Logan’s promise to stay cool was teetering on the edge of obviation. He stood in the lobby of the CIA building, fighting the urge to punch the security guard in the mouth. That little smarmy fuck had no idea how badly he wanted to. But he also had no idea how much danger Holly was in.

“I’m sorry,” the guard said, “but the security protocols have been activated. Now, you’re claiming to be government agents—”

“I showed you my documentation,” Jackson said, the frustration marking his face. Logan was ready for him to start throwing punches, too.

“So I’m sure you’d understand why I can’t let you through,” the guard said.

“You know who we are,” Jackson said.

“I don’t give a shit who you are,” the kid answered. “I care about who you aren’t. And right now, you’re not my boss.”

He sounded so whiny, too. How did he ever get a job like this?

“No one’s going up there until we figure this out internally,” the guard said.

“You need our help,” Jackson said. “Look at you guys here. It’s complete disarray. Will we have to make a phone call and get a general on the line? They won’t be happy about that.”

The guard sneered at him.

It wasn’t working.

Logan spoke up. “I bet you know Holly pretty well, huh?”

The guard’s face changed. It hardened into a subtle squint at the mention of her name.

“I’m sure you do. She’s a special woman. And she never skips over the important people. And she never forgets who’s actually important. You. The grassroots, ground-level guys. The surface-level people. You know what I’m talking about.”

He looked like he was about to say something, and then stopped himself.

“She’s in danger, Mike.” Logan used the guy’s name badge, laying on a personal touch. He was still angry, and still agitated and nervous as hell about Holly, but he had to calm himself down and concentrate long enough to convince this guy. They needed this to work. “She’s in big shit and needs our help.”

“What kind of trouble is she in, exactly?”

“Let’s just say it’s a continuation of what happened yesterday,” Logan said. “With Gary Johnson. Only this time it’ll be worse, and it’ll be your fault. This time it’s happening right now with you stopping us from doing anything about it.”

“You act like you know exactly what’s going on. And exactly where it’s happening.”

“I do.”

“And yet,” the guard said, “you’re not there to stop it.”

“Because you, my friend, are the only thing left in the way from getting there.”

“Where?”

“Third floor, east wing. Room 308.”

The guard let out a long sigh and then began typing on his laptop. “I’m pulling up the cam right now, for my reference. Not yours. We’ve got a live feed for every floor. Every room.”

Finally. They were making progress. Logan’s shoulders dropped an inch.

Until he saw the guard’s horrified face.

“What? Let’s hear it,” Jackson said, his voice sharp.

“I’m looking at Gary Johnson’s office,” the guard said calmly. “And I see a man who isn’t Gary Johnson. And he’s holding a gun to someone’s head.” He took a step back from his post and got on his radio, talking quickly, frantically, his hand shaking with it.

Jackson rushed around to look at the camera feed while Logan wanted nothing to do with it. He wanted to get there and see it for himself. See that bastard Andrei on the ground, blood leaking from his skull.

There was no time to wait for it to be official. No time for permission from a guard or a general. He turned to Jackson. “Let’s roll.”

“And do what?” Jackson said.

“Do first,” Logan said, “then apologize later.”

They rushed past the guard, skipping the elevators and sprinting up the stairs, pounding up three floors and blasting open the stairwell door. In contrast to the noisy stairway, the hall was dead quiet. Logan had expected an alarm, or at least some mild shouting coming from Gary’s office.

Jackson seemed to notice his surprise. “It’s not the whole floor that’s shut down. Just the East wing.”

“Shut down how?”

“With an automatic security door.”

They jogged toward the scene, checking through each doorway on the way. Logan checked left, Jackson checked right. Every room and hallway empty. Every door open until they reached the divider between the two wings. A heavy-duty security door sealed tight.

Jackson tried something with the lock, inserting his pick, but it made no difference. He gave up and took a few steps backward, standing next to Logan as both men weighed their options.

