Dead Wrong by Allen Wyler Read Free Book Online

this floor had closed early for the long weekend. Even if someone happened to be on this floor, would they even hear him? Could he call 9-1-1? Again, they’d hear him. Shit!
    It seemed as though he had only two options: continue crawling—to where, he wasn’t sure—or hold tight to see what happens. Both had risks. But it also left Sikes and Washington two options: come up here or go away. And if Washington did come up, maybe the false ceiling would cave in. Or maybe he wouldn’t find him. So it seemed best to stay put.
    But if Washington did come …
    He didn’t want to think about that.
    How the hell did this happen? Clearly, someone made a huge error by mistaking him for someone he wasn’t. Then again Sikes seemed to know several things about him. He thought back over what Sikes had said, but nothing made sense.
    DARPA? Classified material?
    He knew that the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency did weird military research, everything from weapon design to novel skin grafts for wounded soldiers. But that was it. Classified documents? That was a stretch. Far as he knew, he’d never laid eyes on one.
    Washington continued to silently peer into the space and listen, his eyes adapting to the dark with every passing second.
    Although Tom’s eyes had been adjusted to the dark longer, that advantage would soon vanish. He glanced around once more, and, to his horror, realized the lower edge of the ventilation duct was three inches above the tiles, exposing his legs and hands. Soon Washington would be able to see him kneeling behind the duct. To make matters worse, any movement now would draw Washington’s attention.
    Okay, so distract him .
    “Doc, think you and I got off on the wrong foot here. Things got a little crazy down there, man. We’re sorry about that. All we want is information. That’s all. Information. Shit like who’s got the documents. That’s all there is to it, man. You can understand that, can’t you? That’s something we need to know. Nothing’s gonna happen. Now get your ass on down from here. No need be getting yourself all dirty. Sheeiit, if you ain’t careful you might fall outta there, hurt your bad-ass self.” He laughed, a deep, resonant, mean-as-hell laugh.
    McCarthy cupped the phone to deaden the beeps, dialed his pager, hit SEND .
    On the display he watched the call connect and then immediately disconnected and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He glanced in the direction he had initially headed. A dark, narrow passage continued for quite a way, formed by ventilation ductwork on one side and pipes on the other. But where and how far did it go? He’d lost all sense of direction. Did it matter? What he needed most was to put distance between him and Washington.
    Light flashed off a patch of silver duct tape to his right.
    Here it comes . Washington was shining a light into the crawl space, sweeping it a full 360 degrees.
    McCarthy tapped his knuckles on the large duct next to him, causing a thump thump to echo along the length.
    The light abruptly stopped moving. Washington yelled, “Yo, Sikes. He’s up here all right. Just heard him.”
    “Then what the fuck you waiting for? Get up there and drag his sorry ass down.”
    McCarthy started crawling, faster now, precisely planting his palms, knees, and toes close to the rails to keep the tiles form breaking, his movement stirring up dust. He heard a grunt from where Washington should be, then a solid metallic CLUNK, as if Washington had bumped into a strut with something metallic, like his gun. Move! Faster .

    G UN IN HAND, safety off, Elroy Washington inched into the dark crawl space, tentatively at first, unsure if the false ceiling would support his weight, especially with no idea of McCarthy’s proximity. Although strong enough to hold one man, could the tiles possibly hold two? It supported him, buoying his confidence. He cautiously moved forward a few feet, then stopped to listen for McCarthy: movement, breathing,