There was a sudden bright flash, followed an instant later by a roar of sound and the rumble of a shockwave. Franks glanced up to see a fireball rolling out the side of the ninth floor. Sparkles of glass filled the air and fell like rain. Then another explosion ripped through the night, and then another. Those two were close enough that the hot wind ripped the leaves off the bushes around him.

“Explosions. Ninth, third, and first floors,” Franks reported as he kept moving. The blasts weren’t that big, maybe ten pounds of C4 each. Enough to make a real mess of the scene, but not enough to destroy the building. “They’re covering their trail.”

He couldn’t hear Myers’ response because he had a carjacking to attend to. The cop was staring at the destruction. Franks walked out of the bushes and kicked the cop in the stomach. He bent over, automatically retching, so Franks took him by the coat sleeve and slammed him into the side panel hard enough to dent it. The police officer had a triple-retention duty holster to prevent felons from snatching his gun, but Franks knew how to operate the mechanism, so he took the man’s gun, a Glock 9mm, and tossed it on the passenger seat. Then he rolled the groaning cop over and removed his spare magazines from their pouches. He tore his radio off and tossed it into the bushes. Franks got into the cop car, slammed the door, and drove away.

“I’m going after them,” Franks said into the cell phone.

“Don’t, Franks. If Stricken has taken his cold war hot, you need to lay low. Give me a chance to work this out.”

He could have been more concerned about getting himself to safety, but Franks was first and foremost a predator, and running from danger was not nearly as strong an instinct as running after it. Kurst had to exfiltrate somehow. Franks didn’t know what kind of illusion magic they’d been using, but it had been extremely powerful. There had to be limits to it though. He’d injured them, so at minimum their clothing would be bloody and they’d be leaving a blood trail. If they look like the wounded . . .

“I’ll be in touch,” Franks rolled down the window and tossed his phone out.

Franks turned right and kept going around the block. The police band was full of chatter about the incident, but as he suspected the locals were setting up a perimeter. Sadly, somebody must have seen him steal the car, because that came over the radio next, along with the patrol car’s number and a general physical description that must have just been provided by the MCB. Cop cars normally had tracking devices, so they’d be on him in seconds. There was an ambulance ahead. Franks went after it.