I flailed the pointed heel of my shoe in the direction of Dorshak's face. I battered at him blindly, until something soft gave way under my constant barrage. Dorshak howled in pain. I pulled my foot away, but the shoe stayed behind. Not sparing the time to imagine what had happened, I switched my concentration to navigating a way out from under the table. I scooted along on my knees, sliding on the linoleum clumsily. The rungs of the plastic chairs hampered my way. I shoved at them, sending toppled chairs skittering about. Their crashes added to the confused shouts of the FBI agent. Finally, my fingers closed around the far end of the table. I pulled myself up from my hands and knees.
The glow of the exit sign drew me like a beacon. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the form of the FBI agent. We each took a step toward the door. I stopped. The agent advanced closer to the door. Behind me I could hear Dorshak moaning, his pain sharpened into anger. His curses became more specific about what he would do to me if he got his hands on me again. I doubted it would take more than a few seconds for Dorshak to translate words to action.
The agent twitched, as though weighing out a course of action. I grabbed ahold of one of the chairs. Before I could bring the chair around, the agent drew his gun. Red glowed in the pupil of his right eye as the targeting computer came on-line. Despite the danger, I had to laugh. Only a Feeb would need a computer's sights at this close a range.
As if to remind me of the real threat he posed, the agent's finger tightened noticeably on the trigger. "You know what they say, right?" His voice trembled with excitement. "The only good traitor is a dead traitor."
That wasn't what I expected from my green-eyed "good cop," and I told him so. "Aren't you supposed to ask me to surrender before you shoot?"
"Who's to say I didn't?" His lips stretched into a thin smile. "Dorshak?"
Dorshak just moaned, not making a good case either for or against me.
"What about our viewing audience at home?" I used the chair to gesture in the direction of his camera eye. "Don't they have something to say about this little first-degree murder?"
"Hmmmmm." He pretended to consider my words carefully, then said, "Golly, but they seem to have been blanked out like the rest of the precinct. I guess they'll have no choice but to believe my report."
"Jesus. You're sick." I grimaced.
The agent snarled, and I had a sinking feeling that quip was going to be the last one I'd ever make. Not clever enough to die for, I thought as I pivoted in a vain attempt to swing the chair around to block the blast. I knew it was useless plastic wasn't much protection against a gun.
My peripheral vision registered the motion of the door opening. I watched the agent's eyes leave me for a second. Wasting no time, I charged him. I heard the click of the trigger being pulled, but somehow his gun misfired. I propelled the chair at him with all my force. Chair and agent clattered against the wall.
Pushing past them, I ran right into someone's arms. I thrashed against the human fortress that held me, ready to kick or bite my way out.
"It's me, Deidre." A smooth baritone tickled my ear. "Michael."
"How did you find me? Wait. Tell me later. We've got to get out of here ... Dorshak, the agent, maybe others ..." My words came out in a breathless, incoherent jumble. "Go, go, go!"
It was too late. Behind us, the one-way mirror shattered. I turned in time to see muted red light glinting on the explosion of glass. A dark form leapt through, carrying the glass around her like a deadly aura. She landed on the table with a thud. The glass slivers made a plink-plunk as they fell away from her, seemingly ruled by a gravity that she defied. She barely slowed her stride. It was another FBI agent. I could tell by the red light coming from her left eye: the targeting computer.
Michael pushed me behind
him. On impulse, I accessed the LINK. The world fell away around me in a starburst of light. At the speed of thought, I lassoed the FBI frequency and hacked my way in. A wall of ones and zeros scrolled passed my vision, stretching as far as I could see in every direction. The wall seemed to ripple as the numbers flashed through. I searched through the binary for the key. Reaching into the tangle, I grabbed hold of a back door and squeezed myself through.
Suddenly, my perspective switched. I rode piggyback behind the charging agent's infrared filtered vision. Michael stood by the door, or, at least, what I assumed was he. The readout was confusing. A bright light glowed at the center of Michael's chest. It was like a hot coal, almost white against the ghostly pale blue of the rest of his body. The light was the size of a pinprick, but the heat it radiated spread out in two massive triangular shapes. Their apexes met at the core, and spread out like a bow tie.
"What the ...?" I heard the agent say from my vantage point on the LINK. She was almost on top of Michael. I began to panic. My mind sent out a single thought: Stop!