“Try there . . .” Zig said, moving quickly to get out of sight and pointing to what looked like a conference room on their right.
“It’s gonna be locked,” Elijah warned, his hands cuffed behind his back.
Roddy squeezed the cuffs, steering Elijah between stacks of short pallets that clogged the front of the warehouse—twelve-hour Push Packages, each loaded with fifty tons of antibiotics, antidotes, and medical supplies in case of a chemical or bioterror attack. On the left were industrial scales, on the right was a small parking lot of forklifts, all of it at the ready so that when the order was given, they’d race out onto Newark’s runway and deliver salvation in twelve hours or less.
“Mr. Zig, it’s locked,” Roddy said, trying the door.
Elijah rolled his eyes. “Did I not just say that?”
“Roddy, he’s a liar. Ask him what the code is.”
“Are you both deaf?” Elijah asked. “There’s no way in—these are senior staff offices—”
With a harder squeeze, Roddy pressed the cuff into Elijah’s wrist. As Roddy learned during his first year on the job, handcuffs are their own art. A little pressure makes a tremendous impact.
“Gaaaaahh,” Elijah screamed, his body twisting in pain.
“You do realize if Roddy breaks your wrists, someone will need to feed you for the next month?” Zig asked, taking a glance over his own shoulder. Back by the check-in desk, the guard—Axel—was facedown in his own blood. The receptionist was slumped forward on his desk. Two more needless deaths, Zig thought. Fallen #2,549 and #2,550.
“U Sam! That’s the pass code. They never change it!” Elijah exclaimed as Roddy pressed Elijah’s face into the door’s keypad. “U Sam! L-Like Uncle Sam.”
Roddy quickly entered the pass code.
There was a magnetic thunk. The door opened.
Squeezing the cuffs even harder, Roddy steered Elijah toward the entrance. Behind them, Zig didn’t follow.
“You coming?” Roddy asked.
Zig nodded, heading toward them and grabbing a final glance over his own shoulder.
“You’re looking for Nola, aren’t you?” Roddy asked. “You think she’s coming.”
“Roddy, can you please just get Elijah inside so we can—？”
“You’re not answering my question. If you know Nola’s on her way—”
“You think she’d tell me anything? That’s not how she operates. But if I had to take a guess—”
Click.
The noise came from the main reception area. Someone walking through the front door.
As Zig started to turn, he had an actual smile on his face. A true dopey grin.
That is, until he spotted the two people—a man and a woman—stepping across the threshold, joining them in the warehouse. Both redheads.
Mothertrucker, Zig was about to say, though he never got the word out.
Roddy was still in midturn, still gripping Elijah by the handcuffs.
“Yeah. I see him,” Reagan said, lifting her gun. In one quick motion, she aimed at Roddy and pulled the trigger.
94
Keenley, Pennsylvania
Fourteen years ago
This was Nola when she was fourteen.
Royall didn’t take Hartley’s bait. More annoyed than anything else, Royall told him that this wasn’t that absurd Demi Moore–Robert Redford movie—and if he wanted to place a real bet, with real money, he’d be happy to cover it.