Smith’s eyes had cleared by the time they made it to the windows and he grabbed her arm when she started back for Zellerbach. He didn’t seem to be able to speak, and instead motioned toward the edge of the floor where it dropped to the parking lot below. She leaned out, careful not to cut herself on the glass still clinging to the frame, and immediately understood what he was trying to communicate. The building’s facade was even smoother than she’d anticipated—making getting to the floor above or below unlikely for her and virtually impossible for the two men she was saddled with.

Another face appeared over the wall and she fired at it, but this time the man got a few rounds off first, taking out the leg of a pinball machine only inches from Zellerbach’s head. Randi looked around for anything they could use, but there was nothing. With more time, they could probably string together some cables, but time was something they didn’t have. She looked over at Smith, hoping for one of his inspired plans, but got just a smile and a shrug.

“I’m in!” Zellerbach shouted, and a moment later the sprinklers in the ceiling were dowsing them with frigid water.

“You get ’em, Marty,” Randi said, appreciating the effort. With a little luck, a few of the sons of bitches who were about to kill them would go home with nasty colds.

“I have access to security’s personnel files!”

She fired at a man sprinting for the barrier while Smith crawled toward a basketball goal and pulled it over, providing them with cover that was probably more psychological than real.

“Give ’em all a pay cut, Marty!” she said, opting not to bother with the few visible inches of a man’s back as he ran from right to left across some cubicles.

“How many rounds left?” Smith said, speaking for the first time since he’d revived.

“Not many. Doesn’t matter, though. Can’t hit the broad side of a barn with this thing.”

Randi tensed when someone shouted orders for the final assault, but instead of the rush of armed men she expected, everything just went silent.

She kept her gun leveled at the steel wall and Smith rolled to the edge of the basketball goal to spot for her. But there was nothing. No security forces pouring into the office, no barked orders, no gunshots. Just the sound of the wind coming through the empty window panes.

Zellerbach slid his keyboard away and stood, putting a hand up to block a sprinkler spraying in his face.

“Marty!” Smith shouted. “Get the hell down!”

He ignored the order and instead stepped gingerly through he broken glass at his feet. “I hate this place. Let’s go home.”

“Marty!” Randi cautioned, trying to cover the man, but still finding no targets.