More responders were coming up the stairwells. After that last exchange there would be no attempt to take him alive. They would shoot him the instant they laid eyes on him. He could only hope that his message had gotten through and the agents at the first floor checkpoint would kill Kurst. Then they could sort this out. Until then, however, Franks needed to keep from getting shot to pieces.

The elevators were blocked. The stairs would be covered. It was about a one-hundred-thirty-foot drop to the ground, which was suicide even for him.

It was a good thing that he was so paranoid.

Franks had to make his way back toward his office, and fast. Armed responders were coming from everywhere. One of the fakes took a shot at him, and it was a normal sympathetic reaction for several of his agents to do so as well. He reached the broken drinking fountain, splashing through the newly formed puddle, and then turned toward the bathrooms.

There was a full-length window at the end of this hall. He’d picked this spot during the remodel because it was the closest big window to his office. The walls here were made of black tile, so it would be a little more time consuming to punch or kick through. So Franks picked up a nearby tree and smashed the tile with the pot, then he chucked the whole thing through the glass. The tree tumbled into the night, and he didn’t even hear it hit the ground nine floors below.

Franks lifted the Glock and fired three rounds, sending them purposefully high. It was to slow his pursuers down and make them think. Incoming gunfire had a way of making you revert to your training. They’d think he was pinned, so they’d leapfrog forward, taking their time. Franks holstered the Glock, glad that their issued handguns were all the same model. There was no way the pistol would stay put if he just shoved it into his waist band, considering what he was about to do.

The nylon climbing rope had been piled in the wall, already tied off to a support beam. He took up the rope bundle and tossed it out the broken window. He’d left a pair of leather gloves there as well, simply because you never knew when you’d be able to get new hands, and nothing was more annoying than friction burning your palms off. Franks tugged on the gloves, took up the rope, and left the office the fast way.

* * *