Brilliance. Part 45

She gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Let me try again. I'm sorry. I panicked. Everything happened fast, and Smith, the way he plays people. I couldn't be sure he wasn't using you to play me."

"You think I slept with you because he told me to?" Her voice was a knife wrapped in tissue paper.

"It occurred to me, all right? It seemed possible."

"Screw you, Cooper."

"But then, on the plane here, it hit me. The real reason I'd panicked. Yes, you'd been lying to me since we met. But I'd been lying to you, too. The difference was that you knew that, and I didn't. And I guess I just felt...stupid. Embarra.s.sed."

"You're terrible at apologies, you know that?"

"Yeah. My ex said something about that." He tried for a smile, but it died on his lips. "Okay, truth?"

"Please."

"I really like you, Shannon. It's been a long time since I felt this way about someone. Years. Since Natalie and I split up. And this thing with you, whatever it is, it feels different. You understand parts of me that no one else does. And you're amazing at work. I'm not used to someone being able to match me."

"Arrogant much?"

"Come on. Tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."

"I don't have to. You're the one apologizing, not me."

Cooper took a pull on the beer, set it on the counter. "All right. Last try. You know last night when I asked you about the diner, about you saying you hoped I started fresh? I really, really wished I could do what you were suggesting. Walk away. Start a new life. And you were the reason."

Something in her softened.

Cooper said, "What we're about to try is insane. It's unlikely that we'll get out alive. But if we do, would you like to have dinner with me?"

Shannon quirked that smile. Took a sip of her beer. "Takes you a while to get there, but in the end you do okay."

"Is that a yes?"

"You think I'm amazing, huh?"

"Is that a yes?"

She shrugged. "If we're still alive later, ask me then."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.

For all the frenetic activity of the day-the tourist-mobbed streets, the abrupt traffic jams, the motorcades that backed everything up, the eternal construction-at night, downtown Washington DC was calm. Restaurants did a steady business, cabs buzzed between hotels, men in suits and women in dresses strolled the sidewalks, but it felt like the pilot light of the city's furnace. Quinn returned with gear about nine; by nine thirty, the three of them were atop a parking deck in the heart of downtown. The skyline glowed three-sixty, the most famous buildings in the world, bright white and spotlit. Bobby sat cross-legged on the hood of his car, laptop open. Shannon had climbed up on the concrete lip of the deck, was walking it back and forth like a tight rope, a five-story drop on one side and pure calm in her posture.

Cooper was rea.s.sembling his weapon. Quinn had brought it along with the rest of the gear. His trip to headquarters had gone without incident; he regularly requisitioned supplies like these, and the guards hadn't blinked. The gun was a Beretta, Cooper's preferred manufacturer. An agency weapon, and thus perfectly cleaned and maintained, but the army taught you not to fire a weapon you hadn't taken apart and put back together, and it was a habit he'd never tried to break. If nothing else, it pa.s.sed the time.

Speaking of...

He glanced at Quinn, saw the man already looking at him. Nodding.

Cooper took out the second burner cell phone and dialed. Gave his code to the operative who answered, "Jimmy's Mattresses." Waited for Peters. When his former boss answered, Cooper said, "Couldn't find me, huh?"

"I told you, I was cleaning up your-"

"Yeah. What's the street?"

"7th Avenue, Northwest."

"Stand by." He muted the phone. "7th Avenue, Northwest."

Quinn began typing immediately, his fingers flying across the keys. "Let's see..."

Cooper stared out at the night, tapped his fingers. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. "Bobby..."

"Here we go. 900 7th Avenue. Hingepoint Productions, tenth floor. Give him...ten minutes exactly."

Cooper unmuted the phone. "900 7th Avenue Northwest. Hingepoint Productions, on the tenth floor. 9:48. If you're not there by 9:49, deal's off."

"I need more time-"

"Negative."

Peters sighed. "900 7th Avenue, Northwest, confirmed."

Cooper hung up the phone. "Let's roll."

