I Love Trouble
Disclaimer: The Equalizer and all its characters are the property
of Universal. No copyright infringement in intended.
Robert McCall leaned back on the chair, waiting for his lunch companion to show up. He tapped his fingers on the table, annoyed at the time. Finally, he saw Control walking over quietly, his silver tipped cane still accessorizing his normal business attire.
"What did your doctor say?" McCall asked as Control seated himself opposite his old friend. Control sighed, and took the waitress' menu gratefully.
"He said I shouldn't walk on it for a few more days. And then I could, if I was good, walk on it with the aide of an air cast. He also said it wouldn't fully heal for quite awhile, a little longer than if I had just broken it." He thumbed through his menu, unconcerned by McCall's sharp look.
McCall didn't know how to respond to Control when he started off with smart ass comments like that. McCall had already chosen his entrée of red salmon with a light lemon and paprika sauce, so he watched Control glancing down the menu. He noticed the serious lines wrinkling Control's eyes, showing the obvious strain he had been under since the bombing. Control had always taken the rather harsh strain of his job fairly well. Every now and then, an event would occur that would not quite topple Control's self reserve, but it would certainly shake it.
Control threw down the menu, undecided. "Well Robert, what's the trouble?"
McCall grunted in confusion. "Trouble? What in the world are you talking about?"
"Didn't you call my secretary earlier today?" Control was not ready for any more games. Already today, he had overseen the opening of a new New York office building, a temporary area headquarters until the old building, blown up by a smartly planted bomb, had been rebuilt on its old foundations. His staff and the rest of the Company was still reeling with the loss of 27 people and another 56 were recuperating from wounds received in the blast. Another 7 wounded souls had been onlookers, passerbys, and residents of nearby buildings. His doctor had noted his blood pressure, usually quite high, had sky-rocketed even further since the explosion. He hadn't been sleeping well at home lately, and he suspected Robert wasn't either. McCall's girlfriend, Irene Norton, had been implicated in the bombing; and it was easy to see why McCall might blame himself for not seeing what was going to happen and stop her.
"I did no such thing. I received a call from her telling me to meet you here."
Their waitress returned, taking their order and interrupting their conversation. McCall ordered first, turning to Control for his order. But Control simply waved a quick "2" at the waitress to speed the process along – he wasn't really hungry today anyhow. He flipped his cellular on with a quick call to the office. A moment later, he hung up with a shake of his head. "My secretary is out to lunch too." He put the cellular phone away, noting the discrepancy but dismissing it.
McCall's brow furrowed in response but allowed the strange occurrence to pass without a comment. Instead, he asked gently, "How is everyone taking it?" He didn't have to say what "it" was. "It" had been on the news everyday for the last week. "It" had been a torturous nightmare for everyone involved.
Control's shoulder's shrank. His eyes, which seemed every so much older than ever before, stared at a point just beyond McCall's right shoulder as he shook his head. "You know, it's easy for them to understand how twelve agents can be killed in Iran on a mission. But they can't understand how 27 people can be killed at home, on their own soil, for no real reason at all."
McCall nodded, completely understanding the agents' disillusionment. "They will heal, in time, as everyone does . . ." He was abruptly cut off as a familiar blond slid into the seat next to him, a jet-black haired, well muscled man accompanying her and sliding in next to Control.
"Hi boys, how's it going?" She turned congenially to both of them as neither one replied, both too shocked to speak. "Good, good, glad to hear everything is going well," she answered for them. "Zeno, say hello to the nice men." Her companion was silent, unsmiling. "Oh well," she shrugged, "he's really just a hired thug anyway – he's not being paid by the word. He's really just along to shove his very cold magnum into your sides while I get to chat with you. Isn't that exciting?" She wrinkled her nose in a happy grin. Zeno pushed his magnum into Control's ribs, receiving a grunt from Control in response.
"You have quite the nerve coming here, Irene," McCall growled. In reply, she tapped his side with her own gun. "Now, now," she responded, "we're all civilized here. I say something nice, you say something nice. That's the way it works."
"What do you want?" McCall jaw reddened with anger.
"I thought I would come back and stir things up. It's been a whole week since I've seen you! I told you I would be back, didn't I?"
"You can go to hell," McCall replied under his breath."
