Today's Reading
Outside, the assault unit has given up hoping their stolen magnetic card will get them through the door and into the lab. One of them does what people always do in these situations: He grabs the doorknob and rattles it, to see if, miraculously, it's unlocked.
The man screams in pain, smoke roiling from his charred hand. "Door's got a steel core," Dez tells the room, turning off the torch. "Same with the wall around it. Spotted it as we entered. Watch what happens when they try t'shoot their way in. Which they will."
On the monitor, one of the men unslings his HK and fires a burst at the door.
His own ricochet nearly cuts him in two.
The oppo is down to nine on this floor, and one of those nine has third-degree burns on one palm, so he won't be using his HK. There are still two more in the lobby.
"Them lot's not getting in that way. Unless they brought explosives," Dez says. "Hang on a bit."
He moves around the lab, opening cabinet doors, searching behind desks.
"Aw! This is nice." He produces a canister of liquid nitrogen. "Ah, Cat, was it? Call out the time, love."
Two of the assault squad are kneeling and opening their backpacks. Jamison watches the monitor. "C4, Limerick. You called it."
"Aye. Tried the magnetic lock. Tried rattlin' the door to force it open. Tried shootin' through. Now they'll try blasting through." Dez shakes his head sadly. "It's how every tosser an' their cousin tries to get through a door. Feckin' amateurs. Cat?"
The American woman says, "Four minutes."
Dez holds the canister under one arm, a hose in his other hand, and begins spraying the door hinges with liquid nitrogen.
"Right lovely ball peen hammer in that cabinet yonder, squire. Fetch it smart-like, will ye?"
The inside of the door is turning white around first the upper hinge, then the lower one. Dez switches back and forth. Ice from the liquid nitrogen coats the metal, whisps of smoke curling off it.
Dez keeps pouring the nitrogen on the door. The icy buildup continues.
Jamison returns with the hammer. He and Cat are watching the monitor. He says, "They're attaching explosive packets near the hinges. Just as you said."
Cat glances at her watch. "Three minutes."
"Right, then." Dez sets the empty canister down. He picks up the hammer. "You lot head back toward the maintenance tunnel. Right behind ye."
Jamison says, "I'll stay, all the same."
"No. Go. Right behind ye."
Jamison hesitates, then sprints after the two American thieves.
Dez is a gifted cricket player. A very good batsman, yes, but also a top-line bowler. He takes fifteen steps back, then winds up and hurls the ball peen hammer, overhand, at the supercooled metal door.
He doesn't wait to see if he hit it. He turns and sprints after Jamison and the others.
In the corridor, two of the assault squad are kneeling, applying C4 explosives, gingerly attaching wires to blasting caps. The others are getting ready to back off.
Just as the supercooled hinges of the door shatter. Triggering their explosives early.
Of the nine men they brought, two are disintegrated by the explosion. Four more die as shrapnel and the high-pressure energy wave radiates down the corridor. Three survive, back by the elevator, but all three are on their asses, stunned by the explosion.
Three still alive on this floor. Two in the lobby. The odds are better but still bad.
Two minutes later, Dez, Jamison, and the thieves watch as a heavy, wire-mesh grille over a maintenance tunnel sizzles and falls away from the tunnel entrance. The ersatz professor has doffed his mustache, glasses, and wig. Dez guesses his true age at midfifties.
The con artists lead, then Jamison, then Dez.
...
