By the time Smith got to the bathroom, the tub was already on its edge and the trapdoor was sliding back.

“Does the tunnel get gased, too?” Smith said, remembering the man Whitfield had posted in it.

“Not just the tunnel. The house we come out in, too. I’m very thorough, you know. Very thorough.”

It took some effort, but he managed to get Randi down the ladder without dropping her. She was starting to stir, which was good. What wasn’t so good, was that so was the man Whitfield had left behind.

In fact, he was up on all fours by the time they reached him, shaking his head violently to clear the cobwebs. He made a move for his gun, but Smith swung a leg back and kicked him in the face hard enough to flip him on his back and send him sliding into the wall. He wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, if at all. But there was no telling how many more of them were out there.

Randi started to squirm and then struggle. He set her down and propped her near the ladder leading into Zellerbach’s other house—grabbing her wrists so she couldn’t attack him. “Randi! It’s me, Jon.”

Recognition came quickly and when it did, the adrenaline-fueled strength seemed to drain from her. He barely managed to catch her before she fell.

“What happened?”

“Not important. We’re going up this ladder and then we’re going to get the hell out of Dodge. Do you understand?”

A weak nod.

“I’ll go first. Can you make it up on your own?”

Another nod—this one a bit less convincing.

He looked at Zellerbach. “Come up last. Make sure she doesn’t fall.”

“Okay. No problem. No problem. I can do that.”

Smith ascended, feeling more steady every second. He opted for speed over subtlety, throwing open the trapdoor and going out gun-first.

The room was empty.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re clear.”

Once they were all safely up, he ran from the room and found a window, opening it a crack as Randi stumbled up behind him. She gulped at the fresh air while he surveyed the dark street beyond. After only a few seconds, her eyes started to sharpen.

“Watch her,” he whispered to Zellerbach and then pulled out his phone and initiated an encrypted call to Klein.

“Jon?” he said, answering on the first ring despite the late hour. “Are you all right?”

“No. Marty found something hidden in Dresner’s system. Whitfield’s dead. It—”

The unmistakable crash of a door being kicked in reverberated from the front of the house and Smith swore quietly.

“Jon?” Klein said. “What just—”

“Call you back.”