"Hell?" Norton started laughing. "Oh . . . really Robert – let's try to be civilized about the entire affair. Well, we can just use you as an example to young Zeno here. Zeno, listen, the first rule of effective torture techniques is that you don't actually torture your victim – no, indeed, it's true. If you have someone else there who that person has a link to, a friendly link mind you – an unfriendly one just won't help you at all, well then Zeno, you just torture them instead. So you see, every time Mr. McCall makes a statement like that, I do this." Her foot crept under the table finding Control's sore foot and pushing it back against his sore ankle.
"Shh . . ." he coughed, rubbing his slightly watering eyes.
Norton turned back to McCall, "Anything else you'd like to add?" When McCall didn't respond, she winked at Zeno. "See, it's so easy. All you have to do is follow the rules in the Adler Book of Procedure. Oh," she stopped, "you're not a woman. You don't qualify . . . . well, that's alright, you can still learn a little."
McCall was just trying to figure out how to use his concealed weapon when Irene reached into his pocket and gingerly took it out, bidding Zeno to do the same thing for Control. She carefully kept it out of sight from the waitress who happened by. "When she returns, boys, I expect a warm welcome for her, ok?" She nodded to herself since they didn't. Carefully keeping a congenial smile on her face, she was the picture of a beautiful woman, light blond hair falling across her back.
After the waitress had delivered their food, and Irene and Zeno had waved away any mention of new orders, she merrily went about her business.
"Well boys, I guess you are wondering why I'm here?" When they didn't answer, she answered for them. "Yes Irene, please please tell us why you're here! Oh alright," she paused, "well, I've been thinking about that revenge thing. A week underground gives a girl a lot of time to think. And I've decided to give it a whirl – or something like that," she giggled again. "Or maybe you'd like to explain it Control – explain it all to your friend here."
"Explain what?" McCall's face shimmered with questions.
"Well, now, technically – and we are only asking you to answer in the most technical of technical of technicalities – was I or was I not working for you at the time of the bombing? In fact," she put up a finger to cut off Control's answer before he attempted to say one, "am I or am I not still on your payroll? Technically, I mean." She grinned at Robert.
Control tried to keep from biting his tongue, glaring at Norton with the fierceness of a man who has been crossed. Norton stopped him again, just as he was about to answer, her foot again squeezing his painful ankle back upon itself. "A yes or no will suffice for my purposes."
"Yes," he whispered through clenched teeth.
McCall dropped his head, absolutely disbelieving what Control had just said. Earlier, just after the bombing, Norton had told Robert that Control had fired her and Control had confirmed the fact. In fact, McCall had assumed that her departure from the Company had been the reason why she had joined the service of a foreign country's intelligence organization – indeed, why she had helped set up the bomb in the first place.
"Better yet," she continued with a hint of kindly draped anger, "why don't you just tell Robert who I still work for?"
Control rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was ridiculous. What woman would travel back into an area absolutely laden with danger for her just to inflict senseless pain. He groaned again with a quick rap on the table. His silence had prompted another twinge of pain in his ankle. "You still work for the Company. Happy?"
She stretched, hearing the creaks in her spine. "Well, happiness is all relative really." She turned to McCall. "The best thing is," she leaned forward in glee, "I can't even be fired for doing this!"
McCall almost rose up in his seat to strangle either Irene or Control or both. He tapped on the table with his middle finger, his jaw gritted with fury. His eyes breathed fire, and he had to cross his arms to keep from doing something he shouldn't with a gun poked into his side.
Irene sighed with a smile. "Well, Robert, I didn't find out that Control actually had to stall before following you until yesterday! I mean, I didn't even know. Go figure. But I'm sooooo glad to have you two to lunch because I'm already having a killer time." She looked at the silent table. "What, bad pun?"
Seeing the waitress return, Irene rose up, the picture of an apologetic patron, her gun already tucked away in her coat pocket. "I am so sorry. We were just leaving – small emergency, national security and all," she whispered. "Can I get the bill please?" The waitress turned to get the bill while Irene nodded at Zeno and grinned at her other two companions. "Ok, you boys know the routine. There is a maroon van parked out back. If you would like to feel the back of your heads ever again, I would walk carefully, slowly, and be generally respectful of the gun I will have ready to blow your brains out if you try anything stupid. Zeno too. He takes offense whenever he feels a little upset – and the smell of this place doesn't look like its done anything for him," she waved them toward the back door of the restaurant. "And don't worry about the staff. We've already made arrangements for you to exit this way." She waved the others out before herself – she would be along in a moment. She chatted with the waitress for a moment before paying for the uneaten meals, and then she turned to leave. What she found outside, she did not like at all.
