Court said, “C-4 all over this place, no time to get back to the stairs. The timer is either back with Zoya or down one of these lines.” Court shined the wires on the floor and saw that they split and went down passages to the left and right.
Zack said, “Well, I guess I can stop worryin’ about dying from plague.”
Hanley took charge. “Zack and I will take this way. You and Suzanne go that way. We engaged some Russians, dropped some, but some others got clear of us a few minutes ago. They’re probably still down here somewhere, so keep your guard up.”
Court ran up the passage, Brewer right behind him. But as they ran she asked, “Where’s Zakharov?”
“Dead.”
“Where?”
“In a chamber behind us.”
She slowed.
Court stopped and turned to her. “What?”
“That’s where your detonator is,” she said.
Court winced. “Shit. We didn’t check the bomb in there.”
He turned and began running back, and Brewer followed.
Forty-five seconds later he knelt over the bomb by Zakharov’s body. The dead man’s flashlight had burned out, leaving the room completely black, but Court shined his pistol’s weapon light on the device and saw the digital readout that told him this was the master detonator.
“Oh boy,” he said.
“What?” Brewer asked anxiously.
“Ninety-six seconds.”
“Can you disarm it?”
As he examined the casing he said, “One-handed, no tools, amped from combat and beaten half to shit. Sure, Suzanne. No sweat.”
Brewer transmitted over the radio, although all the broadcasts had been so choppy as to render them useless for the last few minutes. “Violator is working on the timer. We’ve got ninety seconds. Everybody get out of the lower levels or find some cover.”
Court heard Brewer moving away from him now. “Except you, Brewer. I need you to hold the light so I can dismantle this.”
“I don’t have a light.”
Court handed her the Glock with the high-lumen SureFire on the rail under the barrel. “Step over here, to my left, keep the light pointed on the wall in front of me, that’s all the light I need. Do not point that fucking weapon at me, you copy?”
“Right.” She moved a few steps to the side and lifted the weapon.
Court turned back around, adjusting his SIG subgun on his chest, pushing it to the side so he could lean closer over the device.
Brewer pointed the pistol at the wall above and in front of Court, but the flashlight’s flood gave Court the light he needed to work.
He knelt down even farther and picked at the wires in the box on top of the bricks of C-4, following them to their terminations.
“Hurry,” she said.
Court hushed her; the bomb seemed pretty straightforward and he was well trained on deactivating IEDs like this, but he wanted to make certain there were no trips in the wiring, little fake-outs the bomb maker had installed to ensure that, even if someone tried to dismantle it, nothing would stop the weapon from fulfilling its one sole purpose.
Behind him the light shook. Brewer’s nerves.
Softly Court said, “Hold it steady. It’s okay. I need thirty seconds more, tops. We’re gonna be fine.”
* * *
• • •
Suzanne Brewer held the light as steady as possible, which she found challenging because of the adrenaline and emotions coursing through her.
How the fuck had she gotten herself involved in combat? Into the middle of a wet operation surrounded by blacker-than-black operators who ran serious risk to herself, the other members of the IC in the building, and the very nature of Five Eyes itself?
Standing feet away from a bomb seconds away from exploding in some dank godforsaken foul-smelling basement.
She wanted to vomit.
This shitstorm was a disaster for Brewer, personally and professionally. She would be radioactive now to the seventh floor of Langley, where the top brass worked.
Her right hand wavered, fatigue making the muscles in her shoulders twitch and causing the flashlight’s beam to move.
“Hold it steady,” Violator repeated. “I just about have it.” He knelt huddled in front of her; all his attention was on his work.
The realization came slowly to her, but it did come. There was an opportunity here. Anthem and Romantic were still alive, for now, anyway, but Violator was the main element of Poison Apple and was facing away from her and she had a pistol trained just two feet away from the side of his head.
Could she wait for him to dismantle the weapon and then just shoot him? Hanley said there were still armed Russians down here in the dungeon; all she would have to say was that someone appeared from the dark and fired at them both, but only poor Violator was hit.
Hanley would believe her; Hightower would believe her. She didn’t know about that bitch Anthem, but she didn’t really care. Hanley would keep her in check if he wanted his precious program to survive.
And if he did want to shelve the entire thing when Violator died? Well then, so much the better.
Could she shoot Violator right now in the head? She asked herself this one more time, and then she realized that in this absolute disaster of an operation, this had turned out to be the most perfect confluence of events she could possibly hope for.
Her luck had finally changed. Right here, right now. And it would be so easy.
Violator looked up from his work, still facing the wall, and heaved a long sigh.
“It’s safe?”
“It’s safe,” he confirmed.
“Excellent.”
She shifted aim to the right, putting the front sight on the left temple of the Gray Man.
Violator had just begun to stand when a flash of light and a boom erupted in the room.
* * *
• • •
Court heard the gunshot, thunderous in the stone basement, and then everything went dark.
CHAPTER 68
Quickly Court recognized that the gun held by Brewer had fallen to the floor, triggering the weapon light’s off switch.
He rose to his feet and swiveled on his heels, hefting the MPX as he did so. He had his finger on the trigger and his sights rising to the general sound of the gunfire, directly behind him.
A weapon light in the adjoining room told him where the threat was coming from, and a flash showed him the shooter was still firing.