The parking deck had been at 10th and G, about a third of a mile away. Bobby had been right on the money. He'd been perusing buildings within a narrow radius for the last half an hour, preparing options on every street. The downtown was a snarl of one-ways and traffic lights, and since Peters would have to be driving-no other way to handle Cooper's family-Bobby had suggested turning that to their advantage, picking somewhere they could get to faster on foot. When it came to planning the logistics of an op, the man was unmatched.

The building was the tallest nearby. An office complex, and despite the hour, a number of the windows were lit up. Made sense. Official business hours might end at six, but in this town someone was always working late.

The lobby was at once attractive and bleak, a place meant to impress without creating the desire to linger. A janitor hunched over a floor buffer, polishing away the day's scuffs. Broad hallways branched off to elevators. Behind an information desk, a security guard in a navy suit straightened as they entered.

"Can I help you folks?"

"Department of a.n.a.lysis and Response," Quinn said, and held up his badge. "Where's your security office?"

"Sir? I-"

"We don't have time to explain. Move."

"Yes, sir. Right this way." He slid off the chair, a little stiff but obviously fit. "What's this in regard to?"

"It's in regard to none of your business, son," Cooper said.

The man didn't like that, but didn't question it, either. Former military, Cooper could read in his posture, and used to following orders. Good. A building that hired soldiers and cops should have the security they needed.

The guard pulled a badge on a retracting clip, used it to open a low barrier, and held it in place while they all walked through. They strode past a bank of shining elevators, down a narrow hall that ended in a door that read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. A closed-circuit camera was mounted above it, pointed down. The guard knocked twice, then used his badge to open the door without waiting for a response. "This is our command center-"

Cooper chopped him at the base of the neck and stepped over his body as it fell. Took in the room without stopping, twenty feet square, two men in chairs in front of a glowing projection screen. He got to the first as he rose, punched him in the throat, then grabbed his lapels and hurled him into the other, the two colliding and tangling, an office chair rolling sideways at the impact, banging into a trash can, paper spilling. Cooper followed, dodged through the mess of arms and legs, and delivered a quick left jab and right cross to the other guard's chin. The man's head snapped back, cracked into the tile floor, and his eyes fluttered as his body went limp.

"Freeze!"

The third guard had been by a row of file cabinets at the back, out of his line of sight. Eating dinner, apparently, half a sandwich abandoned atop wax paper. The man had a Taser out and held in steady hands, aimed at Cooper, finger inside the trigger.

Quinn is standing behind me. I can dodge the electrodes, but he can't. A Taser is nonlethal and doesn't guarantee loss of consciousness, but it will scramble him, take him off his game.

And without him, this is over.

Cooper straightened slowly. Kept his hands up. "Listen-"

The guard twisted the Taser, pointed it at his own stomach, and pulled the trigger. Electrodes leaped from the barrel and jammed into his white dress shirt. There was a loud crackling and a flash of sparks. He went rigid, every muscle straining at once, and then toppled like a mannequin.

Suddenly revealed behind him, Shannon smiled. "Oops."

Amazing.

She winked at him, then dropped, took cuffs from the guard's belt, and locked him up. Cooper secured the others the same way. "Sedatives?"

"In the bag. Ten cc."

Cooper dug through and found a small black satchel with a hypodermic. He removed the cap, tapped out the bubble, then injected each of the guards in turn. By the time he'd straightened, Quinn was already in front of the projection screen, his fingers dancing through the air. "All right, all right."

"What have you got?"

"I got art, boss. I'm now the supreme commander of a nice suite of cameras and remote override on the door locks." The projection was four feet across, a glowing display hanging in midair. As Quinn moved and gestured, the screen responded, displaying video from various cameras: hallways, elevators, the lobby, all of it high definition and bright as a mirror. Satisfied, Quinn opened his laptop and propped it on the table. Dug in his gear bag and pulled out a small case. Inside, cradled in foam, was a row of tiny earpieces. He handed one to each of them. "Testing."

Cooper gave his partner the thumbs-up. Shannon said, "You boys do have good toys."

"Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has entered the building," Quinn said. On the screen, two men Cooper didn't recognize stepped into the lobby. They wore jump boots instead of dress shoes, and they moved in graceful sync, checking the room, each knowing where the other would be looking. Each had a hand inside their suit jacket.

The next people through the door were his family.

Natalie was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, probably the same outfit she'd been wearing when d.i.c.kinson came for her. She looked lovelier than he remembered, but her face was pale and her shoulders tight.

Their children stood on either side of her, each holding one of her hands.

The world slipped and wobbled. Cooper felt a sick-sweet nausea, a blend of emotions competing at full force. It was the first time he'd seen them since the night everything changed, and he was shocked at how much they had grown. Todd was a full inch taller and ten pounds heavier, and Kate's face was losing the round softness of baby fat.

Six months, gone. The firsts that would have happened in that period, the laughter, the questions and fears and the ever-disappearing hours of them napping in his lap. The loss was palpable, tugged at him with physical weight.

Worse was the terror. To see them here, in the care of monsters, and to know that it was his fault. If anything happened to either of them, my G.o.d, the world would crack, the sky would shatter, the sun would wink out, and all that would be left was a howl of wind across the emptiness.

As if to focus that fear, two more men stepped in behind them. Roger d.i.c.kinson, wary and alert, his quarterback good looks hiding a ruthless devotion that would make anything permissible. And Drew Peters, trim and neat as ever, cool gray as a winter morning. He carried a metal-backed briefcase that looked heavy.

I'll take care of your family.

"Okay," Quinn said, hands swirling in the air. The screen broke into quadrants showing external views. "No sign of other teams. And I'm monitoring DAR transmissions..." he looked at the laptop, "got no notable action within half a mile. Looks like Peters didn't want to risk spooking you."

Cooper didn't respond, just stared. The two in front were good, he could tell. No surprise, but the fact that he didn't recognize them meant that Peters was using a.s.sets who weren't part of the conventional Equitable Services structure. Probably part of his private team, the men he uses to clean up messes. They'll know what you can do and be ready for it.

Two more men followed. One took up a position by the door; the other started toward the empty information desk. The advance guards headed for the elevator. Natalie stopped, turned over her shoulder to look at Peters. Said something.

"What's she saying?"

"Sorry, boss. No audio."

On the monitor, Peters shook his head. d.i.c.kinson stepped forward and put his hand on Natalie's arm. His fingers curled tight. Cooper fought an urge to punch the wall. The group began moving again, heading toward the elevator.

The janitor shut off the floor buffer and straightened. By his posture, it was clear he was asking them what they were doing. Without releasing Natalie, Roger d.i.c.kinson turned, pulled a gun from inside his suit, pointed it casually, and shot the janitor in the head.

At this distance, through the door, the bullet sounded like a firecracker.

On the screen, blood and gray matter spattered across the clean marble floors. The janitor crumpled.

Cooper was almost to the door before he realized he'd started moving. But Shannon was in front, wrapping her arms around him and planting a shoulder in his chest. "Nick, no!"

"Get out of my-"

"No. He's dead, and if you go out there, so are your children."

Cooper put a hand against her shoulder and- Two men in front, ready. They'll be the first. Slide on the floor and fire, they won't be expecting it, you can take both.

Then stand up, run to the corner, take aim on...

d.i.c.kinson, a gun in his hand, standing beside your family?

Peters, behind them?

Two additional shooters in widely-s.p.a.ced positions?

-let it slip down her arm. He took a deep breath. Facing them now was suicide. h.e.l.l, that was probably even part of the point; d.i.c.kinson knew he was nearby, wanted to goad him into a stupid move.

"Cooper?" Quinn asked dryly. "We good?"

"Yeah." He shook himself free of Shannon, but gently, and she let him. "Yeah. What's happening?"

"Rear guard is moving on the body. Everyone else is heading for the elevator."

"All right." He took another breath, turned back to Quinn. His partner had cycled the images to follow the group's motion. The time code read 9:46. "You've got full control?"