Zeno pushed McCall and Control through the crowded restaurant to the desolate loading area in the back. The empty lot was devoid of people and things except the van and a SYSCO loading truck. Seeing this might be the only time to act, Control exchanged a glance with McCall, warning him. Control tapped his cane on the ground, catching it as it bounced back up. He swung it like a baseball bat into Zeno's ribs, and McCall turned in time to catch Zeno's flailing gun. McCall pounded the gun into the brick wall behind Zeno, trying to release Zeno's grasp as Control held the man's other strained hand firmly back.
"Let it go boys," Irene's firm voice called out behind them. McCall felt the familiar feeling of a gun barrel pressed into the back of his neck. His hands released Zeno and the gun even as he saw Control doing the same thing. McCall shook his head slightly, a look of restrained anger upon his face. Norton shook her head, "shouldn't have done that boys. Zeno is not looking happy." She pointed them toward the van.
Once Irene had loaded her subjects into the back of the van, she supervised the lengthy binding of their hands and feet with thick, twisted rope. Zeno seemed to tie the men with extra vigor, pulling the rope tight with a silent smile. After he finished tying them up, Norton pulled out two syringes already prepared with a clear liquid. She squirted the first syringe to get all the air out of the tube. "Wouldn't want to kill you prematurely," she wrinkled her nose. A tiny tweak of pain precluded a waterfall of total blackness.
Darkness. Throbbing, seething, pounding, gulping, swishing, rocking, flowing. Eyes open, eyes closed. Struggle. Bindings. Warm hands, tingling hands, no hands. Rope cutting into flesh. Rope scrapping at raw wrists. Sounds? Sounds! Bright light. Hurts, painful, sore. Boots . . . boots . . . a woman's boots. Eyes, a woman's eyes. Drilling eyes, killer eyes. Out of the darkness, a voice.
"Hi boys, glad you could make it to my party." Norton took the extra rope she had brought in from the van and ran a short length behind their back from their feet to the hands. "See this way Zeno, they can't get their hands in front of them which makes untying themselves fourteen times harder." She returned to the front of the slightly groggy men. "Now here's the situation. I am not a heartless woman – indeed, everything I do is well calculated. This is more like a test gentlemen, a test to see whether you are up to what I think you can conquer. I mean, if you make it out of this alive, I will take you out to dinner and shake both your hands. In fact, I will one up that. I will donate two million dollars out of my personal bank fund toward the bombing victims' fund set up by the Company. Of course, I highly value my personal bank account; so I've made your task somewhat more difficult than easy. First, you must untie yourselves – have fun with that, especially after making Zeno so upset as to almost cut off your blood supply. Second, you will find out – if you can untie yourselves, that you are in a totally secure building miles from civilization. In other words – no one can hear you scream. You can't get out, other people can't get in – I'll make sure of that just as soon as I exit the building. This was an old security warehouse for the New York mint – so it has steel reinforced windows and doors – think about that. Thirdly, my demolitions expert over there," she thumbed toward Zeno, "has conveniently, and for your pleasure, created three bombs. Where they are – nobody knows. Somewhere in this building, though, I promise you. And they are all timed to go off in two hours – starting five minutes ago. I would have made it one hour, but I figured that might be stretching it a little too much. Anyway, it should be short enough that no one goes looking for you and long enough to put a serious dent in your mental state." She looked at her captives carefully. "Of course, don't think this is anything personal either. I mean, I get paid 5 million if I complete the job – you don't even know how much I could have asked. But I decided to be fair. Control – you're obvious, you die and we gain a new director who doesn't know the ropes very well -- a lot of governments will gain something by putting you in the ground. McCall, you remember the little KGB fiasco a while ago where Runfeelov wanted to bring you home to Russia for trial? And how you didn't quite make it? Well, he gave up on trials; he just figures you are guilty now – so hence revenge. I think its kind of spiteful myself; but that is just the way things work. Now, I figure I've done my job pretty well, and you have maybe a 5% chance of getting out of this alive. But, again, I wanted to give you a fighting chance. Then, if you fail, you really fail because you had a chance. I mean, I could just blow the back of your neck out and then where would you be? So you see, its nothing personal. Oh – and have fun!" She waved, "Tootle-oo!"
