Diego.
I have to get to Diego.
The elevator rises. Smooth. Silent. Agonizingly slow.
Ping. 5th floor.
I run down the hallway. My bare feet slapping against the carpet.
I reach Room 514. Jam the key card into the slot.
It doesn’t turn green. It flashes red.
What?
I try again. Red.
“No,” I whimper. “No, no, no.”
Phoenix locked the key cards. They’ve hacked the hotel system.
I pound on the door.
“Diego! Halo!”
Movement inside. Heavy footsteps.
The door flies open.
Halo is standing there. He’s wearing jeans, no shirt, gun in hand. His eyes are wild.
“Where the hell were you?” he roars.
“We have to go,” I gasp, pushing past him into the room. “They found us.”
He freezes. The anger vanishes, replaced by cold, terrifying focus.
“How?”
“I logged in. The Business Center. I found a link—Julianna Stratton, CEO Stratton Financial, biological assets.” I pause, breathless. “The screen … It lagged. It buffered before it found me. But then it said ‘Dispatching.’”
“Buffering?” He slams the door shut and locks it. “It lagged?”
“Yes. Like a bad connection.”
“The Chicago raid,” he mutters, shoving gear into his pack. “It hurt the system more than we thought. That lag just bought us a head start.”
“Where are we going?”
“Pack your bag,” he orders. “We have three minutes. Maybe less.”
“They said ‘Dispatching.’ They know our room number.”
“Then they aren’t coming from outside,” Halo says grimly. He throws my hoodie at me. “They’re coming from the elevator.”
He grabs the heavy dresser and shoves it in front of the door.
BOOM.
