At 9:15 p.m. the night guard appeared from around the corner of the Alexander Grant Building on his exterior rounds.
“East side. Street’s clear,” Mikhail said over the receiver in Quinn’s ear.
“West side. Same.” Petra this time.
Quinn and Orlando were standing in the same alcove Quinn had hidden in on his initial stakeout two nights prior. They were decked out in gray janitorial uniforms, matching light utility jackets, and black caps. Each had a backpack slung over their shoulder.
Once the guard had passed their position, Quinn gave Orlando a nod.
Silently she crossed the street and moved in behind the guard. The first indication he gave that he knew anyone was there was when Orlando’s hand slapped down a chloroform-soaked washcloth over his mouth and nose. He started to struggle, but that lasted only a few seconds before he lost consciousness.
Quinn crossed the street as Orlando eased the man to the ground.
“Target down,” he said.
Quinn reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out one of the syringes Petra had procured from her contact, a man named Nova. He knelt down beside the guard and stuck the needle into the man’s arm. He gave the rent-a-cop only half a dose. There was no need to keep the guy knocked out all night.
Orlando had already appropriated the guard’s security badge and ring of keys, so together they pulled him into the narrow gap at the end of the building.
“Target secured,” Quinn said. “Proceeding to stage two.”
Based on his previous visit, there were, at most, only two more guards inside. Odds were pretty good any remaining personnel would be in whatever room served as their office, watching TV or taking a nap.
Quinn took the lead as they approached the lobby door. Though there were no lights on inside, the residual illumination from the streetlamps was enough to confirm that the lobby was empty.
Orlando checked the lock, then looked at the guard’s key ring and selected one of the keys. It went in a little rough, but turned when she twisted it. She pulled the door open, and let Quinn in first, then followed.
“Inside,” Quinn said. “Street check.”
“Clear,” Petra said.
“Clear,” Mikhail said.
Only they all knew the street wasn’t completely clear. They had spotted Palavin’s watcher in a car two blocks away when they first arrived, and soon after discovered a new camera trained on the Alexander Grant Building. Palavin’s, of course.
Quinn walked to the middle of the lobby, then looked left and right down the hallways that ran off in each direction. There were a few lights on in each, like someone had disconnected all but the absolute minimum needed to see. From Quinn’s experience, security offices were usually set up close to the front entrance. But he got no sense of anyone nearby.
Orlando raised an eyebrow, silently asking him,
Before he could answer, the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing cut through the silence. It was to their left, muffled and distant, like it might be all the way at the other end.
Staying in the lobby, Quinn and Orlando moved to opposite sides of the hallway entrance, shielding themselves against the wall.
Water running now, then off. Silence for a few seconds, then the sound of a door opening.
Orlando peeked around the edge. When she looked back, she held up one finger, then used her hands to indicate a wide man of average height.
There was the
Quinn watched Orlando pull the chloroformed rag from her pocket. He hoped it was still potent enough to work on the new guard if they needed it. He tensed, ready to grab the man, but the steps stopped fifteen feet shy of the lobby.
A door opened for a few seconds, then closed again. After, silence descended on the hallway.
Quinn and Orlando shared a look, but they both knew to give it a few seconds before checking. When they finally did, as expected, the hallway was empty.
As they stepped out of the lobby and into the corridor, Quinn pointed at a door on the side nearest him. “That one,” he whispered.
Orlando nodded her agreement.
Together, they approached the door, then stopped to listen. From inside came the sound of a TV. Someone was flipping through the channels and finally settled on a station. Quinn tried to tune the TV out and listen for anything else. But the only voices were those filtered through the television’s speakers.
He looked at Orlando and held up one finger, then pointed at himself. He would take care of the guard. He didn’t have to tell her that her job was to make sure there wasn’t anyone else.
Once Orlando handed him the chloroformed cloth, he took a few steps away, then whispered into the radio mic on his collar, “Going for target two.”
He placed his hand on the knob and gave it a slight turn. Unlocked.
He glanced at Orlando, and she nodded, indicating she was ready. He took a deep breath, turned the handle all the way, and pushed the door open.
The guard was alone, sitting on an old cloth couch. By the time he looked up, Quinn was already halfway across the room.
“Who the hell—?”
Quinn raced the rest of the way and knocked the rising guard back onto the couch. He then dove forward, shoving the cloth over the man’s face. Unfortunately, the chloroform didn’t work as quickly on the larger man as it had on his partner outside.
The guard tried to grab at Quinn’s arm and move the cloth away, but Quinn held tight. The man then changed tactics and shoved at Quinn’s torso while turning his own body.
“What … are you … trying …? Who …?”
The guard attempted to push himself up and away, but slipped, the chloroform finally beginning to take effect.
Quinn jumped off the couch, then removed another one of the syringes from his pocket. As the guard rolled onto his side, Quinn plunged the needle into the largest target available, giving the man a full dose.
The guard tried to swing his arm at Quinn, but missed miserably and rolled completely off the couch onto the floor. He made a feeble attempt to get up, then collapsed, slipping into dreamland.
Panting, Quinn looked over at Orlando. She was leaning against the wall, not too far from the door, a playful smile on her face.
“Thanks for the help,” he said.
She snorted. “Hey, you’re the one who said you had him.”
He stared blankly at her, then said into his mic, “Target two secured.”
For the next five minutes Quinn searched the rest of the building in case there was more security, while Orlando headed down to the basement to assess the situation there. After he confirmed there were no more than the two men they’d already dealt with, Quinn headed back downstairs.
When he hit the lobby, he told his new Russian friends, “Give us thirty minutes, then bring the van into position.”
“Roger,” Mikhail replied.
The basement level was a mess. The long central hallway was littered with boxes and damaged office furniture. Off the corridor were doors every twenty feet. Most were open, revealing equally trashed rooms.
“Where are you?” he called out.
“Down here.” Orlando’s voice came from the far end of the hall.
Quinn worked his way around the scattered debris until he reached the room she was in. It was a fair guess that in the eighties the basement rooms had all been used as offices, but they had sometime since been turned into storage areas. The room that had once been rented by the Ghost was full of near-empty wooden shelving units.
Orlando was standing off to the right, in front of a unit against the wall. She’d already cleared a lot of debris
