over notes on a clipboard, four feet from Top.
There was nowhere to hide, no time to run. The man looked up from his clipboard and his eyes snapped wide. His mouth opened and I could actually see his chest expand as he drew in a sharp breath in order to scream, but Top rose up lightning fast and kicked him hard in the solar plexus with the tip of his steel-reinforced left shoe. It was a savage kick and the man’s whole body folded around Top’s foot like a deflating balloon and then he dropped to the floor with a strangled squeak.
We swarmed him and had plastic cuffs on his wrists and ankles before he could manage to drag in a full breath of air. His dark skin had gone purple. Top went to the door through which the man had passed and looked in, then turned to me and gave a negative shake of the head. Bunny grabbed a handful of the man’s shirtfront and screwed the barrel of his pistol into the furrow between the man’s eyes. “Be quiet and stay alive,” he whispered.
The guy was still bug-eyed from the kick and his eyes bulged even more when he realized that there were three big and well-armed men clustered around him. We had the power of life and death over him and he knew it. Total and unexpected helplessness can be an event that purifies the soul. It sharpens one’s mental focus.
I leaned close and said in Farsi, “Do you speak English?”
He shook his head-as much as Bunny’s pistol barrel would allow-and then rattled off something in what I think was Myanmar, what they used to call “Burmese.” Not one of my languages. “Do you speak English?” I said in my own language.
“Yes yes, English. I speak very good.”
“Lucky for you. I’m going to ask you a few questions and if you answer me truthfully and completely my friend here will not shoot you. You understand?”
“Yes, yes, I understand!”
“What’s your name?”
“Nujoma.”
“Indian? Burmese?”
“Yes, yes, I come from Rangoon. In Burma.”
“How many people are in this building?”
“I am only a-” His voice cracked and he tried it again. “I am only a technician.”
“That’s not what I asked. How many-?”
“I I cannot. They will kill me ”
I grabbed him by the throat. “What do you think I’ll do if you don’t answer me?”
“They have my wife. My children. My sister. I cannot.”
“Who has them? Where? Are they here in this building?”
“No. They took them from my home. They have them.”
“Who took them?” I demanded again. He shook his head.
Bunny tapped him on the forehead with the barrel. “Answer the man’s questions or the day’s going to end in a way you won’t like.” But Bunny’s threat was of no use. The man’s eyes filled with tears and he clamped his mouth shut, giving tiny shakes of his head. I looked into his eyes and felt like I could see all the way down into the man’s soul. He wasn’t a terrorist; this guy was just another victim.
I shifted back a few inches to try and decrease the sense of threat, and when I spoke I softened my voice. “If you talk to us I promise that we’ll see what we can do to help your family.” But he shook his head, resolute in his terror.
“Tick-tock,” Top muttered.
“Okay,” I said. “Juice me.” Top fished a hypodermic from his chest pocket, removed the plastic cap and passed it to me. The technician’s eyes flared wider and tears spilled down his face. As I positioned the needle over his throat he began murmuring something in his native language; I bent forward, hoping to catch a word or phrase but then realized from the rhythm of his words that he was mumbling prayers. I plunged the needle. The tranquilizer knocked him cold in three seconds and he slumped to the floor.
“Bunny, take him back to the door. Tell Skip to alert Church that we have his prisoner. If he’s been infected with the same control disease as the others then we’ll need to question him before he kicks. Drop him and get back here asap.”
“You got it, Boss but man, I’d hate to be in this guy’s shoes. I wouldn’t want Church questioning me.” He hoisted Nujoma over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and ran down the hall, his pace showing no indication that he was carrying at least a hundred and fifty extra pounds.
Now that we were alone I touched his arm. “Top you seem to have a bug about Ollie. Why him?”
He kept looking down the hall. “Bunny was with us in Room Twelve. Says a lot. Ollie came in with everyone else. I don’t like it that he was slow to respond.”
“So was Skip.”
“Skip’s a kid. Whoever this mole is he’s got field experience. He’s slick enough to have pulled a fast one on Church and the whole DMS. Besides, Ollie’s done a lot of work for the Company.”
“The CIA? How do you know that?”
“He told us when we were trying to sort out who should be team leader. He said that he’d done extensive covert ops work. He’s a spook and I don’t trust spooks.”
“It could be anyone,” I said. “The DMS is ass deep in spooks and spies.”
“Yeah,” Top agreed slowly, “it sure could be anyone. For all you know it could be me. If I’d opened that door, then going back to Room Twelve with you and Bunny would have been perfect cover. Go in and pop a few caps. Who’d suspect me?”
“Yet you cleared Bunny because he was there. Double standard, Top?”
“Maybe I’m trying to confuse you, Cap’n.”
“You’re not. So, where’s that leave us?”
A smile blossomed on his dark face. It changed him, knocking years off, but even so it never reached his eyes. “I guess it leaves us both up shit creek, Cap’n. Personally, I don’t plan to trust nobody.”
“Trust is a hard thing to come by in this world.”
“It surely is.”
We let it drop and turned our attention to the room the Burmese lab tech had come out of. I snapped on the lights and we looked around at banks of computers. Big ones that whirred constantly. The temperature of the room was even lower than the rest of the building; a wall-mounted thermometer read thirty-five degrees. I examined the nearest computer, which was about the size of a Coca-Cola machine. The make and model were on brass plates screwed to the casing. I tapped the mike.
“Cowboy to Deacon, over.”
“Deacon.”
“Does the name IBM Blue Gene/L mean anything to you?”
“It does. Why?”
“I’m standing in a room full of them. Advise.”
“Cowboy, be advised you are holding winning lottery ticket.”
“Nice to know. Infil starting to get noisy. One guest catching Z’s. Green Giant taking him to back door; Joker is minding that location. Advise.”
There was a slight pause and I could imagine Church nibbling the edge of a vanilla wafer as he considered his answer. “Team status?”
“Scarface is MIA. Conducting search. My call is this: radio silence ten minutes plus one second then kick the doors. Cowboy out.”
The second I switched back to the team channel Bunny’s voice filled my ear. “Cowboy, Cowboy, this is Green Giant. Be advised Joker is MIA.”
I looked at Top who was frowning. “Repeat and verify, Green Giant.”
“Verified, Joker is MIA. No time for code, boss. Our long guns are gone and the back door is sealed. Some kind of security shutter rolled down over it. We’re in a box.”
“Drop your cargo and get back here on the double!” I snapped. Top and I rushed out into the hall, guns ready.
“That’s two down,” Top said.
