with dismay, that they didn’t have time for.
Turner kept an eye on the stairwell. Grant had busted the camera, but that didn’t give them much protection. They’d have to destroy cameras as they went.
“How do we get those barriers open?” Turner asked.
“There’s a control room on the bottom level,” Locke said. “It’ll be a hardened facility.”
“And the hazmat lab?”
“Fourth or fifth level. It’ll be the only other one that’s secure. They won’t want nonessential personnel wandering in there.”
“So what’s our plan?”
“Lab first?” Grant said.
Locke nodded. “Less heavily protected. Plus, if the bioweapon isn’t secure, we might as well just wait there for the bomb to fall.”
“Then let’s go,” Turner said. “Keep an eye on the doors as we go. I’ll be ready with grenades if we hear someone below.”
“But first, a little surprise.” Locke dug around in his pack.
“Something else in your bag of tricks?”
“We don’t want someone coming from behind us unannounced,” Grant said, knowing what Locke was planning. “Makes his back prickly.”
About four inches from the door, Locke placed an updated version of a claymore mine. On the side facing the door were the words, “Front toward enemy.” The explosive was directional, meaning friendlies could stand behind it and receive minimal injuries while those in front of it would be shredded by the blast. Locke set a striker in front of the mine. Now if the door opened, it would hit the striker, and anyone standing within 20 feet of the door would become “non-operational,” as the Army liked to put it.
Locke finished placing the striker and stood. “Now that the itch in my back is scratched,” he said, “let’s find the lab.”
FIFTY-ONE
The exam room seemed like any other Dilara had visited in her life. She rummaged through the drawers and cabinets looking for something that she could take with her for protection. They wouldn’t keep scalpels in here, but she was hoping to find something sharp, pointy, or heavy. She found plenty of tongue depressors, gauze, cotton balls, and towels, but the only thing sharp was the hypodermic that had been used on her.
Without a weapon, she was defenseless. The guards were much tougher than the doctor and would take her down in a second. Still, she couldn’t just wait for someone to rescue her. Better to be proactive and go down fighting.
Her best option was to head for the stairs and try to make an escape while their attention was focused on whoever had invaded the facility. Once she was above ground, she could make contact with the invaders.
Dilara’s heart was pounding as she inched the door open to see if anyone was in the hall. If she just popped out, her escape might be over before it began. She peered through the slit.
No one in that direction. She opened the door wider until she could see the “315” on it and looked the other way. Clear. She made a motion to leave and then heard a man talking. Coming this way, but down a hall she couldn’t see. He paused while he spoke, as if he were talking on a phone. One set of footsteps. He was alone.
She recognized the voice. It was the guard who’d just left.
“I’ll be down there with her in a minute,” he said.
He was coming for her.
Dilara slid the door closed quietly. She only had a few seconds. The guard would need to open the door fully before he saw the doctor on the floor. That might give her a second of surprise.
She grabbed the hypodermic and stuck the needle into the same vial she had seen the doctor use. She drew five times the amount used on her. Then she crouched behind the door, which opened inward.
She held the syringe with one hand and placed her other palm over the plunger. The footsteps outside approached the door. No hesitation in them. The guard expected to see Dilara still lying on the table. It might take him a second to register what happened, and in that time, she needed to act.
The door swung open, and the guard walked in, stopping even with her when he saw the doctor on the floor. Dilara lunged out from behind the door and thrust the needle into the guard’s thigh up to the plastic and at the same time shoved the plunger down hard. The clear liquid surged into his leg before he could move.
The guard yelped and pulled his leg back. Dilara still gripped the syringe as the needle withdrew, and she held it like a switchblade.
“You bitch!” the guard shouted and rushed her. The muscular guard knocked the syringe out of her hand and picked her up by the shoulders.
Even though the drug went into muscle, Dilara hoped the high dose would have the same effect as it had on her. She had started silently counting the moment she had injected him.
At the count of six, the guard shoved her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her. She doubled over, gasping for air.
“Stay there!” the guarded shouted. All she could do was count.
At the count of eight, he raised the radio to his lips.
At the count of nine, his eyes rolled back in his head.
At the count of ten, he hit the floor.
The guard was barely conscious, but he was out of it. He moaned softly and babbled something Dilara couldn’t make out. She sucked in a breath and finally stood straight.
She kicked at the guard’s arm, but it was limp, so she was easily able to take his submachine gun. She also relieved him of his spare magazines.
She examined the gun. Heckler & Koch MP-5. She’d fired one once during her training. Nice, light weapon. Just what she needed.
She stuffed his Sig Sauer pistol into her waistband and went in search of the stairs.
At the second level, Locke repeated the precautions he’d taken on the first level. They disabled each camera and then placed a claymore against the door. With the cameras out, whoever came through first would have no idea how unhappy he was going to be for the 30 milliseconds he had to live.
Grant broke the third level camera, and Locke knelt near the door. He placed the mine and was about to set the striker when he heard footsteps squeak lightly on the tile in the hallway beyond the door. Someone was coming.
Locke hadn’t finished setting up the claymore, so he shoved the mine and striker aside and backed away on the landing, aiming his gun at the door. Grant and Turner were on the stairs below him, the weapons trained on the door. It opened, and when Locke saw the face peer through, he eased up on the trigger.
“Hold your fire!” he yelled.
It was Dilara, and she was armed to the teeth.
“Tyler!” she said. “You’re alive!” She threw herself into his arms, and Locke hugged her tightly. After a few seconds, he let her go and gave a sheepish grin to Turner, who looked nonplussed.
“Are you okay?” Locke said to Dilara.
“Garrett drugged me, but I’ll be all right.” Her voice was a little thick, as if she were eating sticky peanut butter.
Locke pointed to the MP-5 she was carrying. “You sure you’re up to handling that right now?”
“When I came through that door, I almost shot you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“They said you were dead.”
“Good. That’s what I wanted them to think.”
“We have to stop them,” Dilara said. “They’re planning to release some kind of prion in New York, LA, and
