Book 3: 3rd World Products, Inc (35 page)

"Most gift horses have bad teeth, Ed."

"Yeah. I know. Too easy. Okay. Moving on."

"Copy that."

There was fire door at the bottom of the stairwell and that door was locked. Apparently the guys guarding the roof had been considered completely expendable.

"Got a damned locked door in my way first thing off the bat,” I said quietly. “Gimme a minute."

"Standing by, Dragonfly."

Use my field cutter on the lock and maybe get caught in blind return fire from the other side of the door? 7.62 rounds would go right through it, you bet they would. Yell for them to open up and maybe get the same treatment, if they'd heard Wallace. Or, if they'd heard Wallace yelling, but couldn't make out what he'd yelled...

"
Hey!
” I shouted, knocking on the door. “
Dumbshit
just shot up a
garbage bag!
We think he killed the
air conditioner!
"

From the other side came, “
What?
He shot a
what?
What was all the yelling?"

I yelled, “There was a
garbage bag
hanging on the
air conditioner!
He thought it was somebody messin’ aroun’ on the roof and s
hot it all to hell!
See if you got any
warm air
coming outta the vents in there!"

"Why didn't Rick call it in?"

"The
damned radio
was
under him
when he
fell!
His
arm's broke
and the
radio don't work now!
They're bringin’ him down in a minute!
C'mon,
dammit!"

Some muttering ensued on the other side of the door. I plastered myself against the wall by the door, stood the AK on the third step up, and waited.

No passwords? No code? Did they all think they knew each other's voices that well?

A few moments later, when the deadbolt lock shot backward and the door opened slightly, someone said, “Ain't nobody here."

Another guy said, “Maybe he went back upstairs."

"
Oh, man!
” said the first guy. “That dumb bastard's done left his rifle down here."

"Preacher's gonna nail his ass for that. Leave it. Don't touch it. It ain't up to us to cover his dumb ass."

Although they seemed to have decided what the situation was, the first guy began climbing the stairs rather cautiously, his rifle at the ready. A muzzle protruded from the doorway and the second guy glanced to his left and right
after
a disbelieving look at the rifle. Morons. All of them, so far.

"Well no damned wonder,” he said, “That's B.J.'s tape on the clip."

"That boy's too damned dumb to wipe his own butt,” said the first guy.

I pondered their low esteem for B.J. only briefly as the second rifleman cleared the doorway and took several tentative steps upward. Quietly picking up the rifle, I slipped through the doorway and quickly got to one side of it just as the second guy said, “I don't like it. I ain't goin’ up there, man."

"We gotta check it out, man. You hear anything?"

"Not a damned thing, and I ain't goin’ up there, and that's all there is to it."

I heard motion on the stairs, then one of them muttered a flat, “Oh, shit."

The other guy tensely asked, “Whaddaya mean,
oh, shit
?"

"The rifle's gone, man. The fucking rifle's gone. It was right there on that step and now it's gone."

In a conversational tone, I said, “What the hell's goin’ on up there? Where is everybody? Why's that goddamned
door
open?"

The two guys came down the stairs fast, jabbering excuses. I slammed the first one in the head with the wooden butt of the AK as he reached the doorway. He went down as I kicked hard into the second guy's lower gut. The guy doubled over in a combination of amazement and pain. A solid swing with the AK's wooden stock put him out cold.

Risking a few minutes for the sake of stealth, I dragged the guys to the stairs as I called the situation in. I then took the magazines out of their rifles and unloaded the chambered rounds, then tossed the magazines up and out of the stairwell.

"Control, you have two to go in the stairwell, ma'am. Guns, but the ammo is now on the roof. Try to be quiet about it. I'll leave the door closed and unlocked, but wait for info. Don't let anybody just barge in."

Linda said, “Copy that. Pickup is on the way."

One guy looked as if he'd be out for some time. The other was starting to come around. I slammed him again with the rifle and hurried to close the door for appearances sake. It occurred to me that I could have simply stunned them, and I briefly wondered what had caused me not to use my stunner. Old habits?

