Walker knew he was four stories up, at the roof level, because the stairs had ended. By the flickering glow of the lighter, he saw a door handle, and the security tape that had been broken at the latch to signal that the door had been used since security had done its last sweep of the building, presumably before General Christie had had the site evacuated almost thirty-six hours ago.
What was on the other side? The sniper’s spotter, with an H&K rifle of his own, ready to turn Walker into ribbons of flesh and bone and gore? Or the sniper, lying on the roof, the business end of the barrel pointed at the center mass of the door, waiting for it to open?
Walker kept his back to the wall. The wall itself was precast concrete, which would have metal reinforcing bars running through it, and was at least eight inches thick given how the steel doorjamb was set in place. He wasn’t entirely confident it would stop a depleted-uranium round from a .50-caliber rifle, but it felt good to have that mass there, even as a placebo.
Walker pocketed the lighter and exhaled. He reached out his hand and opened the door by pushing the bar and flinging it open.
Nothing happened. He got as low to the floor as he could and peered out, then crawled out.
Nothing happened. He got up on a knee, his eyes down the sights of his H&K, scanning the scene.
And then he saw the sniper’s position. The huge gun, a Barrett M107, was at the parapet, still aimed out at the car park below and resting on its bipod. The mat that the sniper had lain prone on was empty. A stack of spare mags sat next to the long gun. Walker saw all of that in a second but it was too little, too late.
Hands grabbed the H&K. Strong hands, twisting the weapon from Walker’s grasp. Walker twisted with the motion and caught his attacker a little off balance, enough to separate.
The drone buzzed so close overhead he could feel the exhaust of the engine.
Walker spun around and kicked the guy’s legs out. His finger found the trigger of the H&K and Walker stitched him up as he fell backward, the 5.56-millimeter rounds hitting him at a rate of fire of 850 rounds per minute until the entire magazine of thirty rounds had been expelled in two seconds—they nearly all had hit home, from the dead man’s groin to the top of his head.
Walker dropped the empty assault rifle and snatched up the guy’s weapon, a Sig pistol, and dropped to one knee to scan the roof.
Deserted.
So, two members of Team Black remained below, guarding Jasper.
Walker tucked the Sig into his belt, then picked up the corpse of the sniper, hefted him to the side of the building and dumped him over, where he landed with a dull thud, head-first, because the head is the heaviest part of the body, even when partially emptied by high-velocity rounds.
He then held the lighter up in the sky and lit the flame.
•
“Change of plans,” Webster said, entering the room and standing next to Jasper, a Glock pistol in his hand. “Activate the power outage now.”
“I can’t,” he replied. “I’ve instigated the drone takeover, and the traffic system—”
“We’ve run out of time. Bring it forward,” Webster said. “Now.”
“That’s what General Christie wants?”
“Yes.”
“I mean—now? Not an hour from now?”
“There won’t be an hour from now.”
“Well, I can’t do it,” Jasper replied, sitting back in his chair.
Webster’s voice was gravel when he said, “Can’t, or won’t?”
“I can’t do it, you know that, not without Paul—he knows the code to get into the back door of the Department of Energy override. As soon as you get me Paul, five seconds after that we’re done. He’s everything—I told you that right from the start.”
“Okay,” Webster said. “I’ll get him. You make sure you’re ready. Take this.”
He left the room, leaving Jasper to stare at the Glock pistol in front of him.