5
Jack pressed the button under the lip of Brady's desktop. As the doors on the opposite wall began to slide open, he pulled the Beretta from the desk drawer. He ejected the magazine from the grip and inspected it. Full. He thumbed out three rounds—not too easy wearing latex gloves—then slipped it back into its well. Next he removed the slide assembly, which included the barrel and the firing pin. He put the frame back into the drawer and placed the slide assembly on the desktop.
Then he pulled his new-bought Beretta from the small of his back and removed its slide assembly as well. This he fitted onto the frame of Brady's. That done he closed the drawer and fitted Brady's slide onto his own Beretta.
As he holstered his hybrid pistol he walked over to the now exposed globe. The little lights where pillars had been buried winked on automatically as it started its slow rotation. Was someone buried, like Jamie, in each of those spots?
Jack wanted to smash it—knock it over, pull it apart, and shatter every single one of those glowing bulbs. But he held back. He couldn't leave a hint that he'd been here.
He returned to the desk, pressed the button to close the doors, then headed for the elevator bank. After levering the doors open with the screwdriver, he swung back onto the rungs, closed the doors, then began his descent.
He'd gone two rungs when he heard the pulleys above begin to spin. He looked down and saw an elevator car with "1" on its roof moving his way.
Jack chewed his lip as he watched it rise, urging it to stop on one of the lower floors. But it kept coming. And coming.
Brady? Was the bossman home from his night of pedophilic debauchery?
Okay. No problem. Jack had done what he'd intended. He could return to the Communing Level and hang out for twenty minutes or so, then take an elevator down and stroll back through the lobby to the real world.
Expecting the car to pass him, Jack leaned away from its path. To his horror it began to slow as it approached the twenty-first.
Shit.
He hurried down the rungs and reached the door level just as the car stopped. He peered through the gap between the car doors and the floor doors to see who was trying to rain on his parade.
When he saw the black uniform and glistening chocolate scalp, he stifled a groan and pressed his forehead against the cold steel of one of the rungs.
Jensen… what the hell was the Grand Paladin doing here at this hour?
But the question vanished as he felt a scarlet rush flash through him, saw Jamie's mutilated finger protruding from the concrete. Here was the guy who'd helped bury her alive.
After coming down off the black fugue that had propelled him through his night with Cordova, Jack had been cool, almost detached in dealing with Brady. Maybe that was because he was miles away.
But Jensen… Jack had been planning to catch up with him eventually to settle Jamie's score. Now Jensen was here, within reach.
But Jack had to hold himself in check. This wasn't the time or place. This was Jensen's home field. As much as he hated to, Jack would have to wait. And improvise.
Jack hated to improvise.