“Come on,” he cried. “We must get to the streets.”

They stumbled along together, with the threat of Garrick like a wind at their backs; and in a ragged moment they were at the front door, which was secured by three bolts set into a steel frame.

Swipe the security card and we’re out, thought Chevie.

Chevie felt for the tiny reel clipped to a pant loop where her card normally hung.

No card. Must have lost it in the explosion. Unless...

Chevie glared at Riley. “Give me my card, thief.”

Riley already had it out. “You leaned a fraction close doing the manacles. And I opened them with a pick from me sock that came out of the machine with me. Sorry, Agent. Life or death.”

They could talk about this later. Chevie swiped the card as bullets bounced around the hallway, shattering glass and blasting a crystal chandelier. It crashed to the ground, showering Riley with glass shards and blocking the stairwell.

“Riley!” called Garrick. “Kill her, boy. I know it’s in you. I will wipe the slate, my word on it.” All this while climbing the stairs and changing magazines.

The door popped open a slice, and Chevie put her final bullet into the control pad.

A red light flashed on the alarm pad and a peeved voice said: “control pad tampered with. lockdown in five seconds. lockdown in four seconds.”

Garrick hopped nimbly over the twisted remains of the chandelier, raising his knees unfeasibly high to the level of his ears, carrying the automatic weapon overhead.

“Strike, Riley.”

In case Riley chose not to strike as ordered, Garrick fired another burst at Agent Savano, but he was too late. The door had closed behind his quarry, all three bolts engaging automatically. Simultaneously the rear entrance locked itself, and bars dropped over every window in the house. The security system was the best federal dollars could buy, and in under three seconds the house on Bedford Street was locked down tighter than the average Swiss bank.

Chevie rested with her back against the door, feeling her pulse drumming inside her swollen eyelid.

“Okay, we have a breather now. That monster may have beaten the weapons code out of Smart, but he’s not getting out of that house without FBI clearance.”

Riley tugged Chevie away from the door.

“We must keep moving, miss. No building can hold Albert Garrick for long,” he said.

Chevie allowed herself to be tugged through the cordon of emergency tape tied across the railing. She was starting to believe that maybe this Garrick character was just as dangerous as Riley claimed him to be.

A Visit to the Outhouse

BEDFORD SQUARE. BLOOMSBURY. LONDON. NOW

Riley and Chevie stumbled into the orange glow of evening streetlamps, on to the square lined with Georgian four-story houses bordering a small park like something from Peter Pan.