“Listen to me,” I roared in German, “these men are wearing suicide vests that will detonate if they die. We need to disable and restrain them. I shot them with tranquilizers.”

One of the guards hurried out, looked at the men groaning and crawling around on the floor, and then he raised the barrel and pointed it at me.

“Drop your weapon,” he ordered.

“Did you hear what I said? I’m a friendly.”

“Drop your weapon, or I will kill you,” he growled.

“Fuck me blind and move the furniture,” I snarled. “I don’t have time for this.”

I snapped off a Sandman dart that took him in the chest. He went right down, the shotgun falling to the ground before he could pull the trigger. Then I wheeled and pointed the Snellig at his partner, whose gun was still aimed at the Fixers. “Sorry,” I said and shot him, too.

There was no win here. Not for me anyway. I barked a command at Ghost. He disengaged with a great show of reluctance, but now the other guards were surging out from behind the stack of tables. This was going south too fast.

“Out,” I snapped, and together we fled. Even while we ran, I kept yelling at them to not kill the Fixers because of the bomb triggers synced with heartbeats. But their response was to open fire on me.

We dove for the first turning in the hall as a fusillade pocked chips of stone from the walls.

I sincerely hoped the guards would try to cuff and arrest those dazed Fixers rather than do something suicidal like pop caps in them as a way of getting revenge. I hoped that professionalism would trump the need to avenge their fellow guards.

CHAPTER 106

DAS VERARBEITUNGSZENTRUM

“Miss Eve,” said Abel, “we have movement.”

The two Fixers raised their rifles and took up shooting positions facing the destroyed entrance. Smoke swirled inside, but now shadows moved within the clouds. Eve slipped a Glock 19 from a hip holster and stood between the two men, making no attempt to find cover. She did not see Cain and Abel share a quick glance. Abel began to say something, but Cain shook his head.

There was a squawk of static, and then a voice spoke on the coms unit. “Jedidiah to command. Coming out the front with the package.”

“Come ahead,” responded Abel.

The shadows resolved into figures—two of the team, bulky in their body armor, helmets, and equipment. They held handguns and used their free hands to support a very thin man who wore only a chest protector and helmet with a blacked-out visor. The thin man wore prison coveralls and slip-on boat shoes. His wrists were zip-cuffed, and he stumbled—though from injury, shock, or weakness was uncertain.