There were a million questions Peyton wanted to ask. She had no clue where to start. Most of all, she wanted to know why. Why this person she loved so much, this person who meant so much to her, was involved with this.

The person stopped just a few feet from Peyton, and with a sharp head motion, dismissed Gretchen. The soldiers who had cut down the Navy SEAL and attempted to frisk Peyton departed as well.

“Hello, darling.”

Peyton swallowed. “Hi, Mom.”

Chapter 118

Chapter 118

Desmond pushed Carl against the wire mesh wall. “How many exits are there from this room?”

“Two,” the nervous man said.

“They’ll be covered,” William said.

Desmond knew he was right. But Peyton’s father always seemed to be a step ahead. William was already reaching into his bag. He took out three round green cylinders, ran to the end of the row of server racks, and tossed the canisters in different directions. Smoke issued forth as they rolled across the floor. The canisters thumped as they crossed the joints where the tiles fitted together; they sounded like the beat of a drum before the start of a battle.

William returned and handed Avery a grenade.

“Go. You’ll have to make your own exit. I’ll buy you some time.”

Before either Desmond or Avery could speak, the man slipped into the smoke. Gunfire began a second later.

Bullets ripped through the cages around them. Sparks flew. A dozen electrical explosions and pops went off. Shards of metal and plastic issued from the cages like a lethal mix of confetti.

“Stay down, Carl!” Desmond shouted as he and Avery left the man behind and sprinted away.

Overhead, fire suppression nozzles hissed, pumping the room full of gas—argon, or perhaps nitrogen, to reduce the oxygen level and choke off the fire.

Avery ran ahead of Desmond, tossed the grenade at the end of the row, then drew her handgun from inside her waistband and squeezed off two rounds.

Desmond had counted to three seconds by the time he reached her. Most US-made grenades went off at four or five and a half seconds.

He wrapped an arm around Avery’s midsection and pulled her behind the metal cage just before the grenade went off, blowing them to the floor, him on top of her.

For a moment, all went silent—then the silence was replaced by ringing. Lights overhead went dark. The constantly blowing air conditioning and fire suppression gas ceased. Debris fell onto the raised floor like heavy raindrops on a metal roof.

Avery rolled Desmond off her and stood, gun drawn. She looked left then right, then extended a hand to help Desmond up. He marveled at her. She’s unstoppable.

His body ached when she pulled him up.