Small-arms fire. A single shot. It sounded like it had come from the lot in front of the warehouse, but I couldn't tell for sure.
"What the hell?" Baldy ran into the stacks, heading for the dock.
Crewcut waved us back with his gun, trying to raise somebody on his walkie-talkie. The guys working on the bomb were looking around in confusion.
"Finish the diagnostics!" he yelled at them.
His walkie-talkie crackled, a voice gabbling through bursts of static. He shouted a question into the transmitter, adjusted the squealch, then tried it again, but he wasn't getting through. He was still trying when the electric cart came back again, flying out of one of the aisles and lurching to a stop next to the table. The two goons he'd sent to check the back hopped out with their shotguns.
"Contacts in the alley," one of them said, out of breath. "Don't know how many. Couple guys on the roof next door and some more coming in through the lot."
"Could you tell who they were?" Crewcut asked.
The goon shook his head. "Three warned us off before we got outside. They spotted them with Night Vision. Couldn't see much, but somebody's out there."
"Are your radios working?"
"Off and on. Getting a lot of interference."
"We're being jammed." Crewcut looked around. He was about to say something else when two or three shots went off, echoing through the warehouse, and we heard a lot of yelling. The place was so huge it was hard to tell where the noises were coming from.
"How much longer?" he shouted at the guys working on the bomb.
"Almost there!" They were really scrambling now.
He turned back to the goons.
"Tell them to evacuate," he said calmly. "We only need a few more minutes."
The goons jumped into the cart and took off again.
Crewcut made some more calls. Couldn't reach anybody. Dropping the walkie-talkie on the table, he sat down where he could watch us and pulled out a satellite phone. The thing must've been on a different frequency because he got through to somebody. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I figured he was warning his employers that something had gone wrong. It was strange. Somebody was raiding the warehouse, but he didn't try to get away. Didn't seem all that worried. Maybe he thought he was covered no matter what happened.
"Let's get out of here," Arn whispered.
"Don't do anything," Brown said. "Don't make a move."
Another shot made me jump, then a door or a boarded-up window smashed in the back of the warehouse and I could hear a lot of shouting on the dock in front. Metal clattered like somebody had just knocked over a pile of iron pipes and I saw a couple guys run across one of the aisles in the distance. Voices and scuffling sounds closed in all around. It sounded like an army had just invaded the place from a couple different directions, but they were still on the other side of the building, concealed by all the cargo.
"Who is it?" Arn asked. "The cops?"
"Take it easy," Brown said. "Just take it easy."
The noises got louder, moving in our direction, but we still couldn't see anything. Crewcut rubbed his eyes with an air of resignation, then leaned back in his chair, studying us like he was trying to decide if he should go ahead and blow our heads off. The guys working on the bomb were climbing down from the platforms, crowding around their computers, running from monitor to monitor like they were trying to wrap it all up before the invaders reached our end of the building.
"Ready to activate!" one of them shouted.
"Do it now!" Crewcut yelled back.
A couple seconds passed, then one of the lab-coat guys ran over to the table.
"It's done," he said breathlessly. "They can initiate remotely with the right frequency, but you'll have to alert them."
"OK." Crewcut looked relieved. "Thank you."
The guy took off running, yelling at his partners, and they started to clear out, taking off their lab coats and heading into the stacks.
"You can't do this!" Brown shouted at Crewcut. "It's insanity!"
Crewcut ignored him. He made another call on his sat-phone, talked to someone for a few seconds, then disconnected and sat back in his chair, waiting. It looked like he'd just passed on some kind of code.
"Do what?" Arn's eyes darted from Crewcut to Brown. "What did they do? What're you talking about?"
"They activated the bomb." Brown looked sick. "They can set it off with a radio signal." He turned to Crewcut. "You can't do this, Oliver. It's not human."
"Is he going to blow it up?" I thought I was going to crap myself.
Crewcut smiled at me. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm not suicidal." He looked almost relaxed now that his job was done. "The actual decision's out of my hands, but that won't help you much." He shook his head. "I guess you'll just have to wait it out in a jail cell instead of the office."
I started to edge away, trying to put the car between us.
"Don't bother." He pointed his gun at me, then waggled it at Arn and Brown. "Just stay right where you are."
We cowered by the Lexus, waiting for whatever was going to happen. The commotion was everywhere now, a chaotic din moving through the aisles, the warehouse echoing with the sounds of voices and junk falling over and boots clomping across the floor. A minute passed, then another. Then Crewcut stood up, laid his gun on the table, and ran a hand through his hair. When I saw him put the gun down, I moved back again, ready to bolt for the garage door, but it was too late.
The aisles were suddenly full of armed goons. They were coming out of the side passages, heading towards our end of the warehouse. Somebody shouted something, then a dozen guys dressed in ponchos and carrying assault rifles moved out of the stacks from all directions, pushing a bunch of Crewcut's men in front of them like prisoners of war. Whoever they were, the intruders looked like feds or military types. They shoved their prisoners into the space in front of the office, yelling and cursing and shuffling around, giving the bomb plenty of distance. Baldy walked out with his hands clasped behind his head and he didn't look too thrilled.
"Get down!" his guard yelled at him. "Now!"
"Jesus Christ," Arn whispered. "Who are these assholes?"
Brown ran over to the table, waving his arms.
"They activated the bomb!" he shouted, trying to get somebody's attention. "You've got to listen!"
Some lug walked up to him and slammed him in the gut with his rifle butt, knocking him down. Brown rolled over onto his side, clutching at his stomach and gasping for breath, his face turning a dull red.
There was no way out. The intruders had caught fifteen or twenty of Crewcut's guys and they were all over the place. We watched as they made everybody lie down on the floor, poking them with their guns and ranting like a bunch of lunatics. Some guy wearing a headset mike pushed Crewcut against the wall by the office door and we got frisked by a couple of gum-chewing lugs with wet hair and dripping ponchos. "Clear!" somebody yelled, then a team of suits wearing goggles rushed in with a bunch of gear on dollies and started checking out the bomb with these handheld deals like geiger counters, inspecting the wires and open panels, shouting at everybody to move back. Then the mob parted and Matthews strolled into the light, dressed in a trench coat with his hands in his pockets. Barking orders, he spotted Crewcut and walked over with a look of pure hatred on his face.
I was almost glad to see him.