Walker got to the door at the end of the tunnel. It was a fire door made from laminated sheets of fireproof sheet-rock and had a small wire-mesh glass window set in it. There was no sign of Jasper beyond, but there was no-where else he could have gone, so Walker pushed open the door and started up the stairs. Pain shot up through his leg and he felt light-headed.
There were thirty-six steps, and at the thirty-second Walker slipped; his leg couldn’t carry all his weight, so he shifted his weight to the other one and used his wounded arm to support himself. His hand, coated in thick, tacky blood, repeatedly slipped on the handrail, but he dragged himself forward to the steel door that had a “Push to exit” bar. He pushed it gently and put his weight behind it to force it open.
It stopped about a foot away. It was noisy outside—very noisy, like a giant street party and a sporting match rolled into one. Walker pushed harder and opened the door enough to slip out, and he immediately saw why it hadn’t opened.
Two uniformed police officers were on the ground, dead, each shot twice through the head. One had fallen against the door.
Walker bent down and picked up his Glock and cell phone from the closest. The phone was powered on but there was no signal.
Walker looked around. No sign of Jasper.
Then he saw the orange jumpsuit, crumpled on the ground. His gaze was drawn further out, to the street, which on this side of the NASA block was a mixed-use residential and business street. Then he saw where the noise was coming from: at the end of the street a full-blown riot was taking shape. There were two Humvees, and numerous National Guard troops, under the only light around, their own big strobes.
Walker saw the glow of fires and the fury of people throwing bottles and stones at the Guard troops. The opposite end of the street had a similar scene, but further away, and with fewer people.
Walker headed toward the busier area. If Jasper wanted to disappear, a big crowd was better. And he would be in the open for less time, hobbling along.
Walker too was hobbling. And struggling. And he nearly slipped on something—a cell phone.
Then he saw more of them. People had been throwing them at the Guard troops, and as Walker scanned the people’s faces, he saw their anger and frustration directed toward what they saw as representatives of a government that had let them down through inaction against a terror threat. Everyone, young people mostly, massed there, facing the Guard troops. A few hundred people were acting as one, chanting and yelling and full of fury, fire burning in their eyes. The Guard had a front line of men with riot shields and a second line with M4 assault rifles, maybe loaded with riot rounds, maybe not. Walker headed into the crowd.
•
Jasper was pushing his way through the mass of protesters. The Glock was tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He wore only a T-shirt and thin cotton hoodie with jeans, so he was cold, but that didn’t bother him. He had the hood pulled over his head, so he was near invisible as he made his way toward the back of the crowd. It was hard going, with the mass moving against him, but he was just over halfway through and already thinking about how so many of these idiots, so quick to get to the action and add their pitiful voices to their cause, would have left cars double- and triple-parked on the streets beyond, with doors open and keys in the ignition. In an hour he would be in his safe house north of the city, and he would stay there until he felt it was safe to venture outside. That may take months, but he was prepared for that. This was his opus. The sum of all his work for the government. All that disappointment he’d ever encountered and felt. All the bullying from his father about doing his service. All the crap he’d gone through during boot camp, in the infantry, and the cyber division and the NSA. Now the whole world would know just how capable he was.
Then, he looked back, over his shoulder. Human instinct. He had to be sure that he was not being followed.