McCall and Control heard her footsteps fading away, following by Zeno. A light switch zapped, and they were left in darkness, tightly bound and tied to two chairs in the middle of an empty room. A moment later, a heavy thud told them they had been left alone – locked behind thick, steel reinforced doors.
McCall struggled with his ropes for a moment and then sighed. "You mind telling me what is going on?"
Control grunted, feeling the tight harshness of rope binding his hands together. "She's a free agent. The men from Washington – you remember them at the safe house don't you?" He took McCall's silence as a sign that Robert remembered the agents. "They decided she was a better asset in illegal affairs, so they took her on after I officially fired her. She had been working as a triple agent in Eastern Europe, so we had to cover her tracks by firing her, thus throwing off suspicion on her. Of course, it was also for a good reason – her rifle completely missed her target on an operation and managed to kill a man that was linked to her brother's murder. Obviously, it was well calculated on her part. Anyway, I fired her; but she was unofficially rehired in a free agent capacity."
McCall rolled his eyes in the dark. "Only the Company could manage to persuade itself that
this was all completely logical. So she does work for the Company or she doesn't?"
"Every now and then. But she's a free agent – whoever can pay her fee owns her."
"Oh good, so that means she can turn on you at any moment?"
"Not quite, she always finishes a job once she agrees to it. If anything, she's a woman of her word. We couldn't go after her on the bombing because she would be linked to the Company."
"That's not exactly true Control. You just said she was fired – no one could finger the Company for having her on an unofficial payroll. What's the real reason?"
"You want to sit here and argue or try to get out of here?"
"What's the real reason?"
Control sighed; McCall was not going to let him get out of this without the full details. "She has certain information – a disk -- that our government is still trying to get. She happened to get her hands on some critical nuclear information on the Chinese. Obviously getting it would be a coup – especially after the heat the Agency has received over the Chinese getting our nuc information recently. They lose her or haul her in on the bombing charges, there goes the disk.
"Ah, I see," McCall smiled, rather fakely, "27 people's lives in exchange for a disk. It all makes perfect sense."
"Robert . . ." Control held his tongue, "can we discuss this after we find our way out of this building?"
McCall thought about the situation objectively. "I suppose, but don't think you're not going to hear more about this."
"I'm sure I will," Control said lightly, under his breath.
"What was that?" McCall tugged at his bonds, gritting his teeth as he tried to work his bonds loose.
Control ignored McCall, busy with his own problems. After another five minutes had passed, he let his hands drop, his hands already tired with the constant strain, "Dammit, Robert, this is going to take far too . . . What the hell is that?"
McCall looked up sharply, hearing the sound of clicks on the dirty pavement floor. Out of the darkness peered two glistening eyes, a fierce growl rolling from its lips. "She didn't say anything about that, did she?" McCall noted. The pit of his stomach fell a notch.
Control and McCall didn't move, looking at the new menace whose movement in the dark had now stopped. It simply looked at them, warning them with a low growl. After what seemed like an eternity – but could have only been a minute or so – it laid down, seeming content when they were not moving; but as soon as they tried to move, it would pop up again, a threat murmuring from its lips.
"Have any idea what that is?" McCall asked. It snarled, unhappy with the loud voice.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Control replied, whispering. "But it certainly isn't helping us any."
"It doesn't seem to like us moving . . . and that is really not helping our situation."
It had laid down again, watching them carefully. Both McCall and Control heard the scamper of tiny clicks on the pavement at the same time. "I hope those aren't rats," Control shifted uneasily in his chair, hearing the scampering sounds coming closer and closer toward the two bound men.
"No," McCall observed quietly, "because I think that would be mama rat staring at us." It had cocked its head, but stayed where it was, letting the monsters pass her position without another glance. The strangers were not free to move around, but her babies were.
Control jumped slightly as he felt something warm and furry brush his bound hands. "Robert," he said through clenched teeth, "whatever it is has just taken an interest in my hand."
McCall turned his head toward his old friend, "Just don't do anything to make its mother upset."
