“I’m sure she did. But there’s a reason people record over old videotapes. You can reuse them once you convert them to a more stable medium,” Mr. Tang explained.
“So if I call her back, it might be possible that in addition to videotapes . . . she might also have some DVDs?”
“I’d certainly say it’s worth a call, don’t you think, Mrs. Zigarowski?”
96
The first shot hit Roddy in the stomach.
Zig had seen it before, with Afghan snipers targeting American troops. Instead of going for the kill shot, they’d aim for the knees or, more often, the belly—knowing it’s usually a nonlethal hit, but also knowing exactly what happens when stomach acid and bile leak into the abdominal cavity.
The pain is unbearable.
“Roddy, get down!” Zig shouted, though Roddy didn’t hear it. He was still in shock, blinking, standing there, staring down at the bloody wound blooming red from his stomach.
As the Reds entered the room, the color leaked from Roddy’s face. His legs started to buckle, but he was on his feet—good sign, minimum blood loss—though he didn’t realize he was still holding on to the handcuffs, still holding Elijah in place. With his free hand, Roddy reached for his own gun.
Across the room, Reagan pulled the trigger again.
The bullet burrowed into Roddy’s forearm. A jolt of electricity ran to his elbow. Broken ulna, though it was nothing compared to the blazing flame that was now ignited in his stomach. As pain set in, he fought to stay on his feet, holding tight to the handcuffs, pulling Elijah closer, like a shield.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Elijah pleaded, trying to duck down, hands still cuffed behind his back.
Reagan marched forward, her gun still trained on Roddy. Seabass was in lockstep behind her, the two of them moving as a single unit, weaving methodically through the pallets of Push Packages.
In truth, Seabass’s coloring was worse than Roddy’s, but adrenaline kicked in quickly, and so did his training. As Reagan went right, Seabass swept left, aiming his gun at Zig and scanning the wider part of the room. The gauze still covered most of his cheek, but his bloody mouth guard looked shiny between his lips, a macabre smile, like he was enjoying himself.
“Roddy, I never take pleasure in someone’s pain,” Reagan warned, “but I have to say, I’m looking forward to making an exception.”
Without warning, Reagan’s eyes slid sideways and she aimed her gun at Zig. Seabass aimed his directly at Roddy’s face, his finger gripping the trigger. That was their deal. Seabass gets the kill shot.
“DontshootDontshoot!” Elijah begged, still ducking down.
Roddy pulled Elijah closer, using him as a shield.
Next to them, Zig had his hands in the air, trying to process it all. Time skidded to a halt, making it feel like everyone was underwater. Elijah was still in midyell as Zig glanced back to the reception area, like he was waiting for someone else to enter. But no one was coming.
“Do NOT shoot! Do NOT!” Elijah yelled, still bent over, his body contorted. “I can help! I can— I can— I know where the money is!”
Seabass stopped, throwing a look at his partner.
Reagan’s eyes narrowed. “What money?”
97
“How much?”
“Twenty-two,” Elijah said.
“As in million? You have twenty-two million dollars?” Reagan asked.
“Not on me. But . . . well . . . yeah,” Elijah said, trying to stall, trying to keep them talking, his wrists still cuffed as Reagan held a gun in his back, forcing them deeper into the warehouse.