Scott sprinted toward the building, covering the half-block in ten seconds, and hit the door hard, counting on that crease of light to mean he wasn't going to bounce off with a broken collarbone. As he had suspected, the door was, in fact, made of heavy-gauge steel, but he was also correct that Benny had left it open for him. So when Scott plowed through the door he found himself inside a small, cluttered warehouse.
A burst of automatic gunfire erupted to Scott's right front, and he dropped to the rough concrete floor, half-tumbling, half-sliding up against a wooden pallet stacked with small plastic-wrapped packages. He didn't have time to see what was in them because his eyes were drawn to a dead man lying five feet away.
The man had apparently only just recently been shot in the face. He lay on his back, eyes open, wearing dirty blue jeans and a filthy brown T-shirt. The bullet had punched through his face just to the left of his nose. The edges of the wound were scorched black and ringed with stippling, indi-cating a close-contact shot. The back of his head rested in a gelatinous ooze of blood and bright pink brain matter that was still spreading across the concrete. An AK-47 lay on the floor next to him, and a Glock pistol was tucked into the front of his jeans.
Another burst of gunfire exploded across the ware-house, and Scott heard bullets striking the concrete floor and whizzing over his head. Almost immediately the burst was answered by several pistol shots fired close to Scott. He peeked around the pallet and saw Benny twenty feet in front of him, proned-out on the floor behind a similarly-stacked pallet. Only now, Scott could see that the small plastic-wrapped packages piled on top of both pallets were kilos of cocaine.
"Are you okay?" Scott said in a loud whisper.
"Fine," Benny said, "but I'm almost out of bullets."
"Hold on," Scott said and crawled to the dead man. He grabbed the AK-47 and yanked the Glock from the man's jeans. "Take this," Scott said and slid the Glock across the floor to Benny.
Scott eased back the bolt on the AK-47 enough to see a round in the chamber. Then he pulled out the thirty-round magazine and found it full. The guy hadn't gotten a single shot off. Scott jammed the magazine back into the gun and scanned the warehouse. It was packed with dozens of identical pallets and several pieces of heavy equipment. He was in a warehouse full of cocaine.
More bullets ripped across the warehouse. Scott aimed in the general direction they were coming from and fired back. The assault rifle was set to full-automatic and before Scott realized it he had fired off half a magazine. Benny fired her Beretta until the slide locked back. Then she switched to the Glock.
More shots came from the other side of the warehouse. Scott thumbed the selector switch to semi-auto and fired three shots at where he thought the gunman was. Then he scurried across the twenty feet of open floor to Benny. "What the fuck is going on?"
She pointed toward where the gunman was hiding. "He's standing on top of our way across the river."
Scott had no idea what she was talking about and be-fore he got the chance to ask, the gunman opened up again and his bullets blew apart several packages of cocaine and spewed white powder across the floor. Then the gun he was firing clicked. Scott knew that sound. It was the bolt slam-ming home on an empty chamber. The magazine was empty. Benny knew it too because she was on her feet and charging. "Follow me," she shouted.
And even before Scott had a chance to think about it, he was on his feet and running. Then a man popped up on his right, thirty feet away with a pistol in his hand. Scott twisted and fired. He kept moving, trying to run sideways, but his body was in an awkward position and he missed several shots. Then he saw flashes of light erupt from the muzzle of the man's pistol and felt the air crack around his head as the bullets passed him.
Scott kept jerking the trigger of the AK-47 until his bul-lets tore through the man's stomach. Wet entrails, like greased rope, exploded from his abdomen. The man dropped his pistol and grabbed at his spewing insides for several sec-onds; then he collapsed.
Scott kept running, following Benny, unsure how many rounds he had left, hoping like hell for more than one. Then he saw the original shooter standing in front of him, trying to shove a fresh magazine into his rifle. Scott couldn't shoot because Benny was in his line of fire, charging straight at the man, Glock pistol extended in front of her. The gunman fumbled loading the new magazine and had to try again. The second time he got it seated properly and banged it into place with the heel of his hand, then ripped the bolt back to chamber a round.
Benny was ten yards from the man and still charging at him when she opened fire. POP, POP, POP, POP, POP. Three of her five shots hit him in the chest and neck. He crumpled to the floor. Benny stopped firing and stopped running. Her face was chalk white and she was gasping for breath. She bent over, braced her hands on her knees, and vomited on the concrete floor.
A gunshot echoed from their left. Scott turned and raised the AK-47. Benny sank to one knee but aimed her pis-tol in the direction of the shot. There was another gunshot, but no rounds were coming at them. They heard a banging sound, like someone kicking metal. Then another gunshot and another bang. Then a rectangle of light split open in the far wall, and they saw the silhouette of a man dart out of a door and heard running footsteps. Whoever he was he had just shot and kicked his way out of the building.
"Are you all right?" Scott asked.
Benny nodded and rose to her feet.
"Then you better explain what just happened."
Benny wiped a sleeve across her mouth and pointed to-ward the man she had just killed. He had fallen beside an electric hoist that straddled an eight-foot by eight-foot square hole cut through the concrete floor. The earth beneath the floor had been excavated and an aluminum extension ladder dropped down into the hole. A thick steel cable ran from a spool at the base of the hoist up through a pulley and down into the hole.
"What is this?" Scott said.
"A tunnel," Benny said. "Under the river."
Scott stepped to the edge of the hole and looked down. It was twenty feet deep, with wooden slats reinforcing the dirt sides. The steel cable was attached to a harness, and the harness was connected to a wooden pallet. The pallet sat on a flatbed cart that looked to be powered by an electric motor. And stacked on top of the pallet were at least 200 kilos of cocaine.
Scott turned to Benny. "How did you know about this?"
She pointed to the open door the last man had escaped through. "He's already made his phone call. We have to hur-ry."
Scott stared at the open door. She had a point. The only way out was to keep going. He looked back at Benny. "What's on the other side?"
"A building like this one."
"And more men?"
"Probably."
"Then we need weapons," he said.
They looted the dead. Scott picked up a pistol and Ben-ny took a rifle. They scavenged extra magazines. Then stood again at the edge of the hole.
"You ready?" Scott asked.
Benny nodded.
Scott slung the AK-47 across his back and tucked a Glock 9mm into his waistband. Then he climbed down the aluminum ladder.
Benny followed him.