“I’m good.”

“Then we’re fine, because I’m great.” Donatti handed Decker the infrared binoculars. Through them, the warehouse looked like daylight. “See that red wooden sign? The letter N.”

“Got it.”

“Put it center in the crosshairs.”

“Okay.”

“Clockwise one-fifty degrees.”

“There are two of them. What are they? Like a couple hundred yards away?”

“Yeah.” Donatti looked at Decker’s gun. “You can’t use that in the dark.” He took a case out and opened it up, pulling out a pistol. “Basically, it’s a Walther double-action automatic except I’ve modified it for accuracy at longer range and added an infrared scope and silencer for obvious reasons. Swap you?”

They exchanged firearms. Decker hefted the gun. “Not too heavy.”

“No need for overkill. Standard nine-millimeter Parabellum and twenty-two LR. With all the customization, it cost me about fifteen hundred bucks. I’ll probably have to lose it after this is all over. Damn shame.” He stowed the kid’s gun in his backpack and took out his own customized handgun, complete with scope and silencer. “We do them; then you can make your move through the back entrance.”

Decker studied the faces in the scope, feeling his heart drop. Two lanky boys, one maybe a couple of inches taller than the other, both of them holding that gaping-mouth confused expression commonly stamped on teenage males. Their cheeks still held a smattering of adolescent pimples. His brain flashed to his own sons. “They’re kids. Eighteen tops.”

“I was that age once,” Donatti pointed out.

A very convincing argument, but Decker wasn’t ready to make the jump. “I’m a police officer. I can’t shoot them without warning.”

“Oh, that’s clever,” Donatti mocked. “Why don’t you go all the way and paint a bull’s-eye on your forehead?”

“I can’t shoot them without giving them warning first.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Donatti, I’ll announce myself. If they don’t drop immediately, then we can—”

“If we give them warning, they’ll shoot, then scatter. Then we’ll have a real problem.”

“I’m not going to argue this—”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re repeating yourself.” Decker remained firm. “Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Donatti picked up a pinecone-shaped piece of concrete and hurled it, the cement whizzing by the bigger of the two boys. As it hit a box and broke into smaller pieces, both of the teens spun around, the taller one raising his gun in Decker’s direction. He never stood a chance. Donatti picked them off in two clean shots— zzzzpt, zzzzpt. They walked a foot or two, then dropped—plop, plop. The shots were so smooth that there wasn’t any discernible blood spray. Donatti must have been using hollow points—the kind of bullets that bang around in the skull, turning the entire brain to pulp.

Decker glared at him, his eyes burning with anger.

“I gave them warning.” Donatti was expressionless. “Self-defense. Now I’ll cover you while you get your brother out.”

“That means I walk out with my back to you. I just saw you murder two kids.”