Logan would love to just shoot past it, but they didn’t have heavy enough weapons.

“We’ll have to go old school,” Jackson said. But Logan couldn’t imagine any more old school than shooting past. And then Jackson unholstered his gun and aimed it at the wall next to the doorway. He took three shots, in a straight line moving up from the floor. Then he turned to Logan and said, “See that line? Shoot the shit out of it between the two points.” Jackson turned back and returned firing at his target.

Logan followed his instructions without asking any further questions, instead enjoying the feeling of release, blasting away the drywall. It was good for temporary stress relief. Logan hoped it could soon do more than that, or at least lead to the ultimate relief—getting to and blasting away Andrei.

After the small portion of the wall had been blown away in chunks, Jackson called a ceasefire and then hunched down beside it, peering into the hole they’d made. He reached in with a multi-tool, doing something, groaning, and then his arm flexed hard as he groaned again about “this fucking wire” until Logan heard a snap sound. And then the sound of the door sliding open.

Logan was about to congratulate him when he felt the air next to him vibrate and whiz with the hot trajectory of incoming rounds.

Jackson was already firing back. He must have had a visual from his lowered vantage point near the wall. Logan, on the other hand, quickly side-stepped to his wall and clung to it. He crept up to the doorway, holding his gun out front, slicing the pie around the corner and preparing himself to shoot at the first sign of Andrei or whoever else was unlucky enough to be hunted down by him and Jackson. Being so close to vengeance sent a thrill through his body. So close to everything being over. So close to Holly.

But the hallway was empty.

“I think he ran,” Jackson said.

“Move and take turns?”

“Cover me first,” Jackson said, running through the doorway and heading into the east wing. He ducked into the first doorway on his side, and then he waited for his partner to do the same.

Logan took a breath and hustled out into the hallway, moving up along the wall, his gun and his eyes trained head for any sight of Andrei. He dipped inside the cover of the first doorway, his gun still pointed down for covering fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jackson move forward to his next cover. They took turns all the way down the hall until Logan was first to reach the bend. Another ninety-degree angle which required him to slice the pie, the only safe and tactical method for looking around an otherwise blind corner.

There was no one there.

Then he heard a woman’s scream and knew exactly where to run.

He heard his name being called by Jackson, his name in a frantic cry. He ignored it and moved ahead, needing to get into contact with Andrei. Needing to rescue Holly. He stormed into the room, this time forgetting about slicing the pie, this time busting in crazily, half mad with vengeance, this time feeling the hot sliver of a bullet graze his arm.

Holly was there. Holly’s desperate eyes, white and shiny, her face red and screaming.

Running into the room was a huge risk, but the only way to get Andrei off guard. Logan had paid the price with the burning, searing pain in his arm. He ignored it and placed his shots. Three close-clustered holes into Andrei Godev’s chest. Logan could almost see the shockwave move through his body, his rib bones shattering, Andrei’s eyes bulging on his way to the floor. Before he hit the ground, his eyes changed to the cold, hard stare of a dead man. A dead Russian asshole.

Logan could no longer feel his wound, everything in him going cool and numb. Just a flesh wound. He’d been lucky. The same couldn’t be said for Andrei. Logan stepped over him and wrapped his arms around a badly shaking Holly. She said nothing. She buried her little face in his chest and sobbed while Logan looked back over his shoulder, still in alert mode, still scanning the room, still bleeding from his arm. Her hand moved up and felt the blood, and she recoiled.

“I’m fine,” he told her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But what about Beth?”

“We’ll get her,” Jackson’s voice sounded from the doorway, his boots crunching over broken glass. “We’ll get her by day’s end.” He took in the room, the bullet holes drilled into the wall behind him, and the remnants of the battle from the day before. “Holy shit,” Jackson muttered from the doorway. “Are you guys alright? Logan, your arm.”

He was still looking Holly in the eyes. “I promise we’ll get her,” he said quietly. “I promise.”