The door had a single deadbolt lock and two hasps on the inside for big padlocks. Not knowing if the padlocks were standard procedure, I simply set the deadbolt in the open position and closed the door with one of the loose 7.62 rounds wedged under it on the stairwell side to hold it shut.

"Door secure, Control. Don't disturb the AK round holding it shut. Moving on."

"Copy that."

For the first time, I had a chance to examine my surroundings for more than more men with guns. I was in a storage area that was full of stacked boxes and half-used shelves. Nudging a box with my toe, I tried to slide it. No good. Heavy as hell. The top was folded shut. I pulled a flap up far enough to see what was inside, but all I saw was heavy duty gray bubble wrap.

"I'm in a storage area beyond the stairs. Heavy boxes, carefully wrapped. Watch for tripwires. Maybe let bomb disposal wonder what's in the boxes. Moving on."

"Copy that."

When I cracked open the other door in the room, I discovered that it opened into a poorly lit hallway. West was to the left. I could only see to the right, naturally, which was a dead end after one more door. I cracked the door a bit farther, then a bit more, and soon I could poke my head out and look up and down the hall.

A big guy with crude tattoos on his arms was sitting on a stool ten yards away, under the only working light in the hall and next to elevator doors. He was leafing through a magazine, holding it above his considerable belly, and his rifle was leaning on the wall beside the stool. I left my captured rifle in the storage room and let myself out to the hallway, pulling the door quietly shut behind me, then headed for the guy on the stool with my stunner in hand.

Maybe he was more alert than the others. Maybe he just had better senses. He raised his head from his magazine and looked around, then looked around again with a
'did I really hear something?'
look. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing, he went back to his magazine.

I didn't want him falling off the stool or onto the rifle right next to it. I wanted him quietly out cold. How did he feel about rats? I made a soft chittering noise and waited. He noticed it the second time I made the noise. I chittered again. He looked disdainfully down the hallway past me, then went back to his magazine.

Got him. Now I can roll the other rifle cartridge down the hall and he won't get all spooky about it. I did so, flicking the cartridge close to the floor and maybe ten feet behind me as I chittered angrily. The guy heard the round hit the floor and saw it skitter to a stop.

"Fuckin’ rats,” he said, getting up from the stool. “Where the
hell'd
they get wunna those? And why the hell would they even want one? Can't eat the damn thing."

It always mildly amazes me when someone actually names the best reasons for being cautious, then ignores his or her own words. He placed his magazine face down on the stool and picked up his rifle, then walked toward me. Hmm. Must've had
some
training somewhere along the line. Oh, well.

He was too big in the belly to just lean over and pick up the round, so he had to go to one knee to reach for it, and that's when I stunned him hard twice. He melted to the floor a few feet from the storage room door.

I picked up the rifle cartridge and stuck it in a pocket, then set his rifle inside the storage room door before I went back for him. Grabbing his wrists, I worked to drag him into the storage room as I muttered, “Control. Got a
big
one this time"—
puff puff
—"three hundred plus"—
puff puff
—"stunned his ass"—
puff puff
—"find him just inside the hall door, other end of storage room."

I took a few moments to catch my breath, then said, “Jesus. Control. Better double team to move this one. Got another rifle, too."

"Copy that, Dragonfly."

"They weigh a
helluva
lot more when they're out cold."

"That they do, Ed. Need a break?"

"If I get another one like that one, maybe. Moving on."

"Copy that."

Past the elevators were two doors on the right and one on the left. Maybe once-upon-a-time offices? The big boss and his little people across the hall? I hate closed doors on the job. They always present problems when you're trying to be sneaky.

The only thing to do was try the doors; the big room first only because it happened to be big. I slowly turned the knob. It went just so far, then stopped. Locked. Looking up and down the hall once, I reached for my briefcase and pulled it down to get my cutter out of it, then let it float back over my head.

I whispered, “I'm at the door to the big room, west side. Going to cut the lock."

"Copy west big room."

