The channel was silent. “No chatter,” she said. “John, your guard didn’t get off a warning.”
“Keep your hands up,” Larison said. “Turn around. Walk back into the booth.”
Larry was breathing hard. “Listen, man. You know what they pay me for this job?”
“I need you neutralized,” Larison said. “I can do that by handcuffing you in the booth, or by shooting you in the head here. Tell me which you prefer, because to me it’s all the same.”
Delilah had to give Larison credit. She’d never known anyone who could deliver a threat more credibly. And it was true—he had voted to shoot the guards, on the simple utilitarian grounds that shooting them would have been safer and faster. Livia and Diaz immediately objected, and their refusal carried the day. Larison had tried to persuade Dox, saying, “The last time we agreed to less-than-lethal, you were an inch away from becoming a human shish kebab. You’re going to risk that again?”
Dox had sighed. “Daniel, it’s the right thing to do. Just a bunch of minimum-wage rent-a-cops, we don’t have a beef with them.”
To which Larison had thrown up his hands and exclaimed, “I am not carrying another umbrella or selfie stick. I’m going to point a gun at people, and if they follow my instructions immediately and to the letter, okay. If they don’t, that’s okay, too. And if that’s not okay, then tell me now, because there’s only so much insanity I can tolerate.”
“It’s okay,” Dox had said. “And I for one wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“You’re all still nuts,” Larison had growled, but the matter was settled.
Larry swallowed. “Handcuff me.”
Larison nodded. “Then turn around and get back in the booth. Now.”
Larry turned and headed toward the booth, hands still in the air. Larison did a quick scan of the area and followed him.
Delilah heard wheels on the stone driveway and looked—Evie, driving the truck, Manus riding shotgun, Dash and Maya in back, Margarita in the horse trailer. Delilah didn’t like the presence of all the civilians, and especially a child. But they might need Evie’s technical skills. And with Rispel and potential ambushes in the mix, Manus wouldn’t leave Evie or Dash, and of course Evie wouldn’t leave Dash, either. Delilah thought back to her one for all and all for one comment to John. That had been in Paris. It seemed forever ago. But it was certainly the truth, and then some.
The four of them got out. “This way,” Delilah said, and they all went into the guard booth.
Unlike the exterior, the inside was modern: fluorescent lights, a refrigerator, a computer on a table. There were no chairs—presumably, guards were expected to stand at their posts—and on the wall adjacent to the window was a row of monitors. On one of them, Delilah could see the inside of the other guard booth. A guard dressed like Larry was on his stomach, wrists handcuffed behind his back, legs in shackles attached to the cuffs, John, Dox, Livia, and Kanezaki standing around him. Dox looked at the camera and waved. “Tell old Larison we’re faster at less-than-lethal than he is.”
“I can hear you fine,” Larison said. “I’d rather be faster at lethal. Larry, on the ground. Facedown. Hands behind your back.”
Again, Larry complied.
Delilah reached into the tote and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and integrated leg irons. She cuffed him, then said, “Bring up your feet.”
“Come on,” Larry said. “I get paid fifteen bucks an hour. I’m not going to try to be a hero, I promise.”
“I believe you,” Delilah said. “Now please, bring up your feet. Before my partner gets impatient.”
Larry complied. Delilah secured the ankle cuffs, and Larry was effectively hog-tied. She quickly examined his wrists and waistband for the remote possibility of a hidden handcuff key. Another of John’s pressure checks. She found nothing.