"Thanks for the advice," Control clenched his jaw as the fuzzy thing continued to root around near his hands, sniffing him and brushing him with its whiskers. The use of the rope connecting both ropes that bound his hands and legs forced his hands close to the ground, making shifting in his seat and moving out of the way nearly impossible. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to. Tiny, strong jaws took hold of his rope and began tugging on it – pulling with all its little force. Control dared not move, willing the little runt to keep pulling at the rope. It did. But after about three minutes, the little guy was bored and gave up, dropping the rope whose hemp twines had already started to unravel due to the sharp teeth. Control worked at the ropes again, but they were still too thick and too tight. This was going to take forever. The furry thing rubbed up against his hands again. Getting an idea, Control moved his hands quickly, jerking them up out of the runt's way. The furry creature suddenly stopped – his night vision being a lot better than the humans'. He barked at the stranger's movement, jumping up and pouncing on the ropes again, pulling them down and chewing on them again.
Control continued the little game with the puppy, and fifteen minutes later, he had completely worked his hands free of the ropes. He leaned forward to undo his feet when the figure in front of them rose up again, growling. Continuing to lean down slowly, Control moved with great patience, his eyes on the protective mother before him. In another minute or so, he had his ropes laying at his feet. "Robert?" he called out gently.
"What?" McCall was starting to get seriously worried, at least a half hour to forty-five minutes had passed. That meant just over an hour to find and disarm three bombs.
"Happen to have any Iams on you?"
"Very funny. How are your ropes coming?"
Control didn't answer, instead he took off his watch, pulling the leather band attachment off so that only the metal and glass disk was in his hand. Too bad it wasn't the Company issued watch with a location transmitter – that was at home somewhere. He heaved it across the room, hearing it clatter and bounce off the far wall, striking the ground with a force. The eyes in front of them blinked in surprise and stalked off to find the perpetrator of such a noise.
Control swiftly found Robert and undid his ropes, leaning close to the ropes so that he could see the thick blurs in the darkness.
McCall shook off his ropes, standing next to Control. "Lights?"
"Let's do it before Mama returns."
McCall nodded in agreement, returning the way he had heard Irene leave. There, he felt along the wall for the light switch. A gigantic three prong steel lever, he pushed it up, hearing the resounding "Clack" start the lights turning on in long rows. In another minute, all the lights were on. He turned toward Control who was standing at the opposite side of the room, resting his hurt leg and staring at a timer . . . and a bomb. It read thirty-seven minutes and counting – apparently more time had passed then they had thought. A quick glance around the room revealed no other bombs, and Mama was starting to take an interest in them again.
Mama was, what appeared to be, a German Shepherd and Husky mix. Her only visible puppy was contentedly laying under one of the two vacant chairs, chewing happily on the ropes lying at its feet. Mama had finished investigating and was now making her way toward the two men. But she passed directly by the two concerned men and sniffed her puppy, making sure he was alright. She took him by the scruff of the neck and marched to the other end of the room, disappearing around the corner into an old office room with a heavy metal door. Both men breathed a sigh of relief.
By the time McCall had crossed the room's length toward the bomb, Control had already pulled out and put on his glasses, glaring over the top of them at the bomb as he crouched next to it, mindful of his sore ankle. "How does it look?"
"Simple," Control answered, "Thank God. Have you got something to cut this with?"
McCall shook his head, but searched the vast room, finally finding a small piece of cut metal of the floor. He walked over and gave it to Control, watching carefully as the older man picked out the correct wire from a large sting of multi-colored, intertwined wires. With delicate hands, he began to pull the wire out so that he could cut it. Taking the piece of steel he frowned slightly, "That's lovely," he sighed, leaning in a little closer and trying to cut through the copper wire.
All of a sudden, he felt a jolt of paws on his back, abruptly pushing him forward. His hands flew out, trying to catch himself before he fell onto the sensitive bomb. He landed on one knee, his face perilously close to the bomb. Finally, after he was sure his motion had stopped, he let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. A shot of pain ripped up from his ankle, protesting the sudden movement.
McCall scooped up the puppy who had run out from his hiding place to again see his new friend. The little gray and brown puppy with the slightly curled husky tail and the perky ears looked up at the new face and tried to lick it – succeeding only in getting held at arm's length. "Well, it looks as though he's taken a liking to you, Control," McCall laughed.
Control, still a hair away from the bomb grimaced slightly. "He should be in that movie 'Fatal Attraction.'" He recovered, shifting his weight off his ankle again, and sliced the copper wire, finally stopping the timer at 29 minutes. He stood and turned toward McCall and the puppy, sighing. "That was fairly easy." He glared at the puppy. "Where are the other two?"