After putting the two inkpen-looking cylinders together, I turned it on. As the short, bright field snapped into being, that sound echoed up and down the hallway. The damned cutter suddenly seemed awfully loud as it hummed, but it sliced through the door's lock and frame with expected ease.

On the chance that there was someone on the other side, I was careful to cut only as deeply as necessary to cut the locking bar. When I was finished, rather than snap the cutter off, as well, I laid it on the floor well beyond the doorway, mostly to avoid stepping on it if I had to leave suddenly.

I cracked the door enough to let the probe peek in above me, then retreated.

"Probe view?” I asked.

"One man, unmoving, to the right as you enter."

"Copy that."

Easing my way into the large room, I saw that it was illuminated by a small lamp on a desk by the window. The man was lying across a stack of boxes. I approached him carefully until it became apparent that he wasn't breathing, then I approached him even more carefully, alert for traps. Nope, no traps. No pulse or respiration, either, and no blood in the area. Cause of death?

I checked for wires and pressure devices as I rolled the man over slowly. In the back of his neck near the base of the skull was one small slit about a quarter-inch wide. Someone had cut his strings and done a damned good job of it. Only the tiniest bit of blood had seeped around the blade.

There was no time to worry about who he used to be or why they'd killed him. I checked a couple of boxes and found more of that tightly-packed bubble wrap.

I muttered, “Dead guy in the big room on the west side. A high spinal tap. More boxes with bubble wrap. Desk by the window. Moving on."

"Copy that."

Using the same procedures to get through the other two doors, I discovered no more bodies, but many more of the boxes, all similarly packed with bubble wrap.

"Control, I want to see what's in one of these boxes,” I said.

"Negative."

"Big field around the building. Nothing gets out. Why not?"

"We don't know who may be in other levels, Ed. They may have children and families in the building."

"Would
you
bring your kids to a germ factory?"

"Has anyone accused these people of being sane? Don't open any boxes."

"Okay. Won't open boxes. Moving on."

"Copy that."

As I stepped into the hall, the elevator pinged to announce an arrival. Figuring I had about ten seconds to see inside the elevator, I ran as quietly as I could down the other side of the hall. The doors opened when I was still ten feet away and a woman in a white lab coat stepped out. She'd been alone. She saw the empty stool and seemed puzzled, then turned to go Westward, not that it mattered. I couldn't let her go either East or West unless she was unconscious.

She cradled what looked like a miniature diver's air tank in her hands and she was studying it as if it were of supreme interest, not as if it were supremely dangerous. As she passed me, I snatched the cylinder from her hands and zapped her at almost the same time. She crumpled instantly and I dragged her into the nearest doorway.

"Zapped a woman this time,” I said, and described the cylinder she'd been admiring like a big jewel.

Wallace answered with, “Copy that. Two men on the way. That sounds like a five-minute emergency tank, Ed."

"Looks like one, too, but it's too heavy. Oh, hell. Guess what's in those boxes, people. Guess why they're so damned heavy. All that bubble wrap is to keep them quiet in transit. The tanks are full of fluid, not air."

"As good a guess as any, Ed. Linda says don't open any."

"Thought she might say that. Tell her I only opened ten of them and I'll stop now that I know better."

"Ha, ha,” said Linda.

I zapped the woman hard again on general principles and put the canister on the floor near her.

"Ready to move again. What are you doing with all the prisoners, guys?"

"We have a flitter team laying them out on the roof. Too risky to take them anywhere yet. The team doesn't leave the field either, until everybody's been checked for bugs."

"Roger that. Moving again. Downstairs this time to the second floor."

"Copy that."

I padded quietly to the stairwell door and had almost started to open it when I heard voices in the stairwell.

"Control, cancel move. People in the stairwell. At least two."

"Copy that."

I eased the door open a crack and saw two men talking on the next landing down. Neither was facing my direction or looking up, so I eased the door open a bit more. It occurred to me to test the knob on the other side of the door, so I tried to turn it. No good, and all the inside stairwell doors might be locked, in which case I'd have to cut them or take the elevator. Neither idea appealed to me.