“Did ya catch the Lakers last night?” Kilmer asked in an upbeat tone as he rounded the stairs on the sixth- floor landing. “I swear Phil Jackson’s cunnin’ as shithouse rat,” he said loudly.
“No, I missed the game. Bridgett and I were invited by one of her friends for dinner. Boring evening…what a guy’s gotta do to keep peace in the family,” Weaver replied, catching on as they approached the startled scientist.
The man looked up from his document at Kilmer and Weaver as they rounded the landing that he was slowly approaching. The look of confusion on his face quickly gave way to suspicion.
“Hey…what are you people doing in here?” he demanded, stopping upon the stairwell. “Where’re your badges? I’ll have to call security and…”
Kilmer was on him in a flash. A swift and powerful karate chop to the side of the neck temporarily incapacitated the scientist as he slumped to the floor. Weaver had moved behind the man to help brace his fall. He would be unconscious for at least five minutes, giving them enough time to consider their options.
“What the fuck do we do now?” Weaver asked angrily, lowering the scientist onto the stairwell. “What’s the use of all the incriminating evidence we just planted if this bozo can tell the cops he saw two commandos leaving the building?”
“Cut the crap. Give me a sec to noodle this through,” seethed Kilmer. “By Jingos, we’ve got options here… but we need to move careful.” He quickly ran through the list of alternatives:
“The quickest would be to off the miserable bloke-that would remove an eyewitness; but then we’d have a body. If we left ’im behind…this would finger Marshall in a murder. Holloway’d bust a gut. More worries short term would be to let the pester live, in which case the cops’ll think Marshall had an accomplice. Not bad…but he’s supposed to be alone. Cripes, we’ve got the rough end of the pineapple here,” he mused, looking unsure. “Really, the only solution’s to keep ‘im breathing. We’ll break into ‘is office so it looks like the blighter caught us red handed, but the two events are unrelated.
“Git ‘is badge,” Kilmer hastily demanded. He began searching the man for any information on where he worked in the building. “We’ll let the wanker live.”
“Wouldn’t it be more practical to kill the guy, take the body with us, and dispose of it somewhere off-site?” Weaver asked as they ransacked the unconscious scientist’s pants and lab coat. “I’m not convinced another B amp;E is our best move. That’ll set off the alarm and bring security right to us. Even if we can get into this son- of-a-bitch’s office…what in the devil’s name do we look for? And what can we possibly steal to make it look real?”
“It’ll come out in the wash, Dallas,” Kilmer replied with a sneer. “We don’t have time for yackin’. He’s got a nuclear badge, so he’s bein’ monitored for rads. The way we’re dressed, he’ll figure we were tryin’ to nab uranium. All we do is make it look like we were fingerin’ some. Or, better yet…we make it look like we’re doing recon for a later hit. Howzat?”
Kilmer grabbed the man from underneath the armpits. “Come on, gimmie a grip. We’ll drag ‘im back to his office. With ‘is badge, we’ll be able to git into ‘is lab. From there it’s no sweat. ”
Weaver moved reluctantly. He was scowling from this unforeseen development. Nothing ever seemed to rattle Kilmer. The more precarious or dangerous the situation, the calmer and more deliberate he became. There never seemed an occasion past or present that could shock him into incapacity. While this was unnerving at times, at this particular moment Weaver was relieved there appeared to be an immediate plan to follow other than his, which would have been to throw the unfortunate soul off the roof.
Both men awkwardly hoisted the medium-sized man and draped an arm around each of their shoulders to bear his dead weight. They were thankful he didn’t seem to weigh more than about 180 pounds or dragging him to the third floor would have been much more difficult. They proceeded to the third level and could hear the man’s feet bumping on each successive step as they dragged him down the stairwell. His head was slumped heavily forward with his chin resting unnaturally on his chest. His breath had a fetid smell as though he had just consumed some particularly rank Limburger cheese. This combined to make a particularly difficult task all the more unsavory.
“Drop ’im here a sec,” Kilmer said when they reached the third-floor landing. “Stay here. I’ll sort out a safe route. Keep radio silence.”
Kilmer opened the door to the hallway and took a sly peek down both sides of the wide corridor, scouting for guards. The stairway was equidistant between each half of the building, so it was imperative to choose the correct direction to begin his search for the scientist’s lab. Guessing that this floor was likely oriented identically to the fifth, he promptly deduced that room 313 would be in the opposite direction from where they had infiltrated room 539 above. He proceeded into the hallway and moved to his left, relieved that his deduction was correct-the numbers were indeed descending as he swept down the hallway.
Kilmer quickly reached lab 313 and noted that this unit appeared to occupy the entire remaining corner of the building. Above the door was a placard with the word “CAUTION” emblazoned in bright red letters. There was also the obligatory insignia indicating the presence of radioactivity. A second, smaller sign warned that everyone entering the lab was required to wear a radioactive detection badge.
He took the researcher’s security badge and swiped it through the card scanner at the left of the doorway. The scanner emitted an annoying buzz, indicating that the entry procedure had not been accepted. Kilmer immediately recognized the reason he was not permitted entry. “Ya mug!” he hissed.
In conjunction with the security card, the user was required to place a thumbprint on the scanner to verify entry to the premises. At this point, Kilmer knew his work was done; to proceed further, he would be forced to retrieve the scientist and use his fingerprint to access the lab.
Kilmer reappeared in the stairwell and was shocked to see Weaver trying to choke the struggling scientist.
“Blimey! What the fuck?” he asked, exasperated by Weaver’s actions. “I told ya to keep the bloat alive, not choke the bastard.”
“The son-of-a-bitch was starting to come around. What was I supposed to do…hit him again?” Weaver explained. “I’m about out of patience with this bullshit.” The quick-tempered tone in his voice spoke volumes. The tension was getting to him.
“Righto,” Kilmer replied. More upsetting would have been walking into the stairwell and seeing the scientist regaining consciousness. Weaver had acted correctly to neutralize the situation before something else went awry. “Listen, mate, I jumped ya wrong. My bad. This gig’s g’ttin’ more complicated by the minute. Help me git ‘im to the lab. I need his thumb for the security scan.”
They both stooped and once again awkwardly heaved the sagging scientist to his feet, securing his arms over their shoulders. They walked swiftly to reduce their exposure and get through the open hallway as quickly as possible. Finally reaching lab 313, Kilmer lifted one of the scientist’s thumbs and pressed down on the reader.
“Slide his card through the scanner,” he directed Weaver. “This’ll git us out o’ the bloomin’ hallway.”
As soon as Weaver swiped the card, they heard a slight click as the magnetic bolt locking the door was deactivated. The security system had recognized the proper sequence to enter the office. They shuffled the unconscious scientist into the lab and placed him indelicately on the floor, glad to be free of his dead weight. The lab was partially illuminated but otherwise vacant-a relief to both men.
“Good oh, check the other room. Ferret anythin’ we can use for seedin’ clues,” instructed Kilmer. “I’ll search in here.”
“Got it,” Weaver responded, regaining his normally unflappable disposition. “I’m stoked we got through the hall without being seen. That felt like a minor miracle.”
They had been in the lab only a few minutes when a sharp knock on the door startled Kilmer, freezing him in place.
Who the hell could that be?
THREE
“Dr. Levassuer,it’s securtity.” There was a pause, and then, “Are you okay?” barked a guard’s husky voice from the outside hallway.
