickly the light passed on. He could see its beam forming bizarre shadows in the hallway beyond the room. From the helicopter, the ladder would look like any of the wiring conduits that clung to the building like ivy.
“Jesus, that hurt,” Tish said, massaging her chest.
“I’d do that for you, but you’d probably slap me.”
The grin she gave told him that she would be all right. Mercer pulled a flashlight from his jacket and switched it on. A red lens diffused the light, but he could see easily enough. Before beginning the search, Mercer pulled the Browning from its holster.
He didn’t know how long they would be in the offices, so he had to eliminate the pair of guards. He couldn’t chance being discovered unexpectedly. Mercer had no illusions about taking on two professional assassins in a fair fight, but he had no intention of being fair.
“Do you have any doubts about what we are going to do?” Mercer asked Tish, perhaps more for his own benefit.
“If these people have anything to do with the destruction of the Ocean Seeker, then they deserve to be punished.” The steel in her voice was chilling.
“All right then, I want you to wait here until it’s over. I’ll come back to get you.” Her eyes were fearful in the dim light, but there was a determined set to her jaw. When he took her hand for an instant, the trembling he felt was mild.
All the lights on the top floor were off, but dim light spilled up the stairway. Mercer handed Tish the flashlight and began his search, the night-vision goggles over his face giving the building an eerie green glow.
The rooms on the top floor, storerooms mostly, were all empty, dust coated, and neglected. Mercer padded silently down the stairs. On the third floor, a single wall sconce illuminated the narrow carpeted hallway. The doors which led off the hall were all locked and there was no one in sight. Mercer licked his fingers and unscrewed the bare bulb, plunging the hallway into darkness.
The old wooden stairs creaked as Mercer eased himself down one more flight. The entire second floor was one huge room, divided into small cubicles each containing a desk, chair, and computer. There were plenty of lights in the large work area, so Mercer removed the goggles and left them on a desk. He was thankful to have his peripheral vision restored.
He slid down to the floor and scanned the room. He saw only the legs of desks and chairs and not those of a guard. Like a snake, he slithered through the room, every sense tuned to perfection.
An instructor at the CIA facility had said: More often than not, you will find your enemy with your nose or ears before you will ever see him. When the wisp of tobacco smoke tickled Mercer’s nostrils, he silently thanked the instructor. The room was so quiet he could even hear the sizzle of tobacco as the guard drew on the cigarette. The man was no more than ten feet away, on Mercer’s right, shielded by a thin cubicle wall.
Mercer glanced at his watch. He had left Tish more than fifteen minutes ago, so he had to hurry. Panic would begin to overwhelm her soon.