"That's just it – it was too easy. The other two are no where to be found. And I don't think Zeno and Irene would let us get away that easily."
"What about Mama's hiding spot?"
McCall shook his head, "No, Irene would have said something – I don't think Mama was out when they were setting up. I'd bet my roll that the bombs are no where near Mama's spot over there – and I'm not too keen on looking over there either."
"You'd better be willing to bet your life on it," Control said grimly.
"If you want to check over there, be my guest," McCall extended a hand toward the way that Mama had disappeared.
"No, I agree, she would have found the dog – and I doubt that she would have let that pass without a comment. That doesn't leave us with a lot of options, though."
"No." McCall turned toward the room in question, searching it with his eyes yet again. He put down the puppy, who promptly trotted toward Control's shiny black shoe and sat next to it, his big brown eyes turned upwards.
"What we really have to decide is where placing a bomb in this building would be beneficial." McCall continued glancing around the vast room. Suddenly he stopped, looking at Control as Control returned the glance.
The foundation, they both thought, but where? The building was this one vast room, only the office room on the far wall was separated from the room they were in now – where Mama's hiding place was. The ceiling was at least three stories up – and nothing appeared to be dangling or hiding in the beams that supported the tall structure. McCall snapped his fingers, remembering something a little odd that he had seen just a few minutes ago. He stalked across the room to a small panel of misplaced carpet on the floor. Underneath was a metal grating which he pulled up. Tugging on it, he revealed a small set of stairs leading to a basement. "Control!" he called across the room. He started down the stairs, followed closely by Control, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
The basement was old, older than the structure above it – by probably a good thirty years. There were old wooden boxes displaced by hands so many years ago. The two had to shove old boards and parts of metal machines to the side to even pass. "It could take forever looking through this," McCall sighed.
"You've got the only watch, Robert," Control responded. "How much time do we have?"
McCall glanced at his watch, quickly calculating the time the bombs were supposed to go off. "Fourteen minutes." He looked at Control who was obviously not exactly confidant that they were going to survive. They got to work quickly, splitting up and searching the basement with fast, furious hands – but being careful enough not to slam anything together in case the bombs were waiting just around the corner. Seven minutes passed – nothing.
McCall stood up, brushing off his knees. This was getting them no where fast – and he was not at all sure that they shouldn't have been trying to find a way out. He stared across the room, trying to think. If I had three bombs and one of them was used upstairs in case we didn't get untied – the other two would have to take care of the rest of the building. But they don't appear to be in the foundation where . . . that's it! He sprang forth, following the basement's air ducts which had just caught his eye. They would be sufficiently close to the foundations to do enough damage to bring down the whole building and finish them off if they were still alive – and yet be well enough hidden as to discourage finding their location. "Control!" he yelled, getting no reply. McCall dived through the rooms until he could find an opening in the ducts. Fortunately, an opening was close by – he ripped off the vent and crawled into the shaft. He slid through it with furious speed, turning a few corners and continuing down the narrow shaft. Four minutes to go.
"Slow down Robert," came a calm voice around the next corner. McCall stopped his breakneck speed and crawled around the next corner wearily – which was a good thing since just around the corner was a double rigged bomb – or two to be exact. Control was also on his stomach, lying in the shaft – coming from the opposite direction-- with a very concerned look upon his face. Control's tie was gone, and his shirt's top button was undone as tiny beads of nervous sweat had formed upon his brow and rolled down his jaw. The heat in the duct was not helping the situation.
McCall examined the bombs. They were linked together through their disarming wire – and the disarming wires were linked to the other bomb's respective arming wire. "There's no way to disarm it . . ." McCall looked up, his eyes betraying the severity of the situation.
"Even if we had the proper tools – it would take more time then we have – but you're right, if I ran into this in a normal bomb situation, I would order the building cleared; and I would wait for the impending explosion." Control looked up with a frown. He wiped his forehead with a white sleeve. The timer read three minutes.
McCall shook his head, "I'll do it."
"No, I'll do it."
"We are not bloody arguing over this. We have little enough time as it is. When was the last time you handled a bomb?"
"Just about a half hour ago."
"Very funny – you don't work with these things on a regular basis – and haven't for years. Besides, you want
to hobble upstairs with it?" McCall curled a hand around
the delicate bombs, preventing Control from arguing further. If he tried to take it now, they would both be dead.
