As they heard a pass card slide through the lock outside, Savage had seen Karla Raven open the door. Four security goons, dressed in black, were caught flat-footed; the closest still had his pass card in his hand as he reached for the doorknob.
“’Bout time you guys got here,” Karla greeted as she stepped out. “Bill Minor said you were slow, but damn, I didn’t think he was talking molasses.”
And then she exploded into a blur of arms, legs, and contorting body. To Savage’s eyes, she seemed to dance her way through the four men, each movement accompanied by a snap, slap, crack, and thump. The last man barely had time to react, raising his arms, throwing a punch.
Karla sidestepped, grabbed his arm, and used the man’s momentum to propel him headfirst into the doorframe. Savage heard the sick pop as the man’s head twisted and the vertebra snapped.
“Holy shit,” Reid Farmer whispered while running a sleeve across his mouth.
“What do we do with Yusif?” Savage asked, bending down to drag the latest of Karla’s casualties into the already crowded room.
“Pick him up on the way back to the roof,” she decided. “Good thing they’ve got lots of restraints in here. I’m starting to think I didn’t bring enough zip ties.”
“Couple of these guys are dead,” Savage noted. “There will be questions when this is all over.”
She shifted her suppressed MP-5. “According to Falcon, if we don’t shut down that machine, no one’s going to be around to ask them.”
“Roger that,” Savage muttered, wondering if Grazier’s imprimatur still covered this operation, or if Grazier himself wasn’t dead somewhere. “Shit, I hate uncertainty.”
“CQB. Let’s be about it,” Karla ordered. “Reid? Here. Take my pistol. You stick just behind my left buttock, not more than three feet back where I don’t have to worry about you.”
“Got it,” Farmer answered, sounding mostly coherent now. He accepted her Tactical HK .45, and listened as she explained the fire control lever. “What’s CQB?”
“Close quarters battle.” Karla opened the door. “Let’s go break some machinery.”
Savage fingered his throat mic. “Voice check. Skipper? You reading this?”
“Roger that, Sam.”
“We’ve recovered Reid Farmer from a third-floor room. He’s with us. We had to leave the Egyptian archaeologist, Yusif, behind. Incapacitated for the moment. Has ET found a way home?”
“Not yet, Sam. He’s still trying to breach the castle.”
“Okay, we’re at the stairway. The chief is checking with her mirror. All clear. We’re going down.”
“Roger that.” A pause. “Hold on.” Another pause. “Sam? Chief? ET just found a hole. He says the entire place is being placed on intruder alert. They’ve got you on camera in the stairway.”
“Shit,” Savage muttered to himself. “Chief? We’re blown!”
“We’ll deal,” Karla told him over her shoulder as she indicated the fire doors opening onto the second floor. “Keep an eye on our six, Major. From here on down, they can come in behind us.”
“Roger that, Chief.” Sam half turned to keep an eye behind them as he followed Raven and Farmer down the next flight of stairs.
“First floor,” Karla called as she rounded the landing and started down toward the basement. “One to go.”
Savage had descended no more than three stairs before the first-floor door burst open and three security men, dressed in black, charged onto the landing.
“You! Stop! That’s an order!” the first called as he pawed for the pistol on his hip.
Sam Savage coolly shot him through the head, then triggered shots at the remaining two as they fell backward through the door.
“Got trouble behind us,” Savage called.
A voice called from below, “Stop where you are! Lay down your weapons!”
The mechanical chatter from Karla’s suppressed HK was the only reply. Empty brass tinkled musically on the steps. She shouted, “Quick, down to the bottom.”
Savage hurried after Reid Farmer, hot on Karla’s heels. The archaeologist looked scared, sweat beading on his face, eyes darting this way and that. The way he clutched the pistol, his knuckles were white.
“Uh, Professor, you might want to lay your finger along the side of the gun. See, like this? Keeps you from shooting me or Karla.”
Farmer complied. “What if I need to shoot someone?”
“You’ll do it instinctively. Trust me.” Savage kept his eyes on the stairway above, his own pistol at the ready. Men were moving up there.
“Chief?” he called, “You got a plan?”
“Always.” Her voice almost sounded cheerful.
A head showed. Savage shot at it. The head jerked back. Then, a couple of seconds later, the guy jumped up, raising his pistol for a snap shot. Savage’s first bullet took him in the center of the chest. Moments later, a second man jumped up, shooting before he could even locate his target.
Bullets smacked into the top of the stairwell as Savage center-punched the second man.
“What are they doing?” Farmer asked.
“You’ve never seen the movies? Or TV gunfights?” Savage asked. “One guy leaps out and shoots while the other guy ducks. Then they go back and forth, taking turns showering each other with sparks.”
A third guy leaped up, spraying bullets wildly. Savage shot him through the body where he fell atop the other two.
“TV gunfighting ain’t working so well,” Farmer muttered, fingers to his ears.
“Shhh!” Savage admonished. “Don’t tell them.”
Karla’s careful voice said, “On my command, we’re holding our breath for sixty seconds. It’s gas, Doc. Something Cat cooked up. You with me?”
“Hold my breath for sixty seconds,” Farmer agreed. “Got it.”
“This better work,” Savage muttered. If it didn’t, someone was finally going to wise up and realize they were effectively trapped. When that happened, it would only take a flash bang rolled down the stairs, followed by covering fire, and . . .
“Now!” Karla cried. “Move!”
Savage sidestepped his way down, watching out of his peripheral vision as Karla unscrewed two of the little shampoo bottles and stepped over the two dying men who lay there. She kicked the basement-level door open and tossed the bottles into the hallway beyond. Even as she threw herself back and down, slugs were pinging long rips through the metal as the fire doors slowly closed.
If Cat’s stuff doesn’t work, we’re like rats in the bottom of a bucket.