Liam drops the hose, digs deep into the side pocket of his coat—right by his 10mm Glock—and pulls out a rubbery object the size of a schoolboard eraser, from back in the day. He pulls off one of the heavy fire-resistant gloves, tears off the strip on the rear covering the adhesive, and slaps the device against the lock.
He turns and there’s a flare of bright light—highlighting his shadows in this gloomy corridor—followed by a suddenthump.
Liam pushes the door open.
Simple cell with metal toilet and sink, a bed, and a barefoot man in dull-orange pants and shirt.
The man looks up, mouth agape, eyes wide. Liam’s first thought is thatLin, damn you, you’ve got the wrong cell, or the wrong prisoner, or—
The man croaks, “What the hell is going on?”
Liam shudders. Even with the bruises, the black eyes, the bloodied swollen lips and bent and twisted fingers on one hand, Liam knows it’s Benjamin Lucas.
“Well?” Benjamin demands.
Liam loosens two straps to the air mask, pulls it out for a moment, and says, “Benjamin, can you stand? Can you walk?”
“Liam, how—”
“Shut up,” Liam says. “Move. We don’t have time before the entire goddamn PLA comes down that hallway.”
Benjamin starts to get out of the bed, wincing, standing up in bare feet, weaving, and he says, “Ah, shit, Liam, I’m really messed up.”
He tightens the mask back onto his face. “I can see.”
Liam grabs Benjamin’s good arm, pulls, lowers himself, and lifts him up in what’s known as a firefighter’s carry. Benjamin’s torso goes across Liam’s shoulders, and he shifts so that Benjamin’s right hip is next to his head, allowing Liam’s hands to be free if necessary.
His voice muffled via the air mask, Liam says, “Hold tight, we’re moving!”
Benjamin’s legs extend in front of him and his head and shoulders extend behind him, meaning he will fit through any door, but Christ, even with the hose gone, the weight of his fellow officer is damn heavy. It would be quicker if he dumped the air mask and tank, but the mask obscures his features and the tank is part of the outfit of the rescuing fire brigade member.
Outside the smoke is heavier. Benjamin starts coughing. He goes by the same door where a prisoner inside is screaming, banging on the door.
Liam stares ahead, at the stairwell door.
All right, get there, and don’t think how you’re getting up those flights of stairs, carrying this gear and injured CIA officer.
Just move.
He’s about two meters away from the door when it swings open, and an angry Chinese male, mid-thirties, in black slacks and white shirt, comes out yelling.
Liam waves an arm, repeats the evacuation order.
“Shusàn jiànzhú wù, shusàn jiànzhú wù!”
The man doesn’t move, yells at Liam in a long sentence of angry Chinese, which Liam doesn’t understand, and Liam tries again, forcefully waving his arm, yelling even louder.
“Shusàn jiànzhú wù, shusàn jiànzhú wù!”
The man comes closer, yells more, then halts, frozen, as he apparently recognizes who’s on Liam’s back.
The Chinese intelligence officer yells one more time, reaches forsomething at his back. Liam is trapped in this basement, alarms ringing, smoke getting thicker, weighed down by Benjamin Lucas on his back.
He needs to get Benjamin out.
Getting Benjamin out means Lin will tell them how to save the vice president.
But this intelligence officer is pulling out a pistol and coming right at them both. With the combined weight on his back, Liam can barely move.