Control rolled his eyes at McCall's stubbornness, but allowed him to take the bombs in hand, very carefully and very slowly. Both men started to back out of the ducts, McCall being slow and careful – and Control backing out the opposite way at breakneck speed.
Control made it out of the ducts, a little further away than the opening McCall had found, about two minutes later. He looked around quickly for Robert in the basement – but McCall was gone. Taking the stairs two by two, he had almost made the mouth of the hole when the bombs detonated, throwing him back down the stairs and raining metal shards.
He lay there, stunned, for a moment before getting up slowly. Nothing broken – nothing hurt, just a lot of dust and the normal ache that he now associated with his right ankle. He rose slowly, dusting himself off and trying to make his way up the stairs. "Robert! . . . Robert?" he shouted through the mist. Damn. He pulled himself out of the basement hole, and took a look around at the warehouse. Only a smoking hole now made up the far wall – including Mama's hiding place.
Control looked around quickly, looking for any sign of McCall. Nobody.
The sound of footsteps behind him sent him whirling to see if it was McCall. "You look worried," came the familiar voice. From behind a knee-high wall of boxes came McCall, a little darkened from the soot, but no worse for wear than a few minutes before.
"I didn't even make it upstairs before the whole thing blew," Control commented grimly. "I didn't see how you could have made it up here and back to safety in time."
"Let's just say I didn't dally – nor did I take as many precautions as one normally would have, carrying two bombs in tow."
The blast had disintegrated the furthest side of the building – McCall had been forced to place the bombs inside the rooms at the far end, pulling the steel reinforcing doors to the old office room closed behind him to seal the blast into that one area – but the essential duty of removing the bomb from near the superstructure's support beams – the girders -- had saved the building from a full collapse and, indeed, their lives. The small room had done an effective job of sealing the blast into the tiny room – and taking out the walls of the office, allowing them a neat little escape hole.
"I really do feel bad about Mama and the pups, though," McCall looked at the open blast hole. "I tried to call them out, but she just growled and inched back further into the office when I put the bomb inside the door. There was no where else," he swept an arm out toward the rest of the structure.
"I know," Control sighed, glad that they had overcome another perilous situations with their lives relatively intact.
"Especially that one . . . he would have been a handsome dog," McCall sighed.
Looking just past McCall's right heel, Control smiled slightly. "Well, there's the little orphan now."
Behind McCall, a formerly gray and brown pup was now a dark black soot color – only his eyes peeping out of the black fur. He looked up and seemed to smile, his tiny tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He had trotted out from his own hiding place behind McCall's . . . and managed to find the thickest layer of soot to roll in. Now his mischievous grin preceded his wildly wagging tail.
"What will Night think?" McCall returned the pup's evil grin, lifting him up.
"Night will think nothing of him because he is not going home with me."
"Yes he is – you and I both know it. He did, after all, save our lives."
"Don't forget he almost killed us too. Besides, Night doesn't even like the alarm system let alone another dog."
"He'll just have to get used to the little guy – which I'm sure he will. Now, what in the world are you going to name him?"
"I'm not naming him."
"Trouble?"
"Maybe . . ." Control got an evil glint in his eye, "Irene."
"Not bloody likely!" McCall raised his voice.
"How is it that I end up adopting two dogs in the same year?"
"I think you've decided you require more companionship in your old age."
"Are you implying that I'm old?"
"Certainly not – come on little one," McCall lifted up the dirty puppy and headed for the new door. He stopped, turned, picked up the silver tipped cane that had been hiding on the far wall and tossed it to Control. "And try to stay off that foot – otherwise it will never heal."
Control phoned McCall less than two days later. His sore foot was relaxing on the top of his desk as he leaned back in his chair. "You'll never guess what I just received word of."
"Then why don't you just tell me," McCall answering impatiently.
Control leaned further back in his leather chair. The office was a lovely change from dirty, sooty buildings. "An anonymous two million dollar donation to the bombing fund."
"Did you trace the funds?"
"Swedish bank account – stops at the number, no name, address, anything."
"She's damn good – never leaves anything to chance."
"That's what I'm worried about."
"What in the world do you mean?" McCall waited as the silence on the other end stretched into a long minute. Finally, Control answered.
"She gave her word to someone else that she would see us dead – which means she hasn't completed her job yet."
"And you say she never breaks her word?"
"Never."
McCall groaned. It was going to be a long year after all.