Severance Package by Duane Swierczynski Read Free Book Online Page B

serious Muhammad Gur flashback, Ethan stumbled backwards and imagined, if only for a few seconds, that he was trying to cling to the side of that medieval sand pit. Actually, it was a set of concrete stairs, leading down to the half landing between the thirty-sixth and the thirty-fifth floor.
    Ethan tumbled down them. Backwards.
    Every step hurt.
    But not as bad as the agony in his throat.
    This felt worse than ricin.
    Castor beans his ass.
    This was something else.
    Amy stepped back from the door. She thought she heard something on the other side. The pounding of feet? People? Maybe security guards? Cops? A black bag crew? Someone dispatched to clean up their presumed-dead bodies?
    Never mind. It could be help.
    “Hello?”
    She caught herself before pounding on the door. Just on the off
off
chance that the door was indeed rigged; she didn’t want to set off any kind of bomb accidentally.
    “Hello! Can you hear me?!”
    Ethan recognized Amy’s voice immediately. Her sweet voice. He wished he could answer her.
    Still, he was strangely pleased that she’d come looking for him. So much so, Ethan was even willing to forgive her the French martini thing.
    Hello! Can you hear me?!
    Yes, honey, I can.
    I wish I could tell you to come on in. But for one, my throat is sealed up tight, and for another, I’m thinking you’d receive a face-blast of the same chemical agent if you walked through that door.
    Instead, Ethan found himself scrambling through his bag, searching for a pen.
    Amy wanted to open the door, but worry gripped her hard. Even an off
off
chance was still a chance. She didn’t want her life to end just because she ignored a warning. The warning of a man who—until just a few minutes ago—she considered the smartest guy she’d ever worked for.
    But what if help were on the other side?
    Help would have answered. Wouldn’t it?
    The inner office door behind Amy opened.
    Molly stood there, tears streaking down her face. Looks like she didn’t go to the bathroom after all, Amy thought. She must have been wandering around the office in a daze. It was understandable. How often did you shoot your boss in the head?
    Amy felt bad for Molly, even if she had been part of David’s plan from the beginning. She’d said it herself: She knew the phone lines had been cut. Their cells disconnected. She even claimed to have seen the packages of sarin.
    But who knew what David had done to her? She must have been too terrified to do anything but obey.
    She certainly looked terrified now.
    “Are you okay?” Amy asked redundantly.
    Molly shook her head.
No. No, I’m not okay.
    “Come on.” Amy opened up her arms.
    Whatever was behind the north fire tower door would have to wait.

     
    David Murphy had taken bullets before. Once in West Germany. Another time, the Sudan. Never a head shot, though. And this one felt fairly serious. Just the ricochet effect alone—the slug jarring his skull, transmitting aftershocks to the rest of his skeletal structure—was enough to make him want to roll over and go to sleep. Anything to stop the aching. He just felt …
wrong.
    Molly was a damn good shot.
    Never would have guessed.
    When his bosses sent her six months ago, David assumed he was being reprimanded. David loved salsa and wasabi; here was a woman who was plain vanilla yogurt. Nondescript hairstyle, mousy features, no build whatsoever. You could iron a shirt on her chest. David had carried on a bit with his previous charge, and it had gotten in the way—in the opinion of his handlers. It wasn’t as if David had forgotten about the network of hidden cameras throughout the floor; he just thought his handlers wouldn’t care.
    David was wrong. They presented him with grainy black-and-white photos of a particularly steamy tryst on a lazy Tuesday afternoon. Dress pants were bunched up around ankles; skirts were hiked; lipstick smeared; hair mussed. His handler told him this was behavior unbecoming someone of his stature. Told him the