numbers on these three are starting to wear.”
Kealey followed her finger. On closer inspection, he saw what she was talking about. The 3, 7, and 9 keys were all worn down, the numbers starting to fade.
“They’re also darker than the others. That’s because of the oil on the user’s fingers. It takes a long time, but eventually, it leaves a kind of signature.”
“I won’t ask how you know that,” he said, shaking his head. “Where does this leave us?”
“Simple. I recognize this keypad… We had ones just like it on the interior doors at Grosvenor Square. It’s a four-digit code, but only three of the buttons are worn. In other words, one number is used twice.”
“Which number?”
She looked closely, her face barely an inch from the keypad. After a minute had passed, she said, “Nine. The 9 key looks a little darker then the other two.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. “I’m not sure at all. But it’s my best guess, and that’s all I can give you.”
“So if you’re right, that leaves us with ten possible combinations.”
“Sounds right. No, wait… Make that twelve combinations.”
Kealey looked up at the camera. “That helps, but I think we’ve lost our biggest advantage. Ruhmann already knows we’re here.”
“Maybe not. I don’t see any wires or conduit. Everything is behind the walls. That camera could be activated by the keypad, and we haven’t touched it yet.” She frowned. “Which could be a problem, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked worried. “This keypad is designed to deny access after three incorrect entries. If we get it wrong, we’ll never get in.”
Kealey paused to consider that. Bennett turned on the staircase a few seconds later, looking grim. “I checked the elevator,” he said. “Somebody broke the key off in the lock for the fifth floor.”
Kealey glanced at Naomi. He didn’t speak, but he knew they were thinking the same thing: somebody else had gotten to Ruhmann first.
“I went outside to check the list again. The caretaker lives on the first floor, so I banged on her door. I was going to feed her some bullshit story, thinking maybe she’d give us the code, but no one answered.”
“She wouldn’t have known it, anyway,” Naomi muttered. “She’s just there for the residents.”
They all fell silent. Finally, Kealey said, “Fuck it. Let’s give it a shot.”
“Ryan, I don’t think-”
“Come on, Naomi. The odds are one in four. The numbers are three, seven, and nine. Give me your best guess.”
She took a deep breath. “Three, seven, nine, nine.”
He punched it in, but nothing happened. The light on the unit stayed red. She shot him a pleading look, begging him to spare her the responsibility, but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook. “Try again,” he said.
“Three, nine, seven, nine.”
Nothing.
“Last try,” Kealey said. His voice was completely neutral. “Make it count.”
“Umm… nine, seven, nine, three.” He moved to punch it in, but she grabbed his arm. “No, wait.” She closed her eyes and pressed her palm to her forehead, as though she could somehow draw the code out with her mind. “Nine, seven, three, nine.”
He entered the numbers. There was an aching pause, and then the light flashed green. Kealey flashed a rare smile at Naomi, who had slumped against the wooden railing, looking as if she’d just run a marathon. “We’re in.”
They came to the second door. Naomi released an audible groan, but Kealey stepped forward and turned the knob. The door opened instantly. He pushed it forward carefully, listening for anything amiss. When the gap was large enough, he slipped into the entrance hall, followed by Bennett and Kharmai.
Kealey drew his Sig, and the others followed suit. He waved Bennett down a narrow hall, then gestured for Kharmai to stay close. She looked ready to argue, but he held a finger to his lips and moved before she had the chance. They turned left and started to clear the apartment.
The long, dimly lit hall led into a kitchen. The whole place seemed eerily quiet. They passed through to a dining room: wood-paneled walls, gilt-framed landscapes, elaborate chairs clustered around a mahogany table. The polished surface shone beneath a sterling silver chandelier. Kealey pointed to the kitchen, gesturing for Kharmai to hold back, but she ignored him and moved to the doorway of the office. The room was open and brightly lit, light playing over the mosscolored walls. There was a desk to the left. As she leaned in and examined the scene, her eyes went wide. She tugged on Kealey’s sleeve and pointed. Leaning his head round the corner, he saw an overturned chair. A single leg was hiked over the upended piece of furniture.
“Is it him?” Naomi whispered. “I can’t see his face.”
“It’s him.” Kealey leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. It was over. He felt a sinking weight in his chest; he had come this far for nothing at all.
Kharmai was shaking his arm, but he pushed her away. She tried again. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and straightened, turning to follow her gaze. Bennett was at the other door, moving into the office. Kharmai was still caught up in the moment, so she followed his lead. Kealey trailed reluctantly. He knew it was pointless; whoever had killed the Austrian would have thoroughly sanitized the apartment. There was nowhere to go; in losing Ruhmann, they had lost their only lead.
Kharmai joined Bennett, who was standing over the Austrian’s body. Kealey stepped into the room and started rifling through the desk. There wasn’t a single scrap of paper to be found. Opening the computer, he punched the POWER button, but all that came up was an error message. He caught sight of the burn bags scattered over the floor. Picking one up, he looked inside and was greeted by the faint odor of smoke. It was just as he’d feared; they were far too late.
Bennett had walked over to the windows. Now he stretched his arms and stared over the river. “I can’t believe it,” he finally said. His voice was filled with regret and embarrassment. “I’m sorry about this, guys. I should have had people watching the building.”
“It’s not your fault,” Kharmai said, staring down at the bloodied, distorted face of Thomas Ruhmann. It was strange, but the sight didn’t seem to affect her at all. It didn’t make sense; losing her job had brought her to tears, but this terrible image meant nothing to her. It made her wonder if she had seen too much in her few years with the Agency, if she had lost something fundamental. “We were just too late. We should have been here a week ago.”
“Maybe you’re right, but still…” Something caught Bennett’s attention, and he shifted the draperies aside. “Hey, what the hell is this?”
Kealey, looking at the other man, caught sight of something wrong, something flashing silver in the bright light of the room. He reached for Naomi’s arm and screamed, “GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!”
Bennett turned instantly, his eyes opening wide, but Kealey didn’t see the other man’s final expression. All he could think about was getting back to the dining room. He dove to the floor, pulling Naomi down with him. She was shouting a question, probably demanding an explanation, but Kealey couldn’t hear a thing. The roar came behind him, the whistle of hundreds of projectiles, the sound of instant death.
Then everything turned black.
Vanderveen swore as he watched the scene unravel. His vantage point was less than ideal, he’d known that from the start, but the options were few. All he could see was the big man, the one who’d come in from the hall. He knew Kealey and the woman had entered from the dining room, because the big man had turned to his left, and his mouth was moving in conversation. But then he’d reached for the draperies, and Vanderveen was left with no choice but to fire.
At 100 meters, there was no need to compensate. He lined up the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger gently.
The explosion was drowned out by a sudden boom of thunder, which somehow minimized the effect. Lightning flashed overhead as the fifth-floor windows exploded outward, glass raining down to the river. The lights blinked out in the office, even as the lights came up on the floors underneath. Vanderveen didn’t wait to see if his
