“Mik hates sushi. Ronan’s down and the police are probably on their way. There’s one security guard in a booth at the entrance. But everything else in that place is secured. So we need the guard’s access card, and there are apparently some civilians in the lobby who bested your guy.”
“So, going in hot, multiple hostiles, and none of them are even the bad guys.” Trevor cracks his knuckles, and grins. “I haven’t felt like beating anyone up in months. This should be fun.”
The SUV screeches to a stop right in front of the Smithsonian’s doors, and Trevor and I race inside, guns drawn. “Everybody down,” I shout, then turn to the security guard standing over Ronan. The man’s on his stomach, his hands bound with a zip tie behind his back. “Keycard. Now.”
Trevor keeps the other five guys in the lobby in his sights, directing them to the far corner where hopefully, they won’t be able to stop us before we get to the stairwell.
As soon as the guard hands over his access card, I motion for him to join the rest, then pull Ronan to his feet. “Trev will get you out of those in a minute.”
“Fuckin’ hell.” Ronan’s jaw is already starting to swell, and his green eyes hold a lethal mix of anger and shame. “What do we think is happening?” he asks when the stairwell door shuts behind us and Trev pulls out his pocket knife to cut the zip tie.
I’m already halfway to the second floor. “No idea, except for trouble. Be ready for anything.”
Bursting into the hall at a run with Trevor and Ronan right behind me, I head for the lab.
“Down!” Ronan shouts, and I hit the floor as a shot rings out. “Fuck,” he groans.
I return fire, hitting a tall man I don’t recognize standing in front of the lab door. He crumples to the ground, the bullet hitting him center mass, and his gun falls from his hand.
“Ronan, status!” Trev orders.
“Go. I’ll live.”
Before we take more than two steps, Arturo bursts out of the greenhouse with his arm around Mikayla’s neck and a gun pressed to her temple. “Lower your weapons now,” he says, “or I will kill the doctor.”
Two other men follow them. Fuck. Both Dr. Branch and his research assistant, Wally, are part of this thing, and Wally has a giant plastic tote balanced on his shoulder with orchid roots spilling over the sides.
“Austin,” Mik rasps. “D-do what they want. Once I give them the samples from the lab, they’ll leave.”
She’s terrified. I can see it in her eyes. “No, Mik. I won’t let them hurt you.”
Trevor used to be a sniper. If I give him an opening, he can take out Arturo. The doctor isn’t a threat. I could probably snap him in half without even breaking a sweat. Wally? Who the fuck knows.
“Please. I’m going to take them into the lab. I processed all the samples earlier. They’re ready to go. It’ll be okay after that.” She and Arturo have reached their dead compatriot, and Dr. Branch drags the guy away from the door. Wally sets the tote down, takes a keycard, and swipes it over the reader.
Arturo shoves Mikayla at him and aims his weapon directly at me. Fuck. We missed our chance. Wally, Branch, and Mik are already at the next door, and Wally has his hand around Mik’s throat.
They’re not stopping to put on protective gear, and suddenly, I realize that’s exactly what Mik’s counting on. She’s going to dose them all with the phytotoxin. But she can’t do that without dosing herself too.
Atropine. She showed me where it was. “Trev, do it.” I take my finger off the trigger and point the Beretta at the ceiling.
“The fuck?”
“Do it. Now.” In my periphery, I see him follow my order.
“Put ‘em on the ground,” Arturo says, and we lower the guns slowly, then, at his direction, kick them away. He motions for us to move towards the greenhouse, backing into the decontamination chamber as we pass, not giving us an opening to tackle him.
Trev and I take slow, deliberate steps, and as we pass the door, I see Wally shoving Mik towards a lab bench, where she stumbles and crashes to her knees.
“Where are the samples?” the doc asks.
“In cooler two.” She locks eyes with me for a split second, and the regret in them…she knows she might not survive this.
“On your knees. Both of you,” Arturo says.
“I don’t kneel for anyone,” I snarl. “And when I kill you, I’m going to make it hurt.”
“The cops are probably here by now,” Trevor says. “How do you think you’re going to get out of here?”
