I pick up the chair by the legs and I throw it in his general direction.

It clangs to the ground.

“Temper, temper, Mr. Bins,” he says, obviously unfazed by my assault.

I pick up another chair and toss it wildly in his direction, then a third, then I turn and run back toward the chains. I pull the flashlight from my waist and flip it on just long enough to get my bearings and to see if any of my chairs connected with LeHigh. They didn’t. The Director is on his feet, gun in hand, his arm coming up from his hip.

I flip the flashlight off, grab the chains, and swing them hard against the ceiling. They make two hollow thuds, then come together in a series of violent chimes.

Under the umbrella of echoes I make an improvised play, then I find the far wall. I follow it for a hundred silent feet until I come to the corner nearest the entrance.

My chest is heaving, and I pull my shirt up over my mouth to mask my breathing.

I know LeHigh is close, less than twenty feet from me.

I don’t imagine that after thirty years as a spy he is easily rattled, but his breathing is heavier than mine.

“It doesn’t have to be this way. We can both walk out of here,” he says, his voice swirling as he whips his head from side to side. “I just need you to sign some paperwork stating that you will never talk about this place, and then we can go our separate ways.”

Bullshit.

I take one more breath.

Any second.

Another breath.

Any second.

The alarm on the watch goes off.

Only it isn’t on my wrist.

After I smashed the chains together, I’d slid the watch across the ground toward the tables and chairs.

I can hear the Director move his feet, turning toward the sound.

I’m already on the move.

I flip the flashlight on.

The Director is turning back around but it’s too late. I smash the flashlight against the side of his head. He turns his head just enough to avoid the full impact, but I still land a solid blow, one that ripples through the room.

LeHigh somehow gets an arm out and sends me reeling to the ground. My knee hits the concrete and explodes in pain, but it is the furthest thing from my mind. All I care about is the gun. Did he drop it? I don’t remember hearing it clatter to the ground. My plan was to hit his right arm with the flashlight, hopefully sending the gun flying, but I changed strategy at the last minute, hoping to knock him out cold with one blow to his head.

I push myself up.