Day of Wrath

Peter smiled. “Just for once, let’s change our MO. I vote for subtlety.”

“Agreed.” She went down on one knee and fished through her rucksack for a small plastic bottle. The cap went into one of her web gear’s pouches. She replaced it with an angled plastic tube that ended in a tapered nozzle. “Stand clear.”

Gingerly, Helen tilted the bottle over the bolt, laying down a thin line of nitric acid across the metal. She pulled back fast as a cloud of bitter, poisonous smoke sizzled off the bubbling metal.

When the smoke dispersed, she could see where the acid had eaten deeply into the bolt. A second application finished the job.

Peter knelt beside her holding a slender metal ruler he’d picked up at a drafting store and a powerful magnet from a hardware store. After swiftly rubbing the magnet over the ruler, he cautiously slid the now-magnetized ruler through the door frame.

Using it as a probe, he felt around the frame for pressure plates or other sensors that might trip an alarm.

He stopped halfway along the bottom sill. “Got one,” he said.

“There’s a raised spot where they’ve installed a pressure pad.”

Helen watched as he put the magnet back on one end of the ruler, and then squeezed out a dollop of Krazy Glue under the door frame. The glue would help hold the ruler in place against the pad — ensuring that the alarm wouldn’t trip when they opened the door.

A screwdriver sufficed to lever the door up and away from the melted bolt — revealing a darkened set of stairs leading down.

Peter started moving, but stopped when Helen stuck her arm out in front of him.

“Not so fast,” she said, showing him the second squeeze bottle she’d packed along in her rucksack. This one was filled with white chalk dust. “Subtlety, remember?”

He grinned sheepishly and hung his head in mock shame.

“Sorry.”

“Uh-huh.” Helen squirted a cloud of chalk dust into the doorway.

A laser beam appeared right across the middle of the opening — glowing red through the swirling white fog.

Peter whistled softly under his breath. “Jesus Christ. A pressure plate and a laser sensor! These bastards aren’t screwing around!”

Helen nodded slowly. Now that they knew it was there, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to wriggle under the laser beam — even in body armor.

But who knew how many more alarms or booby traps the bad guys had rigged throughout the building they were about to enter?

She watched as Peter slid under the beam and then followed suit.

The stairs from the roof ended in a closed steel fire door.

Peter unholstered his 9mm SIG-Sauer and stood ready while she tried the handle. It was unlocked. She pushed down gently, unlatching the door, and pulled out her own pistol. The shotgun slung over her shoulder was a twohanded weapon and too unwieldy for what she had in mind.

The fingers on his left hand flashed out a count. One. Two.

Three. Go.

Crouching low while Peter covered her from above, Helen pulled the door open a crack. Dim light spilled into the darkened stairway. She flipped the eyepieces of her nightvision gear back up and poked her head through the opening — rapidly scanning the area beyond. She was facing north now.

The fire door opened up into a hallway that ran east before dead-ending to her left and then turned north not far to the right. There was no one in sight.

A faint, familiar smell hung in the ain-the odor of too many people crowded into too tight a space without adequate personal hygiene. She sniffed. It was an aroma she associated with college dorms.

She slipped out into the hall and took up a firing stance, covering Peter as he glided out behind her.

He nodded toward an identical fire door adjacent to the one they’d just come through and mouthed, “Stairs down.”

Helen nodded. They’d have to clear this floor first. Without knowing anything about the building layout, they couldn’t risk leaving any door unopened or any room unchecked. Doing anything else was just asking to be bushwhacked from behind.

At Peter’s signal, she moved slowly down the hall to the right, with her Beretta out and ready to fire. He followed her, periodically checking behind them.

Helen turned the corner. The hallway stretched north and then turned back east. There were doors on either side.

She drew nearer to the first door. A three-by-five card taped to the outside of the door displayed what looked like two names, “Eberhardt,” and “Prless.” These must be living quarters. She arched an eyebrow at Peter and nodded toward the door.

He nodded back.

She tested the knob. It turned easily and quietly. The door swung open under gentle pressure — just far enough to show the foot of a cot.

She pushed the door open a bit further and then moved inside — angling right to clear the entrance for Peter.

Once they were both in, he closed the door behind them.

From her position on the floor, Helen scanned the room. The light spilling under the door bottom provided ample illumination for her intensifiers.

Two holstered pistols hung from a single chair placed between two cots.