Edge

Chapter 61

POGUE LIFTED THE weapon, looking completely at ease, like a man about to cast a fly into a clear stream.

He was compensating for gravity and the slight breeze. When the guard turned away from us, Pogue pulled the trigger. With a faint snap, the bolt zipped into the air in a perfect arc, hitting the man somewhere in the middle of the back. I didn’t know how many volts the flying Taser had but it was enough. The guard went down, shivering.

Then we were on our feet, running in tandem. Pogue had dropped the bow and had a backup pistol in his hand. With the silenced automatic, I scanned the doorway, the building’s windows and the area around us for signs of hostiles. There were none. Pogue hog-tied the guard with plastic restraints and slapped an adhesive gag over his mouth. He bent down and pocketed the man’s phone and radio, after shutting them off, as well as his pistol, while I patted him down for other weapons. Even though tactical ops aren’t my specialty, I knew you never left weapons for the other side to pick up later.

Take or trash, the saying went.

I dug the man’s wallet out of his pocket. I was disappointed but not surprised to see he was a pro and there was no evidence of his employer or affiliation. He had four driver’s licenses-different names, same picture-money and credit cards in those various names.

In a moment the man revived. He looked up at us, fearfully, and began to retch. Pogue and I dragged him around the corner of the building and I ripped the gag off and let him vomit. When he was done Pogue slapped another gag on him. I crouched down and pulled out the small locking-blade Buck knife I carry.

I opened it with a soft click. The man stirred. I pointed to the gag and held up two fingers. Terrifying the man even more, Pogue applied a second.

I bent close and said, “Is Loving here?”

A hesitation. Pogue gripped one of the man’s hands and I scraped the blade across the top of a nail. Painless but persuasive, even with the gag, you could hear the terrified scream.

A yes nod.

“How many people inside, total?” I began to count. At four, he bobbed his head up and down vigorously.

“And the man who hired Loving? We know he’s on his way. When will he get here? Blink-each blink is five minutes.”

I tallied them up. It came to a half hour.

“Who is he?”

A series of desperate nos. I believed he didn’t know the primary’s identity.

“Inside, those four… are they all with the girl?”

A shrug but a terrified one and I suspected he didn’t know.

“Where?” I began running through various directions, at which he either nodded or shook his head. Once or twice he shrugged.

Apparently they were in the back of the facility, straight down the main corridor, though he didn’t know or couldn’t remember if it was upstairs or down. While just one story here at the entrance, farther inside the hill there were multiple floors, duBois had learned.

I nodded to Pogue and closed my eyes and tilted my head briefly. The man extracted a heavy-duty hypodermic syringe. The guard stirred violently, probably thinking we were going to kill him, but Pogue got the needle into a vein skillfully and a moment later he was asleep. “How long?” I whispered.

“Two hours, give or take.”

I ripped the gag off, fearful that the guard might vomit again and choke to death. Pogue looked at me questioningly, as if he didn’t care what happened to the man, but said nothing.

At the front door I spit on the hinges to keep them from squealing and we eased it silently open. I expected to find battery-powered lamps but the overhead lights were working. Pogue shrugged at what could be deduced from the functioning power: Perhaps the facility had been taken over by Henry Loving. A place of business-to ply his trade as a lifter. It was intimidating; subjects would be terrified to be brought here. Also, the walls were thick enough to withstand a Russian assault-which meant that any locals passing nearby couldn’t hear the screams from inside.

The linoleum-floored corridor, stained from water seepage, extended straight to the back of the facility. I looked for cameras or other security systems and found none.

I returned the silenced Beretta to Pogue and drew my Glock. We started down the hundred-foot-long hallway, keeping to the shadows. Pogue was in front and I watched the rear regularly. He tried doorknobs occasionally but the doors were locked. Apparently there was only this one main way in and out of the facility, though there would have to be some fire exits.

Escape would come later, though. First, I had to find the principal that I’d lost.

Where the corridor ended there were stairs leading both down and up.

Which way?

I played another game. I mentally flipped a coin.

Up won.